“I should get back,” she said.
“Kate, wait.” He pulled something from his pocket. A small, wrapped package. “I found this at an estate sale. Thought of you.”
Inside was an antique compass, brass and glass, beautifully preserved.
“It's from a ship that used to dock here in the 1890s,” Ben said.
Kate stared at it, this perfect, thoughtful gift that had nothing to do with the inn's repairs or Pop's care or any crisis at all.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because you need something that's just yours. Something beautiful that serves no practical purpose except to be beautiful.”
Kate smiled. “Like the lipstick?”
“Like the lipstick.”
The front door burst open and James appeared, phone in hand. “Katie, we have a problem.”
“Of course we do. What now?”
“That journalist who approached you at the pond? She published an article. About the family, the inn, Lillian.”
Kate's stomach dropped. She grabbed James's phone, read the headline: “Whitfield Fortune Rescues Failing Inn: A Story of Pride, Dementia, and Delayed Reconciliation.”
The article was worse than the headline. Personal details about Pop's condition, speculation about the family dynamics, quotes from “sources close to the family” about Kate's struggles.
“How did she know all this?”
“Small town,” Tom said from the doorway. “Everyone talks. She must have interviewed half the people in Kennebunkport.”
Kate read more, her anger building. There were details only someone close to them would know. Comments about Kate being overwhelmed, about the siblings abandoning her, about Lillian trying to buy forgiveness.
“This is going to kill our bookings,” Dani said quietly.
“It's going to kill Lillian,” Tom added. “Her social circle reads this paper.”
Kate's phone rang. Lillian.
“Have you seen it?” Lillian's voice was controlled but Kate could hear the hurt underneath.
“Just now.”
“I need to see you. All of you. This afternoon.”
“Lillian... “
“Please. This changes things.”
After Lillian hung up, Kate stood in the middle of her family, Ben still on the porch, Amy hovering nearby. Everyone looking to her for answers she didn't have.
Her chest tightened again. The panic rising.
“I need a minute,” she managed, escaping to the garden.
But Ben followed. “Hey.”
“I can't breathe.”
