“Pop didn't recognize me tonight,” she said, the words falling out easily, tears filling her eyes. “He called me a stranger.”
Ben's face softened. “I'm sorry.”
“Amy says it'll get worse. That eventually he won't know any of us.”
“Tomorrow he might know you again.”
“Or he might not.”
“No,” Ben agreed. “He might not.”
The honesty of it, the lack of false comfort, made her throat tight. They climbed back to the main floor, finding Tom in the kitchen making coffee on the gas stove.
“Power's back,” Tom said, then noticed Ben. “What are you doing here?”
“The oak tree,” Ben said simply. “Eastern side. It's going to come down.”
Tom's lawyer face shifted to concern. “On the inn?”
“Possibly. Depends on the wind.”
They all moved to the window, watching the tree in question whip back and forth. It was massive, probably a hundred years old, and it was definitely leaning toward the building.
“We should evacuate that side,” Tom said.
“That's Rooms 3, 4, and 5,” Kate said. “Mrs. Bryers is in 3.”
“Then we move Mrs. Bryers.”
The next hour was controlled chaos. Tom and James helped relocate their one guest to the other side of the inn, Dani made coffee and sandwiches despite the hour, Amy kept Pop calm in the sunroom where he'd fallen back to sleep in his chair. And Ben worked outside, trying to secure what he could, to minimize damage if the tree fell.
Kate watched him through the window, barely visible in the rain and darkness except when lightning illuminated everything in stark relief. He was tying ropes, creating barriers, doing things that probably wouldn't matter if a hundred-foot oak decided to fall but trying anyway.
The tree went at four-fifteen. They all heard it, a crack like the world breaking, then a long, grinding crash that shook the entire building.
Kate ran toward the sound, finding the massive trunk had missed the inn by maybe three feet, its branches scraping the eastern wall but not penetrating. The damage was minimal, some siding, a few broken windows, nothing structural.
Ben stood in the rain surveying it, looking satisfied.
“How?” Kate asked.
“The ropes. Changed the fall angle just enough.” He was shouting to be heard over the storm, rain streaming down his face. “Old lumberjack trick my grandfather taught me.”
She wanted to hug him then, this man who showed up in storms to save buildings and change the angles of falling trees. Instead, she stood there in the rain, staring at him while the wind tried to knock them both over.
“Come inside,” she shouted. “You're soaked.”
In the kitchen, Dani handed Ben a towel and coffee while Tom and James examined the damage from inside. The atmosphere was strangely festive—crisis managed, everyone safe, the kind of middle-of-the-night adventure that would become family legend.
“Remember the storm of '98?” James was saying. “Kate made us all sleep in the sunroom because she was convinced the roof would come off.”
“It almost did,” Kate protested.
“You were always protecting us,” Tom said quietly. “Even when you were a kid yourself.”
Ben was watching her, his expression unreadable. He'd wrapped the towel around his shoulders but was still dripping steadily onto the kitchen floor. In the harsh overhead light, she could see exhaustion in the lines around his eyes, could see he'dprobably been up all night worrying about various properties, various people, but had come here first.
“You should go home,” she said. “Get some sleep.”
