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"Off so soon?" Charlotte's voice held a note of concern, but she was careful to temper it with respect for her daughter's growing independence. Amelia had been out and about a lot over the past few days—and Charlotte’s curiosity was piqued.
"Yep, online study group to prep for fall classes. Going to use the Chesham library," Amelia responded, already backing toward the exit. "Don't wait up!"
"Take a jacket, it'll be cold later," Charlotte called after her retreating figure, knowing full well the advice would go unheeded. A thought nagged at her—with the time difference, would there be a study group meeting now? Charlotte shook off the thought.
She turned back to Isla, finding the other woman's piercing gaze had softened somewhat. "She's finding her way," Charlotte added, more to herself than to Isla. It was a mantra she repeated often these days, a reassurance against the fluttering anxiety that came with letting go.
"Children do have a knack for that," Isla said, a hint of something unreadable in her tone. "I’m sure you've done well by her."
"Thank you," Charlotte replied, her heart giving an unexpected lurch of gratitude for the acknowledgment. She glanced around at the near-empty plates and contented murmurs of the other guests, allowing the rhythm of the inn to soothe her frayed nerves.
"Running this place—it's my anchor," she confessed, watching Isla absorb her words with an enigmatic smile.
"An anchor can be a lifeline... or it can hold you back," Isla mused cryptically, standing to leave. Charlotte thought about Simon’s near-identical words at the pier, and something twisted in her stomach. Had Isla been listening in on them somehow, there?
"Perhaps," Charlotte acknowledged. "But for now, it's exactly where I need to be."
As Isla exited with a curt nod but no reply, the click of the kitchen door latch echoed in the stillness, leaving Charlotte with a sense of disquiet. The other guests filtered out, and as Charlotte busied herself with clearing the tables, her thoughts lingered on the fine line between anchoring oneself and being dragged down.
What was Charlotte setting herself up for?
CHAPTER NINE
That afternoon, Charlotte stood on a rickety wooden ladder in the ballroom of The Crown Inn, squinting up at the elaborate crystal chandelier that hung from the high ceiling. She had noticed one of the lightbulbs was out and had eagerly grabbed the ladder, thinking it would be a quick and easy fix. But as soon as she unscrewed the burnt-out bulb, the fixture let out an ominous creak and shifted slightly.
"Oh no, no, no," Charlotte muttered, grimacing as she tried to steady the giant light. It wobbled precariously, the crystals jangling against each other in a cacophony of clinks and clanks. She stretched her arm upward, fingers straining, but only succeeded in bumping the chandelier again, sending it swaying wildly.
Charlotte clung to the ladder, eyes widening in panic. "Stop! Stop moving!" she yelled at the light fixture, as if it could obey her command. The chandelier continued its erratic dance, crystals tinkling in protest. Charlotte lunged upward one last time, finally grasping the metal frame.
"Gotcha!" She declared in triumph. But her victory was short-lived. With a piercing crack, the ancient ceiling hook holding the chandelier gave way. Charlotte barely had time to gasp and let go before the giant light came crashing down. She cringed, waiting for the sound of shattering crystal.
Instead, the chandelier landed with a heavy thud in the center of a large Persian rug that spanned the lobby floor. Charlotte slowly opened one eye. The rug had cushioned the fall, leaving the chandelier intact. Letting out a sigh of relief, Charlotte scrambled down the ladder.
"Well, that could have been a disaster," she said with a nervous laugh, standing over the heap of crystal and brass. She placed her hands on her hips, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes as she surveyed the mess she had made.
So much for a quick fix.
Charlotte surveyed the tangle of chandelier and rug, hands on her hips and a defeated sigh escaping her lips. She had been so sure she could handle this minor repair on her own, eager to surprise Amelia with the completed project when she arrived home later that day.
Amelia. Charlotte glanced at her watch, realizing her daughter should be pulling up any minute now. They had planned today to tackle the first round of small house fixes together, excited by the prospect of revitalizing the old inn as a mother-daughter endeavor. Surely, he study group wouldn’t take very long. It had been hours already.
Charlotte pictured the eager smile that would light up Amelia's face when she saw the improvements underway, the joy of rolling up their sleeves together to restore the charm and beauty of this place. She could already envision Amelia's clever suggestions, her artistic eye for detail. They worked so well as a team.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel snapped Charlotte from her reverie. She hurried to the front window just in time to see her daughter's taxi pull into the driveway.
"Mom, I'm here!" Amelia's voice rang out as the front door swung open. "Ready to get started on Operation Crown Inn!"
When Amelia burst into the ballroom, Charlotte turned a strained smile on her face. "Amelia! Hi, sweetie..."
Charlotte's voice trailed off as Amelia stepped inside and surveyed the scene before her. The young woman's eyebrows shot up as she took in the debris, tools strewn about, and half-painted walls.
"Whoa, looks like you really went for it, Mom," Amelia said with an amused grin.
Charlotte gave a weak chuckle, pushing a strand of hair off her sweaty, dusty forehead. "I, uh, got a little carried away trying to get things started before you arrived."
"A little carried away?" Amelia teased. "It looks like a tornado hit this place!"
Charlotte sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I know, I'm sorry. I wanted to make some progress as a surprise, but I just made a huge mess instead."
