Shelly stares at me. “They’ll be fine, Piper. You, I’m worried about. Why are you so hard on yourself? You know what to do. You were trained for this your entire life.”
“I’ve never been alone before,” I admit quietly. “I always had Gran.”
“You’re not alone,” Shelly tells me, her eyes uncharacteristically somber. “You have us. You have me.”
“Thanks, Shel.”
“I mean it,” she insists. “We’re a family too. Not by blood but by choice. Do you think I stay working here for my health or for the outstanding salary? No. I stay here for you. For your gran. For everyone here. We’re a family too. As you know, you’re the only family I have.”
“Gran always did have a soft spot for rescues.” I smile and nudge her shoulder.
“I love you, Piper,” Shelly says, still serious.
“You’re freaking me out now,” I tell her. “You never show your emotions.”
“Well, your needy self needs to hear this right now.” Shelly laughs. “We all respect you. We all love you. You are not alone, and you’re doing great.”
“I love you too,” I tell her, and a lump forms in my throat as I hug her tightly. She smells like Chanel.
“You smell.” She wrinkles her nose as we pull apart. “You really should shower.”
I roll my eyes, but I know she’s right, so I sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it before I eat.”
As if she’s afraid I’ll change my mind, Shelly pushes me lightly toward the stairs, and I climb them without looking back.
Floor-to-ceiling honeyed oak abounds here at the lodge.
Every room, every inch. Rough-hewn logs from this very property were used to build it, and while it appears rustic, the lodge has every modern convenience for travelers. They’re accustomed to luxury, so that’s what we give them.
En suite jetted tubs, granite double vanities, automatic faucets, TVs in the bathroom mirrors. We had to renovate a few years ago to keep up with their expectations. Wealthy travelers expect a certain level of amenities to be available, even when they want to pretend they’re “roughing it.”
“Listen,” Gran had said. “Our name is Great Expectations. They won’t come if we can’t offer them the best in everything. We’ve got the wildlife and the scenery in spades. But we need to invest in the lodge.”
She was right, of course, and we did. Even though we paid for it in ways far more expensive than money.
I glance at my parents’ photo hanging on the wall in the hallway.
They were so happy, their eyes so bright. They were living their dream. Right up until they weren’t.
I swallow and open my bedroom door. Gran is with them now.
As I cross the room to my bathroom, I eye my massive four-poster bed enviously. I could’ve slept in comfort last night, but no. I had to fall asleep in the least comfortable chair in the house. Gran insisted on keeping those ratty chairs. They should’ve been pitched during the renovation, but she had them refinished instead.
“There are some things you just can’t throw out,” she’d said. “My father sat in this chair, next to that fire, and in front of that grandfather clock. It’s all staying, Piper.”
So she’d had the chairs refinished, the clock refurbished, and the fireplace remained the same. If I change any of it, she literally might return to haunt me.
I change my clothes and head back down to the dining room, where Ellen saved me a plate. Perfectly cooked turkey sausage, broiled potato wedges drizzled with truffle oil and fresh rosemary, and a toasted croissant with garlic butter.
“It’s not like you to miss breakfast,” she says. “You okay?”
I nod. “I fell asleep in front of the fire last night. I didn’t have my alarm set.”
“Ohhhh. I’ve been there.” She nods. “Drink a lot of water. Take two aspirin. Eat that sausage.”
“I’m not hungover. I only had one glass,” I tell her, but she’s already handing me extra sausage.
“Eat all the grease,” she advises. “It helps.”
I don’t even bother trying to tell her again. I just accept the extra breakfast meat as the gift it is.
Ellen leaves me to continue her breakfast cleanup, and I carry my plate to the dining room.
I try to ignore the emptiness of the lodge with Gran gone, but it screams from everywhere. The old bells I’d forgotten to hang on the tree, the mistletoe she insisted on hanging every year but I’d forgotten to have gathered, the lack of gifts beneath the tree.
With Gran gone, the spirit of this place seems deflated, a balloon that has lost its air.
I carry my breakfast up to Gran’s study instead.
When I push the door open, the quiet of the room wraps around me. The wooden shelves filled with her favorite books and the mahogany desk all wait for my gran to return. She used to sit at that giant desk for hours doing the books, and she had looked so tiny in the big chair.
It had been her father’s desk and his father’s before him, like pretty much everything else in this lodge.
I sit in the chair now, pulling my knees to my chin.
This lodge is mine now, and suddenly, the weight of it, along with Gran’s absence, sinks in hard. Every responsibility, every chore, every bill, everything on the to-do list . . . is mine. I’m the only one left to shoulder it.
My throat feels tight and dry, and I swallow hard.
I open her center desk drawer and rummage for some gum. I know she keeps a pack here. In my mind’s eye, I can see her unwrapping a stick while she examines columns of numbers, rubbing her temple because she hates doing it.
As my fingers stumble over a marble, a pack of staples, and an old rubber band, they also brush an envelope.
I glance down to see my name scrawled on the front in Gran’s writing.
My fingers shake as I pull it out and open it.
My dearest Piper,
I know that these last couple of years have seemed hard. You battled with wanting to move away and become your own person, while wanting to stay and help me with the business.
I’ll forever be grateful that you stayed with me, but I never, ever, want to stand in your way of living life on your terms. My sweet girl, you’ve lost so many people close to you. Your parents, your granddad, and now me. I fear that you’ll withdraw into yourself and never want to get close to anyone again.
The truth is, life is a cycle of living and dying and loving and losing. You’ll love hard, and lose hard, and cry hard, and laugh hard. If you’re lucky! IF you’re willing to take the chance of living, of letting people know you . . . of making yourself vulnerable.
I can’t tell you what to do, but I will say that this lodge has been in the family for generations. It will be your home forever, no matter how far you go. I hope you will someday raise a family here, and feel the love that I’ve felt my entire life.
You’re not alone, baby girl. I know you might feel that way, but just look around. I’m here, your mom is here, your dad, your granddad. We’re all here in different ways. You’re never alone.
I’m giving you this compass. I’m sure you’ll remember it from all of the stories over the years. I want you to have it, so you’ll always know what direction home is.