Kate felt heat rise in her cheeks. She focused on her eggs, perfectly cooked, the way Pop had made them for thirty years. She didn’t answer her father about Ben or his family, instead saying, “He's just being neighborly.”
“Your mother was neighborly with me once. Brought me soup when I had the flu.” Pop smiled at the memory. “Course, she was also sweet on me, even if she wouldn't admit it for months.”
Through the window, Kate could see Ben's truck pulling into the driveway, right on time. Seven-thirty, just like he'd promised. He got out and walked to the back to get lumber, his breath clouding in the cold air. Even from here, she could see the careful way he handled the materials, treating them with respect.
“Speak of the devil,” Pop said, following her gaze. “You going to sit there mooning or go help the man?”
“I wasn't mooning.”
“Sure you weren't.” Pop's eyes were bright with something she hadn't seen in too long, mischief, life, the father who used to tease her about boys when she was sixteen and mortified by everything.
Kate grabbed her parka and went out, the cold hitting her and stinging. Ben was unloading two-by-fours from his truck bed, each piece already cut to size.
“Morning,” he said, glancing up with a smile that did something to her stomach she didn't want to examine. “Got an early start at the lumber yard. Figured we'd want to make use of the good weather.”
“This is good weather?”
“Not actively snowing counts as good in March.” He handed her one end of a board. “Feel like helping?”
They worked without talking, carrying materials to the side of the inn where he'd set up sawhorses and a work station. Kate liked this, the simple rhythm of physical work, the way their movements synchronized without need for words. Ben had a way of making everything seem manageable, breaking big problems into smaller, solvable pieces.
“Your dad seems good today,” he said, nodding toward the kitchen window where Pop was visible, washing dishes.
“He is. Some days are like this, like he's completely himself.”
“Must be hard. The other days.”
“It's all hard.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it. “Sorry. I don't mean to…”
“Don't apologize. Truth isn't something to be sorry for.” He set down his end of the board and looked in her eyes. “You're doing an amazing thing here. Taking care of him, keeping the inn going. Most people wouldn't even try.”
“Most people are smarter than me.”
“Or less loyal.”
The word hung between them, loyal. It was what she was, maybe all she was. Loyal to Pop, to the inn, to her mother's memory. But where did loyalty become stubbornness? Where did devotion become self-destruction?
Dani's rental car pulled up before Kate could follow that thought. Her sister emerged looking like something from a magazine again, camel coat, leather gloves, sunglasses despite the gray day. Her long blonde hair fell in large curls.
“Morning,” Dani called, picking her way across the snow in impractical boots. “Katie, we need to talk.”
“I'm working.”
“This is important.” Dani glanced at Ben. “Family stuff.”
Ben took the hint. “I'll be on the roof if you need me.”
After he'd climbed the ladder, Dani pulled Kate aside. “Tom's coming up.”
“What? When?”
“Today. He'll be here by lunch. And James is driving up from Boston tonight.”
Kate's stomach dropped. When all the siblings gathered, it meant something serious. “You called them?”
“They called me. They're worried about Pop. About you. About everything.”
“So you're staging what, an intervention?”
