“This place has quite a history, doesn’t it, Sonny?” I run my hands over the glass that holds Sadie’s letter.

I humbly implore and petition you to care for this Cottage as if I still retired here every evening.

“I tried,” I say. “I’ve given it my all, Sadie.”

I read the end of the letter out loud, my voice echoing back to me. “‘Papa built this Cottage to be my Castle. It is now my Prison. Still, please, do not weep for me. That is not worth a button. Instead, I propose you paint your Cheeks with rouge, I Pray that you may seek your own Stars, and I endeavor that a Smile is forever upon your face.’”

As I turn, I see the Cottage Rules sign by the front door, my eyes locking on Rule #9: Be Grateful for Each Day!

“I think I finally am,” I say.

THIRTY-TWO

“Adie Lou!”

I rush down the stairs, a roll of paper towels in one arm and a bottle of Windex in the other, alarmed by the panic in Frank’s voice. Sonny follows on my heels. When I hit the landing, I can see Frank blocking the front door—arms outstretched, hammer drawn like a sword—as if he’s a warrior trying to fend off interlopers on Game of Thrones.

“What in the world?” I ask before I finally see: Iris and her minions are standing on the porch. I take a step forward, and my eyes widen. Behind Iris is a throng of townsfolk—Dale from the coffee shop, Teresa from the ice cream shop and various other business owners and innkeepers from Saugatuck. In the back stands Scooter, a tool belt around his waist, giving me a sheepish grin and wave. “What in the world?” I ask again.

“We’re here to help,” Iris says. She looks at Frank. “Excuse me.”

Frank doesn’t budge.

“It’s okay, Frank,” I say. He looks doubtful. “Really, it is.”

“I take it you haven’t told him about our burgeoning friendship,” Iris says, brushing by a stunned Frank.

“What are you doing? Why are you here?” I ask in a rush.

“Gladys was at the coffee shop earlier, and your handyman...”

“His name is Frank,” I say to Iris, “and he’s a contractor.”

“Frank,” she starts again, emphasizing his name, “was waiting for his coffee and telling Dale how much last-minute work needed to be done on your inn. Gladys told me, and I made some calls.”

I suddenly think of the game telephone I played as a girl.

“And voilà! Here we are! Word gets around fast in a small town,” Iris continues.

Teresa steps forward. “Remember what I told you about resort towns? The nice part about living in one is that when you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else does.”

I laugh.