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Judging by his family’s reaction, Rory concluded that I was teasing him. “You got me,” he admitted, but sounded oh so relieved.
“It would probably be good for you if this place didn’t have the internet,” Patrick grumbled.
It was odd to see Patrick as a parent, especially of teenagers. Were we that old? From the paperwork he filled out with Charlotte, I gathered Bridgette was sixteen and Rory fourteen. Both in high school, according to the small talk he’d made with my sister while managing to ignore me.
“Sorry to disappoint you, old man.” Rory patted his father on the back.
I was happy to see Patrick smile at his son. Perhaps Patrick wasn’t the grump he was coming off as. Maybe he was just in mourning. Or, you know, hated me.
“Who are these people?” Bridgette pointed at a photo on the wall. Her voice was as soft as a butterfly’s wings.
I stepped toward her even though that put me in closer proximity to Patrick. For a moment our eyes locked. Among the aqua sea swirled confusion. I wished to clear up the questions that were silently screaming at me, but he turned from me, not allowing me the opportunity to. I did my best to hide my disappointment and focused on Bridgette, who was looking between her father and me curiously.
I pointed at a picture of George in his military uniform, a sassy Daisy in his arms. “George and Daisy owned the inn before my sister and I purchased it last year.”
“They look so happy and in love,” she sighed like only a teenage girl can.
“They were very much in love.” That was according to George, but I didn’t doubt it. The pictures of them said it all.
“They were a great couple,” Patrick mumbled.
That was right—he had met Daisy. I was jealous of that fact. I would have loved to have met the woman who seemed to live in the very walls of the inn.
Surprised that Patrick semi-spoke to me, I dared a glance at him. “George mentioned you used to vacation here with your family.”
“Yes,” was all he offered me.
I got the hint. He wanted nothing to do with me. I would grant his wish. “I’m sure you all want to get settled.” I marched down the hall, past the spiral staircase adorned with pine boughs, white lights, and gold ribbon woven throughout. I didn’t take the time to admire my handiwork. I was on a mission to ditch the doctor. The doctor, who I could hear muttering something about all the Christmas decorations. I couldn’t make out exactly what, but he sounded displeased. So maybe he had grown into a grump. What had happened to him?
The entrance to the family suite was located not too far beyond the staircase. I almost just handed Patrick the keys and said, “Good luck.” But for his children’s sake I couldn’t bring myself to be unprofessional.
I approached the solid wood door with a brass doorknob. I was pleased with how well the refinished doors had turned out, though I was sure I never wanted to sand and stain another piece of wood in my lifetime. The inn was a labor of love, emphasis on labor.
“This is the family suite.” I put the old key in and twisted, unlocking the door. “There are two bedrooms, a living room with a hideaway bed and fireplace, full kitchen, children’s play area with a slide—which I’ve tested myself and give it two thumbs up.”
Bridgette at least found my comment amusing and snickered.
I opened the door and waved my hand, welcoming them in. I looked down at my shoes while they filed in, making sure I didn’t give Patrick the time of day.
Once they were all in, I entered, the smell of fresh paint still lingering. It was weird—I kind of missed the old, faded wallpaper. But I loved how bright and airy the space was now with clean lines and modern furniture. The sage sofa was my favorite.
Still refusing to look at Patrick, I said, “All guests are welcome to eat in the dining hall; please just let us know what meals we should expect you for. A weekly menu is posted outside the main office we just came from. Every night—”
“We will handle our own meals,” Patrick cut me off.
Okay.“Well ...” I pointed at the undecorated tree standing proudly near the fireplace. “I’m sorry we haven’t had time to decorate the tree yet. If you would like to do it yourselves, feel free—”
“You can take the tree away. We—”
“Would you prefer an artificial tree? I can arrange—” I started to say.
“We would prefer no tree at all.”
I blinked, not understanding his gruff attitude, especially given that they would be here most of December and he loved Christmas. Or at least he used to. I couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”
He met my gaze before closing his eyes and exhaling loudly. “We won’t be celebrating Christmas this year.”
I looked at Bridgette and Rory to see how they felt about this. They stood stiffly, looking as resolved as their dad about the decision, except I noticed Bridgette’s lower lip began to tremble and moisture coated Rory’s eyes. What happened to this family?
