In the back of my mind, I wanted to hit pause on my life. Go to the kitchen. Get a glass of water, and maybe some leftover pie. Lie on the sofa, watch a movie. Or stare at nothing and let the tsunami of recent life events settle in to the point I could properly digest them, figure out what was important and what wasn’t. And once I knew, I’d hit play on the cosmic remote to resume right here in this moment.

Grandma Jo made eye contact with Dad and looked toward Mom. “Do you two want to continue your conversation? In the privacy of your cottage?”

That last part was clearly a hint to my parents to take whatever it was they had been arguing about indoors, away from prying eyes and ears.

Dad shook his head. “I think these two could use some time together.” Mom nodded her agreement and added a smile of appreciation. He turned to Grandma Jo. “Do you want to come over?”

“Sure,” his mother said.

Dad leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Night, sport.”

“Night, Dad.”

The adults said their goodnights to each other in that polite way adults do when things are tense but there are children present, and as much as I was tempted to call them out on it, I was also relieved.

When it was just the two of us, Mom squeezed my shoulder. “Do you want to go back to the house?”

“All my stuff’s here at the inn.”

“We can get it, bring it with us.”

I considered the idea for a moment then shook my head. “I have the breakfast shift. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Can we go inside? It’s freezing.”

She smiled and stroked my hair. “You bet.”

The Yablonskis and the Meacos were bundled up and seated around the propane-fueled brick firepit in the courtyard, laughing and drinking as Mom and I passed. They smiled and waved. We did the same in return then entered the inn through the back door.

Right inside there was a standalone restroom and Mom stopped by it.

“Honey, I’m going to take a minute to freshen up,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the lobby lounge.”

She dipped into the restroom and I continued on down the back hallway that goes past the kitchen.

As I passed the open doorway, though, I caught a glimpse of Arthur inside. The overhead lights were off and the only illumination came from the under-cabinet LED lights, but I saw him and immediately made a detour.

He still wore his jacket as he poured hot water from the kettle into one of the Hoyden mugs, a tea-bag string visible over the side.

“Hey. I thought you were going upstairs,” I said, inhaling the aroma of cinnamon.