Emily ran a thumb along the arm of her chair. “But I want it. Even if it’s a mess. Even if it’s completely impractical.”
“When I met your father, he was standing in that lighthouse. I thought he was an idiot, up on the scaffolding in the wind with a sketchbook and that rickety railing—yes, it was rickety, even back then.” Patricia smiled, and in that smile was something Emily hadn’t seen in quite some time: pride, unguarded and unhidden. “I asked him once why he kept coming back,” Patricia continued. “He said the light changed every minute, and he wanted to see every possible version. It was the most romantic thing.”
Emily grinned, imagining the scene. “He must have had some good lines to get you.”
“He did,” Patricia agreed, eyes misting. “I loved him so much. I still do, even after all these years, and all we’ve been through.”
The confession itself wasn’t shocking—Emily knew that her mother and father, long-since separated, had spent more and more time together since she’d bought the inn, since his diagnosis. But it was a surprise to hear her mother say it out loud.
“I want you to buy it,” Patricia said suddenly, quiet but clear. “The lighthouse. I don’t care if it’s a disaster. Some things are worth the mess.”
Emily swallowed. “It’s a good price, but still money we don’t need to spend. And Daniel—he’s right, we have so much already.”
Patricia waved her off. “Let me help. I’m not flush, but I have enough. It’ll be a family project once it’s bought, anyway.”
Emily stared, stunned. Her mother, for most of her adult life, had hoarded every spare penny as if the world might end tomorrow—a legacy of her own spare childhood, a habit never broken. To hear her offer support, financial support, left Emily blinking.
“You’d do that?” she asked.
“Of course. You think I want it spent on cruises and cashmere sweaters? I want it spent on something that matters. Being here at the inn with you all, and your father being sick, that’s taught me what’s important.”
Emily exhaled “I don’t know what to say.”
Patricia shrugged, but her lips pressed together in a line that said she’d been waiting for this moment. “Say yes. Or say you’ll think about it. I’m not going anywhere. But I want you to have it—the lighthouse.” She reached across the table and placed her hand on Emily’s, the touch surprisingly soft.
Emily let herself feel the full, awkward weight of being on the receiving end of generosity, the kind that she knew came with no strings attached but still tangled her up in ways she couldn’t describe. Her throat stung, and there was a pressure at the bridge of her nose. She pinched it, hard, and found her vision blurring anyway.
What was it, really, that made her want to cry? The offer itself—the surprise of being believed in, trusted by her mother? Or the sense that the world was moving too quickly, that the time leftwith her father, with her mother, with everything she had built here, was being measured in fewer and fewer seasons?
“I always knew you’d leave, you know,” Patricia said. “Go to New York or L.A.., run the world. I didn’t think you’d choose to come back here. Or stay. Not because you wanted to. But I was wrong. You chose this. You’re making it work. For all of us. And that’s more than I ever could.”
Emily’s throat closed, the words tangled and knotted. “You did fine, Mom.”
Patricia smiled, small and self-effacing. “I did okay. But you—you’re the real thing. I don’t say that enough. I’m sorry.”
Patricia squeezed Emily’s hand, once, then again. “So., we have a plan, then?”
Emily nodded. “I mean, I have to talk to Daniel.” She was saying that a lot today—about Chantelle, about the lighthouse. She realized that she ached to talk with her husband, settle their friction.
“I’m scared,” she admitted to her mom, much the same as Daniel had said to her just the day before. “But it’s not just risking the money. It’s Dad. I keep thinking, if we get the lighthouse, and he doesn’t make it through the summer—what then? What if he never gets to see it restored? What if—” She trailed off, the panic hot and bright in her chest.And what if he never meets his new grandchild?she thought.
Patricia shook her head, her own eye glossy. “Then you do it for him anyway.”
Emily shook her head too, a tear rolling down her cheek before she could catch it. “I don’t want to do it without him. And the lighthouse isn’t all. Mom, I’m—” her voice broke.
Patricia’s face crumpled, just for a second. “Hey, we’re not going anywhere, Em. Even if Dad were to—well, he’d still be here with you.”
As Patricia spoke, Emily felt a surge of overwhelming emotion welling up inside her. The unexpected offer, the tender moments being shared between them, and the looming uncertainty about Roy's health all collided in Emily’s heart. Unable to contain the flood of emotions any longer, she blurted out, "I'm pregnant!"
Patricia's eyes widened in joy and surprise, a smile breaking across her face. She launched from her chair and enveloped Emily in a warm, tight embrace, the scones momentarily forgotten on the side table.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Emily felt a rush of relief and love. Patricia held her close, whispering, “Oh, honey! That’s wonderful!”
After a moment, Patricia pulled away. She pushed Emily’s damp hair back from her forehead. "This doesn’t change anything. You have a chance to chase a dream with this lighthouse, to create something meaningful. And your father would want that for you."
Emily nodded and mumbled a snotty “thank you,” smiling through her tears. Then, something sparked in Emily’s mind at her mother’s words. Roman’s visit—Chantelle’s invite to the Conservatory—Roy’s health and wanting to seize every moment with him.What if the lighthouse solves everything?
Her brain wouldn’t yet land on how that could work, but the ghost of a plan was forming.
