Kate shrugged. “We’ll never know. If I had to guess, I bet Mom never told him she was accepted and sealed this envelope. He honored her wish to give the contents and the bank account to me.”
They sat with that for a moment, the weight of their parents' love, expressed in silence and secrets and sacrifice.
“What will you do?” Dani asked Kate. “With the money?”
“I’m not sure. I’d love to apply to the Master of Science in Marine Sciences program at UNE. If I apply now, I might get accepted before the end of the year.”
“Katie, that's what you must do. I think it’s wonderful!” Dani hugged her.
“Mom would be so proud,” Tom added.
“But it won't be enough,” Kate said. “The money. I have no idea how much the money will cover, but it doesn’t hurt to look into it.”
“Whatever it is, Katie, I'll cover the rest,” James said firmly.
“Katie, you saved us. You saved the inn. You held everything together. Let us hold you up for once,” Tom said.
Kate stood and pulled James into her arms. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. This is what Mom and Pop would want. We're together. We're okay. The inn will go on.”
“Red sky at night,” Kate whispered.
“Sailor's delight,” her siblings responded.
CHAPTER 37
November arrived with gray skies and bitter winds, the first month without Pop. Kate found herself standing at the kitchen window each morning, coffee warming her hands, watching the harbor wake up without him in it. The rhythms of Whaler's Landing continued, guests checking in and out, meals served, beds made, but everything felt shifted, like a painting rehung slightly off-center.
The UNE application sat complete on her laptop, cursor blinking in the submit box. She'd filled it out the day after reading Pop's letter, his words echoing:Be brave.But bravery and clicking “submit” seemed to exist in different universes. Her mother had been brave at twenty-one, choosing love and pregnancy over Woods Hole. Pop had been brave, keeping Lillian's sabotage secret to protect his wife. Kate, at thirty-five, couldn't manage to click a button.
The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Ben found her staring at the screen again. He didn't say much, Ben never did when words weren't necessary. He simply reached over her shoulder and clicked submit before she could stop him.
“December first deadline,” was all he said, kissing the top of her head. “You were going to run out of time.”
The confirmation email arrived immediately. Application received. Under review. Kate stared at it, feeling like she'd just jumped off a cliff without checking for water below. But underneath the terror was something else, relief that the choice had been made, that forward motion had begun.
Thanksgiving came wrapped in the strange quiet of a house learning to exist without its patriarch. They closed the inn to guests, Dani's idea surprisingly, who said they deserved one day to just be family without performing for strangers. Tom arrived early, attempting their mother's turkey recipe with the dedication of a lawyer preparing for trial. James declared himself official taste tester for everything that came out of the oven. Dani created elaborate sides no one had asked for but everyone appreciated.
Kate found herself in the role of observer, watching her siblings move through the kitchen with newfound confidence. Six months ago, they could barely share this space without conflict. Now they flowed around each other like water, filling gaps, supporting weight, becoming something stronger than their individual parts. This, she realized, was what would make her leaving possible, not leaving really, but expanding. They had become capable of holding the space without her constant presence.
When her turn came to say thanks, Kate found herself thinking about time, how her parents had run out of it, how she'd almost run out of it with her siblings, how she was running out of it for certain things. She was thirty-five. If there were to be children, it would need to be soon.
Ben squeezed her hand under the table, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Neither had mentioned marriage, but it hung in the air between them like morning fog, visible but unacknowledged.
The email from UNE arrived the Tuesday after Thanksgiving. Kate was alone in the kitchen, Marcy having stepped out for supplies. Her hands shook as she opened it.
Dear Ms. Perkins, We are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to the Marine Sciences Master's Program at the University of New England.
Accepted. After so many years of deferral, the door her mother had marked with thirty thousand dollars and patient hope had finally opened. Kate didn't cry. She thought she would, but instead she felt a strange settling, like finding true north after years of spinning.
The practical part of her brain immediately began calculating: Less than thirty minutes to Biddeford. Classes Monday through Thursday. Labs that would run late. Study groups. Research. Thesis work. When would she ice fish? The question seemed absurd given everything else, but ice fishing wasn't leisure for Kate, it was necessity, her way of thinking, of processing, of being alone with herself in a life that rarely allowed solitude.
January meant good ice. Her spot on Goose Pond, her auger, her thermos of coffee, the absolute silence broken only by the crack of expanding ice. She'd solved every major problem of her adult life on that ice. Where would that fit now?
Marcy found her still staring at the screen, somehow knowing without asking.
“Don't tell anyone yet,” Kate whispered. “After Prelude.”
