She reached over and took my hand. “You’re going to think me an awful person, but I can’t remember your name, dear. I know you’ve taken on Glenda’s job, and I know we talked this morning, but . . .” She fiddled with the fringe of her blanket. “Oh, bother. It’s completely escaped me.”

“Don’t worry about it. My name is Lane. Lane Bishop.”

“Lane. That’s right. Thornton spoke so highly of you. He was excited to have you on board. Are you from around here?”

“My father is from Chapel Hill, so I’ve always had family to visit close by, but I lived in Asheville growing up.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely part of the state. Do you have family there too?”

“Just my parents. My mother is from Puerto Rico, and most of her family still lives there. It was my father’s work that took them to Asheville. He works for the university there.”

“Puerto Rico is a beautiful place. We took our boys once. A long time ago.”

“We used to visit every summer. But it’s been a few years. I need to go back.”

She nodded. “Especially if you still have family there.”

“I do. My grandmother. And several aunts and uncles. Lots of cousins.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze before finally letting go. “Then don’t put it off, dear. Go see your family every chance you get.”

I leaned over and picked up a photo from the side table. “This is your family, isn’t it? Where do your children live?”

“Oh, far away from here, that’s for sure.” She sighed, and for a moment, I wished I hadn’t brought them up. “Those are my two sons on either side. They’re both married. One in California, one in Colorado. They were here for the funeral, but they have busy lives and work and, well, I guess I couldn’t expect them to stay for long.”

“And grandkids?”

“Oh yes. Three. Right there in front. Those are Jared’s girls. His brother, Jacob, doesn’t have children.”

I put the picture back on the table. “You know, I used to hang out here, at the Inn, when I was a little girl.”

“Really?”

“My grandmother is Grace Ann Bishop. She lives on the other side of the hedge that lines the west garden. I stayed with her every summer and would sneak over here to play and climb the trees.”

Ida gave me a curious look. “I think I remember you. All arms and legs. And there was a boy too, wasn’t there?”

I nodded. “My older brother, John.”

“I know Grace Ann. Not well, but we used to go to church together. Does she still go to University Baptist?”

“Every Sunday.”

“I should go back. It’s just been so long . . .” She looked over my shoulder, her gaze distant, then snapped her attention back to me. “After all those years, here you are. Funny how life works, isn’t it?”

“I feel very lucky. I always felt like this place was special.”