Mr. Willie’s job must be easier without her around.
“Are you back for good, then?” he asked, barely above a murmur. “It’s been…different without you.”
A sudden flash of sentimentality at his soft delivery took her by surprise. “Did I really leave?” Her voice wavered. From suspecting Mr. Willie of wanting her gone to almost asking if he wanted her here, her emotions swung too widely. She clasped her hands behind her back and strode forward, making a show of studying the graves, even as she gazed unseeing.
“Things changed while you were gone.”
Like my husband.She wouldn’t lead with that. She wasn’t here because of Christopher. She’d come to pay her belated respects to her dad. The ending would be her lasting regret. Xavier had done the impossible, making her question herself. She should have been around for a proper goodbye. Not that anyone could have known. He went to bed and never woke up. His passing was peaceful and almost enviable, according to the lawyer, if someone could feel jealousy at the inevitable.
She smoothed her clammy palms on her pants. “Are you laying a headstone?” She stopped next to the grave of the mother she’d never met. The carved stone was weathered and beaten by time. But she knew it by heart, able to pull up the image whenever she needed comfort or to feel grounded.
In her opinion and imagination, the cemetery held no ghosts. She was hounded by her past and regrets far more in familiar places than the graveyard on the hill.
“No. Your father didn’t want the ceremony or stress of a carved rock. He didn’t want anything,” Mr. Willie said gruffly.
She nodded. Xavier hated the idea of being buried. She agreed with him on that one point. Why waste the earth with her rotting remains? “Seems a shame not to have a place to go to think about him.”
“Mr. Lewis was thinking of adding a bench.”
She lifted her chin. “Really? Where?”
Mr. Willie pointed to a tree outside the confines of the cemetery.
She left the hallowed grounds and strode toward the spot. A few yards away from the gloom of the tombstones and iron fence, it was a nice location. The picturesque location made her mind whirr with potential posts.Miss me, girlies? I’ve been offline. Can you blame me? Check out this gorgeous view.If she wanted Dad to haunt her, she couldn’t do more to disturb his restful slumber than overshare. She swallowed the dry laugh bubbling inside.
The longer she stayed off her social media accounts, the less she considered her faceless followers. She didn’t crave their attention and validation. She was almost free from the need to please other people. Once she claimed her hotel, she’d chart her future to please herself first and foremost.
The breeze rushed through the Aspens, shaking each leaf. She turned toward the lake and the Inn below. From her vantage point, she could survey all that her family held so dear.A good place to say goodbye.She swiped at her misty eyes.
Out of the way of most hotel guests, the location wouldn’t become a social media outpost as long as she didn’t share the latitude and longitude with her followers. She’d transition her social media into a public relations vehicle to drive business. She turned back, retracing her steps to the enclosure.
On his knees, Mr. Willie tugged at weeds poking up around the granite markers of her ancestors.
“I don’t suppose you could take me to the cottage?”
He leaned back, wiping a hand over his brow. “I can’t.”
Her heart dropped. She wanted to peek in on her old home.
He slipped a hand into his pocket and retrieved a keychain. He examined the tag and tossed the keys to her.
With a start, she reached forward and caught the keys.
“It’s vacant today. Housekeeping might be cleaning before the next crowd. Lock up when you leave.”
“Thank you.” She pressed the keys between her palms. Turning, she strode down the hill and continued toward the cottage.
The former stables had been abandoned her entire life and her father’s before her. She’d spent years daydreaming about it, utilizing it as a clubhouse and stage in childhood before the idea of moving out of the Inn and into the ramshackle stone walls. At first, she had set up an air mattress inside a tent in the open room with the sloped, brick floor. After a battle of wills, her father had given in and set her up with a budget and help.
She approached the building and slowed her steps, taking in every change. Calling it the cottage was a misnomer to make it seem quaint. The building was large enough to house carriages and horses. At nearly nine thousand square feet, she hadn’t had plans of taking over the entire space. She’d happily claimed one-third of the building.
The stables had been further divided, an idea Xavier had shot down when she’d broached it. Christopher must have taken the lead. Her father would not have pushed ahead with more renovation. Christopher would have championed the expansion after the success of the cottage.
Her idea had sparked change. She would use every ounce of her creativity in running the Inn.
Outside the painted green door of her former home, she slipped the key into the deadbolt. The lock twisted open. And she stopped.
Her heart leaped into her throat. A dull ache settled in her cold, heavy limbs. From the outside, Loon Lake hadn’t experienced any significant transformations. The little adaptations she learned about, from how the business had expanded to her father’s final resting place, added up to one irrefutable fact.
