“No, I’m not about to kick out a paying customer because the new owner finally decided to visit.”Especially,I think to myself,since it’s probably the last summer of Norland Park as we know it.“So she’ll be staying in the guest room.”
“At Bumble Cottage?” My sister’s alarmed face perfectly mirrors my own feelings.
“Yes. I mean, why not? It belongs to her.”
“I always forget that.”
If onlyIhad the luxury to forget that. My mom and sisterare blissfully unaware of money matters. I took over the family finances when I was nineteen and my mom was too emotionally devastated to manage. For the most part, I’ve been happy to do my part, but lately the burden has felt too big to carry alone.
“Do you think it will be up to snuff for her?” Annie asks.
“It will have to be,” I shrug. “Besides, Mom’s having so much fun prepping for a house guest.”
“That’swhy she was on a cleaning frenzy.” Annie sits down in one of the wooden chairs facing my desk.
“Yep, and I believe she’s making fried chicken.”
“Fried chicken?” Annie perks up. “Maybe this visit isn’t so bad after all.” She mindlessly twists one of her reddish curls around her finger. “It’s been ages since we’ve had a family dinner.”
“Hey, I make dinner every Sunday!”
“That’s not the same as a ‘mom dinner’ and you know it.” She’s right about that. My mom’s an exceptional cook. One of my best moves as Norland Park manager was convincing her to run the cafe. We serve breakfast and lunch every day but Monday. Since my mom took over, our Yelp reviews have gone up a full star. She also makes the best sandwiches, which are a huge hit with hikers. Even those from other resorts stop by our cafe to get one of my mom’s packed lunches, and her homemade cookies are legendary.
But after taking over the kitchen four years ago, she really hasn’t had it in her to cook after hours. During the off-season I make dinner, but in the middle of summer rush I don’t have the time or energy. Most nights we eat toast and eggs or cold cereal for dinner.
“I’d be willing to house a whole slew of snooty owners for Mom’s fried chicken.” Annie leans back, propping her sandaled feet on my desk. Her long-tiered skirt swoops gracefully down to the floor. “Is there a collective noun for billionaires?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe a cache of billionaires?” I answer off-handedly.
“Not bad, but you could do better.” Annie loves word games. Normally I’m happy to play along. But not today. I expect nothing but bad news. Still, I keep my fears to myself. My mother and Annie excel at making the most of everyday tragedies, but my job is to keep the family afloat and pretend that everything is fine while working my tail off to make that myth a reality.
“Why do you think she’s coming?” Annie asks, picking up a starfish paperweight from my desk
“To inspect her property,” I mutter, bookmarking a job at an inn in Carmel. I probably need to widen my search, but the thought of leaving the area... I’m not ready for that.
“I can’t remember the last time ol’ Reginald checked up on us,” says Annie.
“It’s been more than three years,” I answer, remembering the owner’s last visit when I gave him a tour of the park followed by dinner at Bumble Cottage, after which the old man trounced us all in a game of Scrabble. When I first started managing the park, Mr. Norland visited every few months—probably because I was barely nineteen when I took over the job full-time. Over the years, he must have decided that I knew what I was doing, because his visits became less frequent and then stopped altogether.
The pay is decent but not amazing. I probably could find a better-paying job. The real compensation is getting to stay rent-free in Bumble Cottage, which is an unbelievable perk. That’s why I took over for my dad when he got sick. We all lost so much with his death—we couldn’t lose our home too. I’ve done everything I can to ensure that my mom and sister stay their delightful free-spirited selves. Annie writes poetry. My mom paints. And I worry.
“What sort of music do you think she likes?” Annie asks.
“Who?” I answer, returning from my depressing ruminations.
“Barbara Norland.”
“It hardly matters,” I mutter to myself.
“What?”
“I mean,” I answer testily. “I don’t think any piano piece will change her mind.”
“Change her mind?” Annie looks up in alarm, almost dropping the paperweight.So much for keeping my concerns to myself. “What do you mean, ‘change her mind’?” Her big green eyes are full of fear. I don’t want to voice my worries out loud, but my silence is answer enough.
“Do you think she’ll kick us out?”
I nod. “Best case scenario, we’ll be asked to pay rent.”
