You won't believe this, but you're the one I’ve worried about most. Not because you're weak, but because you're so strong that you forget you're allowed to break. Your mother was the same way, carrying everyone else's burdens until her body couldn't anymore.
I know what I cost you. Not just money or struggle, but the life you might have lived if I hadn't been so cruel. You could have chosen a better college if money wasn’t an issue.
I can't give you back those years or those choices. But I can tell you what I learned too late: love isn't about control. It's about release. Let your siblings help. Let that nice contractor love you. Let yourself be happy without feeling guilty about it.
Your mother forgave me not because I deserved it but because she refused to let my cruelty define her remaining days. Don't let my mistakes or anyone else's define yours.
Be free, Katherine. It's the one gift I can actually give you, permission to be free.
Your grandmother, Lillian
A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. Ben stood in the hallway, concern on his face.
“Dani said you've been up here for hours.”
“Reading Lillian's letter.”
“You okay?”
“I think I might be. Or I'm learning how to be.”
He smiled, that patient, knowing smile she'd come to depend on. “Good. The new signs are up, by the way. Want to see?”
She followed him outside where the new sign was illuminated by spotlights Ben had installed. “Whaler’s Landing” gleamed in the evening light, professional and welcoming, apromise of what they were becoming rather than an apology for what they'd been.
“It's perfect,” she said.
“I think so, too.”
Tomorrow would bring new guests, new challenges, the continuing complexity of running the inn and caring for Pop and being a family. But tonight, in June evening air that smelled of ocean and lightness, Kate stood beside a man who'd chosen to stay and looked at a sign that proclaimed they were still here, still trying, still becoming.
She wasn’t sure whether Lillian’s letter brought closure or more questions, but for now, she put those thoughts away and focused on the day. Tomorrow would take care of itself.
CHAPTER 31
The Fourth of July in Kennebunkport meant chaos of the most profitable kind.
Kate stood on the inn's front porch at six in the morning, watching vendors set up for the harbor festival while mentally reviewing her own preparation list. Every room was booked through the weekend at rates Dani had boldly doubled from the previous year. They had a lobster bake scheduled for sixty guests that afternoon, fireworks viewing from the widow’s walk that evening, and a breakfast buffet tomorrow that Marcy had been preparing for all week.
She wrapped both hands around her empty mug, suddenly aware of how often this moment had begun with Ben appearing at her elbow, offering fresh coffee without a word. She found herself glancing toward the lane that led to the back parking lot, half expecting to see his truck crest the hill.
Nothing. Just vendors dragging coolers and folding tables toward the harbor.
He had texted late last night. Starting the morning at another job, finishing a railing before the owners’ family arrived for the holiday. He’d try to make it in time for the lobster bake.
She told herself that was fine, reasonable, exactly what a responsible contractor should do. Still, every few minutes her gaze drifted back to the lane.
The inn hummed with energy even at this early hour. She could hear guests already stirring, excited for the parade that would pass right by their front door at ten. The smell of blueberry pancakes drifted from the kitchen where Marcy had started cooking at four, determined to showcase Maine’s best on its most American holiday.
Tom emerged from the office, phone already pressed to his ear, negotiating with someone about something. He had officially opened his law practice in Kennebunkport last week, renting a small office above the bookstore but doing most of his work from the inn.
James wandered out with his laptop, setting up on one of the restored wicker chairs. He had negotiated his remote work situation into permanence, his tech company happy to keep him even from Maine. He had also started consulting for other inns, helping them modernize their systems, turning his renovation of theirs into a side business.
Dani appeared last, as always, but fully put together despite the early hour. She had learned that looking professional even at dawn was part of running events, that guests expected a certain level of polish from the person organizing their celebrations. She carried her tablet and a physical clipboard, backup for when technology failed.
“Final count for the lobster bake is sixty three,” she announced. “The Weatherbys added three last minute guests.”
“Do we have enough lobsters?” Kate asked.
