“I’m still trying to read your thoughts on selling. One minute you seem happy to let the house go, and the next you’re sad about it. Which is it, or is it a little bit of both?”
Maggie shrugged. “You know me too well. Of course there are so many memories that were made in that house, but when I left Massachusetts, I thought I was closing one door and opening another. I didn’t think I’d ever have to go back and tidy up the first one.”
“You raised five children there,” he said. “It won’t be tidy. But it doesn’t have to be painful.”
She thought of the boxes in the attic, the clothes hanging in closets that no one had opened in years, the faint echoes of arguments and laughter and slammed doors. Pain might not be the right word. It felt more like standing in the middle of a room and realizing every memory had its hand on her sleeve.
“I keep telling myself it’s just a building,” she said quietly. “Four walls, a roof, some drafty windows. But when I think about it, I don’t see the building. I see Beth going off to kindergarten with her backpack dragging on the ground. I see Lauren slamming her bedroom door because Daniel told her she couldn’t wear lipstick. I see Chris sitting at the kitchen table pretending he wasn’t nervous about Iraq, and Sarah carrying her art supplies up the stairs like they were made of glass. I even see my mother sitting in the living room pointing out how I was overcooking the turkey at Thanksgiving.”
Paolo laughed. “Well, you can still have that memory down here. Your mother hasn’t stopped giving you advice since she moved to Fort Myers.”
Maggie smiled but didn’t say anything more. Paolo rested his hand on her shoulder.
“It’s not just a building,” he said. “But the good news is, you’re not losing the memories. Even after you sign the papers, all of that is still yours.”
She drew in a breath. “I know that here,” she said, tapping her forehead. “I’m working on knowing it here.” She touched her chest.
He smiled. “That takes longer.”
A bell rang faintly from the front desk. Maggie glanced at the clock.
“I told our guests they’d have fresh coffee cake at four,” she said. “If I don’t deliver, a revolt will follow the herb uprising.”
“I can cut,” Paolo offered. “You pour.”
“Deal,” she said.
They moved together through the familiar motions. Coffee cake sliced, plates set on a tray, fresh coffee poured. Every action felt like a reminder of the life she’d chosen after everything fell apart. The inn had become her steady place, the way station where children and grandchildren and friends passed through.
Yet, in the back of her mind, the house in Andover waited. Silent. Unresolved.
She filled a tray, then lifted her phone. “I’m going to call Beth,” she told Paolo. “I need to hear her voice before I go out there.”
He gave her a supportive smile as she slipped into the small office and closed the door halfway behind her. Beth answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Mom.”
“You sound tired,” Maggie said gently.
“I am tired,” Beth said. “That’s the whole update.”
Maggie laughed. “How are my tenants?”
“Still occupying all available space,” Beth replied. “Still kicking. The doctor says everything looks good. She thinks we’ll make it to late March.”
“Good,” Maggie said, relief loosening something inside her. “That gives us a little breathing room.”
“We?” Beth asked.
“You didn’t think I was going to miss the birth of my twin grandchildren, did you?” Maggie said. “Paolo and I will be on a plane as soon as your doctor gives us a firm date. Chelsea wants to fly up with us. She says she’s coming as my emotional support friend.”
Beth’s smile came through in her voice. “That sounds like Chelsea.”
“She claims her job is to keep me from overworking while I’m there,” Maggie said. “I told her good luck with that.”
“You could try to let her,” Beth said. “Just for fun.”
Maggie made a quiet sound that might have been agreement. “How’s Gabriel?”
