“You can see some lifts from here.” MJ pointed out to the window.
“But you can’t get on one unless you fly,” Cindy replied. “And who is going to choose a weathered, dated lodge that requires a van shuttle to the ski resorts? A Grand Hyatt guest can literally grab a gondola to the summit easier than a taxi in the front lobby. And that’safteryou’ve had a massage at their new spa wing.”
“I’ll tell you who,” MJ said. “People who don’t want to pay twenty bucks for a cup of cocoa and don’t need a massage and don’t mind a nice little shuttle ride. People who like rustic and real, who come to Park City instead of Aspen. I know these people.” She gestured to a long open shelf near the mudroom lined with at least a dozen photo albums.
Inside those albums were hundreds of Polaroids of Snowberry’s guests, with notes about what they liked and memories of their stay.
“I remember every person who’s ever stayed here, and I know something about them, so when they come back, they’re family. Do they get that at the Hyatt?”
“They get other things,” Gracie said gently, stepping closer to her mother. “Aunt Cindy’s right, Mom. Every new customer I have at Sugarfall seems to be staying at the Grand Hyatt. Or one of the five zillion new townhouses or those high-end rentals that came on the market this year.”
“We’vealwayscompeted with the big hotels and new builds,” MJ insisted, her voice nearly cracking with frustration. “We just need something to bring people back again.”
“We need itnow,” Cindy added. “If we could book this place up from now to January and charge top dollar? I could pay the tax bill. But even then, we’ll just face the same thing next year.”
“Mommy!” Benny shot into the kitchen, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt. His sweet ten-year-old face was flushed from the sugary dessert, his glasses askew from the excitement of it all. “We’ve got the Monopoly board set up. Grandpa and I are going to be a team and win!”
“I’m sure you will,” Gracie said to her son, who was never far from his beloved great-grandfather. “Nicole and I will be there in one minute and we will not accept defeat!”
“Are you going to play, Grandma?” he asked MJ. “And Aunt Cindy? Then we’d have three teams.”
“After we clean up, honey,” MJ said. “You play our turns until we get there.”
When he left, Gracie leaned in and reached for MJ’s hands. “Mom, I promise we’ll all put our minds to trying to find a solution. I don’t know what I can do from the bakery, but I talk to a lot of people.”
“And I’ll come up with some way to get more customers in the ski shed and shop,” Nicole added. “I know it’s a separate business, but it helps Snowberry’s bottom line.”
“Honey, you’re going to be in Vermont,” Cindy reminded her.
“I’m not leaving until Saturday, and I won’t be gone long. And Aunt MJ mentioned the sleigh rides. If we can’t do them, why don’t I at least pull the sleigh out of the stables and drape it in lights tomorrow? That’ll definitely attract people from the street.”
“And freak out poor Copper,” Cindy said. “He’s never liked that sleigh.”
“Because he slid off the trail the very first time Dad and I hitched him to it,” Nicole said. “But without Jack Kessler, no one’s giving sleigh rides.”
At the second mention of her ex-husband and Nicole’s father, Cindy gave a sad smile. Certainly no one was giving rides the way he had—with style, grace, and a full Victorian Christmas caroler costume.
She covered the moment of sadness by waving Nicole and Gracie out of the kitchen. “Go play Monopoly, and don’t let those two win. And you’re right,” she said. “We’ll think of ideas and not give up yet.”
“Let us help you clean up,” Gracie said, but MJ nudged her away.
“Don’t mess with tradition,” she said. “Aunt Cindy and I have been the Thanksgiving clean-up crew for fifty years.” She added a playful look at Cindy. “And if I have my way, we’ll be the clean-up crew for…a few more. Not fifty, but a few.”
The girls smiled and blew kisses, heading to the main gathering room at the front of the lodge, where Cindy knew the fire was crackling and the snow could be seen out all the windows.
After a beat, Cindy went back to drying a pan and MJ reached for a crystal wine glass. As she rinsed the stemmed goblet, she exhaled.
“These were Grandma Irene’s,” she said, holding up the cut glass to the light. “They’ve been in the Starling family forever.”
Cindy didn’t respond because she knew it was MJ getting sentimental over the memories of family, Christmases, and guests that had filled this three-story inn for so many decades.
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” MJ finally asked.
“I’m scared to death about it, too,” Cindy said. “I know you think I’m just being my pragmatic self but?—”
Still holding the glass, MJ put an arm around her. “Little sister, didn’t I just remind you that I know what’s going on in that head of yours? I’ve known you since Mom brought you home and presented me, a three-year-old, with my own living, breathing baby doll.”
Cindy smiled, knowing the story well, but never tiring of it.
