Mindful of the fact that it was a new day and that her birth mother no doubt was waiting for her, she forced herself to smile and think about what she could do to help. Maybe Donna would feel up to visiting two or three of the artists Annie wanted to approach about showing their paintings on the walls at the Inn. Maybe Kevin was right to act as if it was still going to open. Crossing the lawn, Annie held on to her phone; she’d put it in silent mode, but had turned vibrate on. In her message to Larry she’d said she was doing research for a book and had a legal question. “I need clarification on a state law,” she’d added with a smile as if he could see her. Right after hanging up, she’d chastised herself for not having told him it was urgent.

As she neared the cottage, she glanced at the screen again: no activity. It was already after ten o’clock. If he bothered to call back, he might wait until his lunch break, or maybe once his workday was done, which would conflict with dinner plans that she hadn’t even yet thought about . . . Stop! she shouted silently. Stop fast-forwarding!

It felt silly to knock on her own front door, but Annie did.

Kevin greeted her. “Enter,” he said. And while he didn’t sound jovial, neither did he sound morose.

Stepping inside, she was treated to an aroma of sandalwood.

“Incense,” he said. “Mom’s in the bedroom meditating. She says it helps her gear up for the day.”

Annie felt the tug on her heart again. She needed to remember to show Donna the kind of empathy that Claire had shown her.

“Shall I make coffee?” she asked.

“Done. Feel free to pour yourself a snootful.”

As she moved toward the kitchen, she thought she felt a small vibration. Shifting her shoulder so Kevin couldn’t see what she was doing, she checked her phone: false alarm.

“I took a few more cinnamon rolls out of the freezer,” he said.

“Making coffee, serving brunch. Wow. You’re the best brother ever.”

“It’s not like I had anything else to do. I wasn’t about to meditate with Mom. If I sat cross-legged, I’d never get up again.”

She poured coffee, then went to the table, mug in one hand, phone in the other. “You’re too young for that.”

“Too many years of manual labor.”

“I thought that when you were in Boston you hired people to do the manual labor while you worked in the office.” She sat down and balanced the phone on her thigh.

“Yeah, but I get more pity if people think I did the heavy lifting.”

She gestured toward the plate of rolls. “Have one.”

He frowned. “I’ve already had three.”