She walked her daughter over to the couch, and as soon as they sat down, Luke rested his head on Brystol’s leg. Bowie was right; she would need his dog and the comfort he provided to get somewhat through this.
“Nonnie’s dying, isn’t she?”
Brooklyn choked on a sob and covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry, baby girl.”
Her daughter’s eyes were downcast, and her fingers moved back and forth on Luke’s head. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s sick, Little B. It’s cancer.”
She looked up at her mom. “Will I get it?”
Brooklyn shook her head and pulled her child into her arms. She couldn’t find the words to tell her daughter no because she wasn’t sure what the science behind breast cancer was. She had heard stories of women in families from different generations having breast cancer, but she didn’t want to think about this happening to her daughter.
They sat together for a while until she told Brystol that she needed to do some stuff in Nonnie’s room. “Are you going to be okay for a bit?”
“I think so. I’m just sad.”
“I know, sweetie. We all are. If you’re feeling up to it, I’ll take you to the hospital later, but I want you to know that she’s hooked up to some machines and she’s not very talkative. They have her on a lot of medicine, so she’s not in pain.”
“Okay.”
They hugged, and Brooklyn kissed her daughter’s forehead before heading upstairs. She paused before stepping over the threshold, hesitant to enter the “Austin sanctuary.” She knew what it was like to surround herself with pictures of him, as she had been doing it from the day she met him. She could never get enough of him.
Absentmindedly, she rested her hand over her midsection, as if to keep the pain she felt after losing him tucked deep inside. Wherever she looked, Austin stared back at her, and so did Brystol, which made Carly’s statement even more confusing. Brooklyn stepped into the room and slowly made her way over to the desk. She pulled the chair out and sat down. The view from the window was of the bay below and a crystal-blue sky. The colorful sails from the sailboats made the ocean look like a rainbow. She realized that Carly had arranged every room in the house and inn to look out over the water. She had wanted everyone to see what she saw. Sitting there, Brooklyn wondered if Carly had been staring out the window the night Austin’s boat capsized. Had she even known her son had taken his trawler out in the storm? Brooklyn certainly hadn’t known, and she often wondered if she had, would she have done what she did? That question had plagued her since his death, and still to this day, she didn’t have an answer.
The white pedestal desk creaked when Brooklyn lifted the roll top. The smell of hardwood had long since dissipated. The stacked compartments and shelves were orderly and labeled, but nothing stood out as far as Carly’s will or anything about the inn. The detailed ledger had enough information that Brooklyn knew all the account numbers for the utilities, and Carly had gone as far as to list which vendors delivered what for the inn. That confused Brooklyn. If Carly knew she was dying, why go to the trouble of remodeling and reopening the inn? Had she not stopped to think that Brooklyn would want to put her career first and not push everything aside to run a hotel?
No, she had thought this through, Brooklyn realized. Carly wanted Brystol to have roots, to go to school and make friends, and this was her way of making sure her granddaughter had those things. Carly was never a fan of Brooklyn traveling all over the country, dragging Brystol with her, and it seemed that what Carly couldn’t do in life, she would do in death: keep Brooklyn here.
Brooklyn went right for the bottom drawer. She pulled it open to find a dozen file folders, each one meticulously marked. She reached for the one marked “Will” and set it onto the desk. The green file wasn’t particularly thick, but then again, Brooklyn’s will wasn’t either. If anything were to happen to her, her wishes were simple: Full custody of Brystol to her parents with ample visitation for Carly, and her parents were to dissolve her business. If Brystol was of age and something happened to Brooklyn, everything was for her to do with as she wished.
Inhaling deeply and closing her eyes, Brooklyn let a calm settle over her. Someday, she would have to do this for her parents, but she had never thought she would have to be the one to do it for Carly. She had honestly expected Simone to inherit everything. However, here she was, acting as executor. She opened her eyes and flipped the file over and started reading. Carly wasn’t lying: Brystol inherited everything . . . the inn, the bank accounts, Austin’s trust fund. The dollar figure made Brooklyn’s eyes bug out. She wouldn’t have to take out a loan for college or even save at this point. The only stipulation was for Simone. She was to get a lump sum payment and to be offered a job as the full-time caretaker of the inn.