“I’m surprised you don’t remember me.”
“What? When did we meet?” she asked.
“Kate, we were in the same class in high school. Don’t you ever look at your yearbook?”
Stunned, Kate stared at him. “First, the answer is no, I never look at my yearbook, and second, are you serious? We graduated the same year? How is it that we never noticed each other?”
Ben laughed. “Although I can’t speak for your high school experience, I certainly noticed you.”
Kate didn’t know what to make of this new development. Not remembering Ben Calloway, or even acknowledging a passing interest in him, seemed insulting. She suddenly wished she’d pretended to remember him but said nothing more hoping they’d move on to another subject.
They anchored in a quiet cove, the boat rocking gently. The silence was comfortable, not demanding to be filled. Kate found herself actually relaxing, her shoulders dropping from their permanent position near her ears.
“My ex-wife hated it here,” Ben said suddenly.
Kate looked at him, surprised. She hadn't known he'd been married.
“She was from away. Thought it would be romantic, living in a coastal town. But the reality, the isolation in winter, the way everyone knows everyone's business, the limited options for everything, she couldn't handle it.”
“How long were you married?”
“Three years. Been divorced for four years, longer than I was married.” He smiled ruefully. “She said I loved my work more than her. She wasn't entirely wrong.”
“And now?”
“Now I know the difference between someone who accepts who you are and someone who's always trying to change you.” He looked at her directly. “You're not someone who needs changing, Kate.”
The compliment, if that's what it was, made her uncomfortable. She wasn't used to being seen as fine the way she was. Everyone in her life seemed to have opinions about what she should do differently.
“I should get back,” she said.
“It's been twenty minutes.”
“The electricians…”
“Will be fine.” But he started the engine, anyway, understanding her anxiety even if he didn't share it.
On the ride back, Kate watched the shoreline, picking out the inn on its rise above the harbor. From here, it looked solid, permanent, like it had always been there and always would be. The new roof work was invisible from this distance, all the flaws hidden by perspective.
“It looks different from the water,” she said.
“Most things do. Sometimes you need distance to see clearly.”
When they got back to the inn, Kate expected chaos. Instead, she found Pop and Amy in the sunroom, Pop showing her his collection of sea glass, completely calm. The electricians were working steadily on the third floor. Dani was at the desk, actually checking in guests.
“Everything's fine,” Dani said, reading Kate's face. “The world didn't end because you took a break.”
But it felt like something had ended or maybe started. Kate couldn't tell which.
The next few days fell into a strange new rhythm. Amy managed Pop's medications, his meals, his confusion with a grace Kate envied. Pop seemed to like her, called her “that nice lady,” and didn't fight when she suggested activities or redirected his wandering.
Kate found herself with time for things that needed her attention. Time to actually review the books properly. Time to plan renovations beyond emergency repairs. Time to sit with a cup of coffee and watch the sunrise without mentally running through Pop's medication schedule.
She hated it.
“You're pacing,” Marcy observed on the third day. “Like a caged animal.”
“I'm not pacing. I'm... checking things.”
