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“We divvied it up into shifts. Deshon, the night shift guy, his wife is eight months pregnant and their two-year-old daughter’s been sick, so we told him to stay with his family. I took the midnight shift because those ladies don’t need to be here in the middle of the night, and I don’t sleep much anyway…” She shook her head as if trying to stop rambling. “It’s been slow. Peaceful. There’s only a handful of guests at the moment, so it was no work at all.”
“But I bet you’re exhausted.” I knew I sure was.
“Grief does that to a girl, doesn’t it?” She looked self-conscious, and I wondered what her story was. She had a sort of flawless beauty about her, even with fatigue lining her eyes, her skin milky and perfect, her wavy hair enviable, particularly to someone with thin, board-straight, plain brown hair like me.
“Grief sucks,” I said half to myself, and I fought down another surge as I walked behind the counter and spotted the ancient padded stool Aunt Phyl had used in more recent years.
Magnolia followed me behind the counter and picked up her bag. “There’s a guy coming to look at the air conditioner for the west wing sometime this afternoon. We have all the guests on the east side. I guess it’s a good thing there are only six parties at the moment, two of which already went out for the day. Oh, and Olivia is bringing donuts from Sugar for breakfast all week so we don’t need to bake.”
“That’s so nice of her.” Sugar was the bakery on Main and had never disappointed, but I didn’t know who Olivia was. I needed to start a list of people to thank.
“Also, just so you know, the left-side door to the deck is sticking. I locked it and put a sign on it to use the other one, like Halstead said to, and he’s going to check on it this morning.” She flashed a nervous smile. “Sorry. It’s a lot to walk into on top of…everything else.”
“Halstead’s the best. I know he’ll take care of it.”
A checklist was starting in my mind, and that was fine. That was good. Checklists were actionable. I’d get this place all fixed up and beautiful so I could find an on-site manager to run it for me. Someone who would appreciate it and love it and care for it as much as my aunt had. I could never sell it—I was well aware of the numerous offers Phyl had received over the years. She’d never once given any consideration to them, staunchly believing a chain would ruin the small-town lakeside inn she’d poured the last third of her life into. Selling this place would be dishonoring Phyllis Sharp, and I wouldn’t do it. However, there was no way I could move to Dragonfly Lake and run it.
There was a pang in my chest that I couldn’t be that person, but I reminded myself Aunt Phyl would understand. She knew I wasthis closeto realizing a lifelong dream.
“I need to get to the Lily Pad to cover for Dotty’s weekly hair appointment,” Magnolia said, “but let me know if there’s anything else I can do. I know Loretta will be checking in soon. She’s kind of the group leader, bless her.”
“Thanks, Magnolia. I know Aunt Phyl will”—I closed my eyes briefly—“would’ve appreciated your help.”
With a tired wave, Magnolia was out the door with a black umbrella that had a big hot-pink flower on the underside, and I could hear the rain coming down hard again, which seemed perfectly appropriate for this day. Not giving myself time to sit and acclimate, I smiled sadly when I found the “master file box” on the counter.
“Dear Auntie,” I said quietly.
There was a hitch in my breath as I remembered our discussion the last time I’d visited. I’d tried for the hundredth time to convince her that some inn management software would be worth the expense and would make her life easier. She’d assured me something like that would derail her and ruin her whole system. Investing in software would be a priority going forward.
I picked up that old “system” now—the long, skinny file box—and opened it. It was so old that the clasp no longer functioned. Inside were dividers for every guest room. In each section were color-coded index cards, a different color for each month. I located the six with paper clips, which marked current checked-in parties, marveling yet again that this was how the woman had functioned since buying the inn for her and my mom to run together twenty-five years ago.
Noting which rooms were occupied, I grabbed the keys to a couple that weren’t—yes, honest-to-god old-fashioned metal keys—and set off to look into them to see if there was anything else to add to my checklist.
I came out from behind the counter and took a longer look around now that I was alone. When guests came in the main door, the ornately carved staircase on the right was the first thing they usually noticed. To the left was a cozy area with a couple of chairs, a sofa, and a luggage cart at the ready. The carpet in this area was tired and would need to be replaced, maybe with some homey wood planking.
To the left of the check-in counter was the arched doorway to the common area, which opened up into a high-ceilinged room lined by windows on the lake side and a giant stone fireplace backing up to the front desk. I walked through to the gathering room, as Aunt Phyl had called it, my eyes drawn to the windows even though it was anything but a lovely day.
The rain poured into the lake in sheets, the wind whipping the tree branches around dramatically. By most vacationers’ account, not a pretty day, but I’d always loved the rainy days, from the drama of a storm to the peace of a quiet rainfall, as much as the sunny ones.
One of the tables-for-two in the breakfast area caught my eye because there was a wadded-up napkin on it. I went over and threw it away, and my gaze veered back to the weather out the window.
I’d been twelve when my mom and I had moved from St. Louis to Dragonfly Lake, into the cottage with my aunt Phyl. As a teenager, I’d helped around the inn each day, then gradually spent more time caring for my mom over the years, but whenever it rained, if I could slip away for a few minutes, I would find an unrented room, let myself in, and sit out on the covered private balcony to watch the storm.
I knew there’d be no time for such a luxury today. I was beginning to wonder if I’d be able to arrange all the necessary improvements before I flew back to LA next week. I had a funeral to plan, and I needed to dive into the search for a full-time manager. The projects were adding up and needed to be taken care of before I hired someone, and I hadn’t even made it past the common areas yet.
To say I was conflicted was an understatement. I needed to do this place—my aunt’s pride and joy—justice by finding the perfect person to run it and care for it. My conscience and my heart wouldn’t allow anything else. But the timing couldn’t be worse.
Three days ago, I’d been on top of the world after my agent had pitched my TV series to an exec at Stream, a not-so-creatively-named up-and-coming streaming company. That meeting had gone well, so well that we had another one next week to discuss me being the head writer, and I’d been floating…until Loretta’s call about my aunt’s unexpected heart attack at the Country Market, of all places.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think too hard about what her final moments must have been like.
My poor aunt, though… She’d been such a good human, such a caring woman. She’d put everything she had into this inn, and it was up to me to make sure it wasn’t sold off and it didn’t go broke.
This was her legacy. That she’d left it—and everything she owned—to me wasn’t a surprise as I was her only family, but I’d never expected this to happennow. She’d only been sixty-six years old. I knew better than most not to count on anything, but I always thought that dear woman would live to be a hundred.
I could still hear her voice Friday night when I’d called her to tell her about my agent’s promising meeting.Oh, Ava, I’m so proud of you. It’s your time, hon. I can feel it. You’ve spent too many years putting your dreams on the back burner, first with your mama, then with that no-good ex-husband of yours.It’s time for Ava to Ava the heck out of the world.
I sniffled and choked out a laugh as I turned from the view of the lake and attempted to get back on task.
