Kate thought about Lillian's final manipulation, the will that would require them to work as a unit, to stay connected. Even in death, she was trying to control them. But maybe, Kate thought, this one last control might actually free them. They'd already proven they could work together, could face disaster as a family. The will would just make official what had already become true.
Outside, May ended with unusual warmth, summer arriving early as if eager to begin. The inn was full of guests, the business finally stabilizing. Pop was safe, if not well. Her siblings were home. And Ben was still here, still patient, still showing up even when she gave him nothing in return.
Tomorrow they would plan a funeral for a woman none of them had really known. Tomorrow they would face the legal complications of Lillian's death, the inheritance that came withstrings, the future that was both secured and complicated by her final gifts.
But tonight, Kate sat with her family in their parents’ kitchen, in the inn that had survived everything thrown at it and felt something she hadn't expected: peace. Not complete, not perfect, but real. The peace that came from accepting that some things couldn't be fixed, only survived. That sometimes people couldn't be fully forgiven, only granted mercy.
But that wasn’t enough for Kate. Since the pain and anger kept her from moving forward, she needed something greater than what she’d done for Lillian. Kate needed a different perspective.
She felt physical pain in her stomach and bent over to catch her breath.
What was it that people say? Forgiveness isn’t really about healing the person who hurt you. That holding on to anger and resentment was like drinking poison and expecting the other person to get sick.
For the first time Kate understood that she’d continue to poison herself if she didn’t change. But, more to the point, she cringed realizing that she wasn’t like her mother at all. The person she was most like in her family, was Lillian Whitfield.
CHAPTER 30
June arrived with a burst of tourists and a heat wave that had everyone in Kennebunkport complaining about the inadequacy of their air conditioning. Whaler’s Landing, with its ancient window units and sporadic ceiling fans, became a testament to what Dani cheerfully marketed as “authentic coastal charm” to guests who'd expected something more modern for their money.
Kate stood in the office at five in the morning, reconciling the previous week's receipts while the inn slept around her. They'd survived their first full week at capacity, eight rooms occupied, since the siblings stayed in the other four. The numbers were better than they'd been in years, but Kate couldn't shake the feeling that it was all built on sand, ready to shift with the next crisis.
Lillian’s funeral felt strangely unreal. It was held at the Episcopal church she’d supposedly belonged to, though none of the grandchildren could remember her ever attending a single service. Still, the pews were crowded with Kennebunkport’s old guard, the polished women in pearls and the men in summer seersucker who had served alongside her on committees, charity boards, and garden-club projects.
They moved through the receiving line offering condolences that sounded practiced, speaking fondly of a woman the siblings barely recognized, gracious, tireless, devoted to every cause she touched.
Kate stood there listening, trying to be polite, even as she could feel most of the brittle judgment beneath their smiles, that sharp edge of curiosity and gossip that had always trailed Lillian wherever she went. They weren’t mourning her, not really. They were observing the occasion, showing up because it was what one did, filling the silence with stories that didn’t match the woman who’d raised their mother.
And as Kate glanced at her siblings, she realized they all felt it, that odd dissonance, as if they were attending the funeral of someone entirely different from the grandmother they had known, and not known, all at once.
Tom had given the eulogy, his lawyer's eloquence serving him well as he spoke carefully of family complications and eventual reconciliation, of love that transcended misunderstanding. He'd managed to be both truthful and kind, never mentioning the depths of Lillian's betrayal while acknowledging the distance that had separated them. It was, Kate thought, an act of generosity their grandmother hadn't earned but their mother would have appreciated.
The will reading had happened without much fanfare. Arthur Holbrook, Lillian's attorney and apparently her only real confidant, had gathered them in his office overlooking Portland harbor. The terms were exactly as Lillian had warned: everything to the inn but structured through a trust that required unanimous agreement from all four siblings for any major decisions. Selling, mortgaging, or significantly altering the property would need all their signatures. They were bound together by legal documents as firmly as by blood.
“She wanted to ensure you'd stay connected,” Arthur had explained, his voice carefully neutral. “She spoke often of her regret about the family's estrangement.”
The irony of it, Lillian trying to force the closeness she'd destroyed, wasn't lost on any of them. But the money was substantial. After taxes and expenses, they'd have enough to complete all renovations, establish an operating fund, and pay for Pop's care indefinitely. It was freedom and chains simultaneously.
Kate heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to find Ben in the doorway, carrying two cups of coffee. He'd been arriving earlier lately, sometimes before she was even up, working on projects that didn't seem urgent but gave him reasons to be there.
“You're up early,” she said, accepting the coffee gratefully.
“Wanted to fix the window in Room 7 before guests arrive. Mrs. Horwitz mentioned it kept getting stuck.”
Mrs. Horwitz had mentioned it to Kate three days ago. She'd added it to the endless list of small repairs, but Ben had apparently been keeping his own list, handling things before she even had to ask.
“You don't have to.”
“I know.” He cut her off gently. “I don't have to do anything. But the inn needs it, and I'm here.”
They didn’t speak, instead looked out at the harbor, drinking coffee while the morning light gradually illuminated the office. This had become their routine, these stolen moments before the day's chaos began. They didn't talk about that night in his workshop, about Melissa who'd left town with her hopes unmet, about the way Kate had clung to him outside Lillian's cottage. They just existed in the same space. Ben had become family, and his presence was never questioned, even though Dani wanted to talk about him to Kate, who wasn’t having any of it.
“We're installing the new signs today,” Ben said eventually. “The ones Dani designed.”
Kate had seen the designs, elegant but approachable, “Whaler’s Landing” in script that managed to look both timeless and fresh.
“Tom's already complaining about the cost,” Kate said.
“Tom complains about everything.”
