"Mama!" Charlotte's voice rang out again, a mix of excitement and demand.
With a smile tugging at her lips, Emily made her way to the office.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Patricia arrived just before lunch with a plate of black currant scones and a new haircut; her silver streaks now chopped into a blunt bob that made her look both more sophisticated and younger at once. She wore a lavender scarf and an oversized floral cardigan that Emily immediately clocked as her own, long-ago left in a box that Emily had stored, still unpacked, from her move from New York. And now, evidently, adopted. Her mother breezed through the foyer, stopping at the new flower arrangement.
“You’ve always had a hand for that, Em,” she complimented. Then, she came over and gave Emily and Charlotte, who was in her playpen delightedly playing with several stuffies, big hugs.
Then, plopping down behind the reception desk next to Emily, Patricia asked, “How’s Roy today?” Her voice was casual, eyes scanning the desk and not meeting Emily’s.
“Resting,” Emily replied. “That dizzy spell wiped him out. But nothing new has happened. Nothing worsening.”
Patricia nodded, then set her hands flat on the desk. For a second, the lines in her face relaxed, and the woman underneath—the one who Emily remembered from her childhood, who once sang along to Fleetwood Mac with a dish towel slung over her shoulder while she baked, or did dishes—peeked through.
“I brought his favorite jam,” she said, pulling a small, blue-labeled jar from her purse. “If he doesn’t eat in the mornings, will you toast him a piece of bread and see if he’ll try?”
Emily smiled. “You know I will.”
Patricia tapped the desk twice as if to mark a beat and let herself exhale. “Good. How’s your morning been?”
“Good. Quiet. I talked to Amy. She’ll be home tomorrow, probably. Roman stopped by.”
“Hmmm,” Patricia said, seemingly studying her. “Want one of these?” She pointed to the scones.
“Yes. Let’s go,” Emily said, grateful for the break. There were no arrivals planned until the evening, so she scooped up Charlotte, who scrambled to grab stuffies as she was lifted from the playpen, and came away with one in each little hand. Patricia grabbed the plate of treats.
They passed through the inn’s main kitchen; dinner prep was underway. Emily admired how the staff moved as an efficient team, and the sounds of pots, pans, steam and chopping was like music. Harry was at a prep table going over a clipboard list with Parker, one of the assistant chefs. Both men looked up as they passed, and Parker’s eyes lit up at the sight of the plate in Patricia’s hand.
“Scones?”
Patricia flipped up the tin-foil covering. “You know it. Help yourself.”
Both Harry and Parker took one, and Patricia preened under their excited thanks.
“Ems,” Harry said before they went on, “Amy just texted. Her flight’s tonight, so she’ll be here tomorrow.”
Emily nodded and deftly caught a stuffie that Charlotte sent flying, grabbing it from midair before it could land anywhere on a kitchen surface. “Great news! And her meeting?”
“Nailed it,” he said. “Distribution starts next month.”
“I knew it!” Patricia crowed. “Those candles are too divine not to go nationwide.”
Emily made a mental note to text Amy her congratulations, and she and Patricia went out the back door, to the back porch, and down the steps to the lawn.
“So,” Patricia said, settling into a lawn chair as Emily gently set Charlotte down in the grass with her stuffies, “do we talk about it, or do we pretend it’s just another day?”
Emily tried for a neutral laugh. “Which ‘it’ are we talking about?”
Patricia arched an eyebrow, then took a scone and offered Emily the plate. “The lighthouse. Or Roy.”
Emily found herself afraid to ask what Patricia might know about Roy and his health. She took a scone and set the plate on the side table between them. “I dreamed about the lighthouse last night. Isn’t that silly?”
Her mother shook her head. “It’s not silly.”
Emily watched Charlotte mush her stuffies together, hard. “I think about it every day. I keep trying to find reasons not to go for it, and Daniel has a few, but—”
“But?” Patricia’s voice was gentle, prodding.
