“I'll manage.”
Lillian studied her for a long moment. “You know, your mother was the same way. Allergic to accepting help.”
“She accepted your help once. Look how that turned out.”
The words were cruel, and Kate immediately regretted them. Lillian's face went pale, then composed itself into that perfect mask she wore.
“Yes,” Lillian said quietly. “She accepted my conditions for paying for her education. But then all that changed when she met your father. She chose love over those conditions, and I cut her off. It's not the same situation.”
“Isn't it? Money with strings attached? Must everything be transactional for you?”
“My strings now are simply wanting to know my family before I die. Your mother's strings were choosing between her family and the man she loved. What you fail to understand is that it can go both ways. Choosing family, obligation, stubbornness over love is as much a tragedy as what this family has already endured.” Lillian stood slowly, gripping the walking stick. “I learned that lesson too late. Don't make the same mistake, Katherine.”
She left, moving more slowly than when she'd arrived. Kate watched from the window as Lillian stopped to speak with Ben, who was taking a water break. Their conversation was brief, butBen helped her navigate around the debris to her car, his hand steady on her elbow.
The small kindness of it, the automatic care, made Kate's chest tight.
Amy appeared in the doorway. “Your father's having a good afternoon. He's asking for you.”
Kate found her father in the sunroom, looking out at the harbor, which was still brown with storm runoff. He turned when she entered, and his face lit up with recognition.
“Katie-girl. Hell of a storm last night.”
“Yeah, Pop. It was.”
“That Ben fellow did good with the tree.” Pop patted the chair beside him. “Sit with your old man.”
Kate sat, and they watched the harbor together. The boats that had survived bobbed on their moorings, a few showing damage but most intact.
“Your mother loved storms,” Pop said suddenly. “Used to stand on the porch, watching them come in. Said they cleaned everything, made it new.”
“I remember.”
“You're like her that way. Always facing the storm head-on.” He took her hand, his papery and warm. “But Katie, she also knew when to come inside, when to let others help board up the windows.”
“Pop...”
“That boy's not going anywhere.” Pop nodded toward the window where Ben was visible, still working. “Men who show up in storms and stay for the cleanup, those are the keepers.”
“It's not that simple.”
“Love's not supposed to be simple. It's supposed to be worth it.”
Kate wanted to argue, to explain all the reasons she couldn't afford to love Ben, couldn't risk that vulnerability. But Pop'seyes were clear and knowing, and she realized he understood more than his fractured mind usually allowed.
“I'm scared,” she admitted quietly.
“Good. Means it matters.” Pop squeezed her hand. “Your mother was scared too, choosing me over everything else she'd known. But she said the scariest thing would've been not choosing at all.”
By late afternoon, most of the tree was gone, reduced to neat stacks of firewood that Ben's crew piled beside the inn. The damage to the siding had been temporarily patched, the broken windows boarded up. The parking lot was clear, the debris removed.
Kate stood on the porch watching Ben direct the final cleanup. He was exhausted, she could see it in the slope of his shoulders, the way he moved. He'd been up all night in the storm, worked all day on her tree, and would probably go work on other storm damage after this.
“Thank you,” she said when he approached the porch.
“You're welcome.” He was dirty, covered in sawdust and sweat, but his eyes were warm. “Insurance should cover the real repairs. This'll hold until then.”
“What do I owe you? For the labor, the equipment?”
