Amy appeared then, wrapped in a practical robe, her face serene despite being woken at two a.m. This was what they paid her for, the middle of the night confusion, the endless patience, the professional kindness.
“Daniel, let's get you back to bed,” Amy said, her voice soothing. “The boats are all fine.”
But Pop pushed past both of them, heading for the door with surprising determination. Kate caught his arm, and he turned on her with eyes that didn't recognize her at all.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”
The words hit like a physical blow. Kate had known this was coming, Amy had warned them all, but knowing and experiencing were different things entirely.
“I'm Kate. Your daughter.”
“I don't have a daughter named Kate.” He pulled his arm free, his strength surprising. “Where's Elizabeth? She'll tell you. This is our house.”
The lights flickered again, and in the moment of darkness, Pop's confusion seemed to deepen. When they came back on, he was looking around the kitchen like he'd never seen it before, despite having lived here for so many years.
“This isn't right,” he muttered. “Nothing's right.”
James appeared in the doorway, hair sticking up at odd angles, wearing pajama pants and an old Kennebunk HighT-shirt. He took in the scene quickly, Pop's agitation, Kate's stricken face, Amy's professional calm.
“Hey, Pop,” James said easily. “Storm woke you up too? Remember that big one in '78? You told us about it, how the waves came right up to the porch?”
Pop turned to James, and something in his face shifted, not quite recognition but less hostility. “The '78 storm. Started as rain and turned into the biggest snowstorm we ever had. I lost three lobster traps.”
“That's right. You and Mom watched it from the sunroom.” James moved closer, casual and unthreatening. “Why don't we go look from there now? See how this one compares?”
It was brilliant, actually. James led Pop to the sunroom, talking about storms and boats and things Pop's fractured memory could grab on to. Amy followed, but Kate remained in the kitchen, shaking.
She pulled on her rain jacket and went outside, needing the storm's violence to match her internal chaos. The wind immediately tried to knock her down, rain driving sideways into her face. She made it to the covered porch, gripping the railing as the inn creaked and groaned around her.
This was her world, watching storms, protecting the inn, being forgotten by the father she'd given everything to protect. The harbor was invisible in the darkness and rain, but she could hear it, the crash of waves, the clang of halyards against masts, the protest of boats against their moorings.
A truck pulled into the driveway, headlights cutting through the storm. Kate recognized it immediately, Ben's vehicle, which had no business being here at two-thirty in the morning in a near-hurricane.
He ran from the truck to the porch, immediately soaked despite the short distance. Water streamed from his jacket, his hair plastered to his head.
“What are you doing here?” Kate had to shout over the wind.
“Checking on you. On the inn.” He pushed wet hair back from his face. “That big oak by the east side is leaning. Thought it might come down.”
“You drove here in this to tell me about a tree?”
“I drove here because I couldn't sleep thinking about you alone dealing with whatever the storm brought.”
“I'm not alone. The inn's full of people.”
“But you're still the one standing out here in the storm, aren't you?”
She wanted to argue, but another crack of thunder shook the building, and the lights went out completely this time. The darkness was absolute for a moment before emergency lighting kicked in, casting everything in an eerie green glow.
“Generator should start,” Kate said, but it didn't.
Ben was already moving. “Where's the mechanical room?”
They went together, Kate holding a flashlight while Ben examined the generator. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, checking connections, testing switches. The intimacy of the small space, the darkness broken only by her flashlight beam, made Kate acutely aware of his presence, the heat of him despite his wet clothes, the way he muttered to himself as he worked, the competence that made her want to lean into him and let someone else be capable for once.
“There,” he said as the generator rumbled to life. Light flooded back into the inn. “Loose connection. The storm vibration probably shook it free.”
They stood facing each other in the mechanical room, both soaked, the crisis handled. Kate could see water droplets on his eyelashes, the concern in his eyes that had nothing to do with generators or storms.
