Tom cleared his throat. “We need to vote.”
“Vote?” Kate asked.
“We're all equal heirs. We should all agree.”
“Katie should decide,” James said. “She's the one who's been here and will continue to oversee things.”
“We all have a stake in this,” Tom argued.
“Stop.” Kate stood. “This isn't a democracy. It's Pop's life, his home. The question is what's best for him.”
She walked to the window, watching Ben work. He was measuring something, marking wood with a pencil, completely absorbed in his task. Behind him, the harbor stretched gray and endless.
“Mom tried to reconcile,” Kate said quietly. “She wrote letters. Tried to bridge the gap.”
“We don't know what the letters say,” Dani pointed out.
Kate opened the envelope, pulled out the first letter. The paper was soft with age, her mother's handwriting young and hopeful.
“‘Dear Mother,’”she read aloud. “‘I know you're angry. I know you think I'm making a mistake. But I love him. I love Daniel with everything I am. Can't that be enough? Can't you be happy that I'm happy?’”
Kate's voice broke. She handed the letter to Tom, who continued reading.
“‘I'm not asking for money. I'm asking for my mother. For my future children's grandmother. Please, don't let pride destroy our family.’”
“When was this written?” James asked.
Kate checked the date. “Six months after their wedding.”
There were three more letters, each more desperate than the last. The final one was dated just after Kate's birth.
“‘Mother,’”Dani read this one, her voice thick with tears. “‘I have a daughter now. Katherine. I look at her and think about how you must have looked at me once, with such love, such hope. Please don't let her grow up without knowing you. Please don't punish her for my choices.’”
The room was quiet when Dani finished. Pop had fallen asleep in his chair, the half-eaten Danish in his hand.
“Lillian never answered,” Kate said. It wasn't a question.
“No,” Tom said quietly. “She didn't.”
“How could she be so cruel?”
“It was a different time. She wants forgiveness,” James said.
“What she wants is absolution. I don’t think I can give her that.”
Kate thought about her mother, young and hopeful, writing letters that were never answered. Then she thought about Lillian, old and dying, keeping those letters for all these years.
“We take the money,” Kate said, her voice firm.
“You're sure?” Tom asked.
“Mom would want Pop cared for. She'd want the inn saved.” Kate looked at her siblings. “It’s the practical thing to do.”
“And what about a relationship with her?” Dani asked.
Kate looked at her. “We don’t really have a choice, do we?”
“Mom would want us to forgive her.”
