Undone

  The Henry Brothers

  Amy Knupp

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Also by Amy Knupp

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Ava

  My eyes were gritty with fatigue and dread as I climbed out of the taxi in front of the Honeysuckle Inn.

  I’d dozed on the hour-plus drive from the Nashville airport, knowing I’d need every bit of strength to face this place and the memories steeped within it. My red-eye from the West Coast had landed at just the right time to be slowed by rush-hour traffic, and I had to admit I’d welcomed the delay.

  Time to face the music though.

  All I wanted was to get in, figure out exactly how I was going to handle the inn, and get out emotionally unscathed, but I suspected that was a long shot.

  As the driver retrieved my suitcase from the back, I stood on the damp pavement, the rain down to a barely noticeable sprinkle, and took in the century-old building, attempting to see it through objective eyes instead of as someone who’d once lived in the innkeeper’s cottage.

  The hand-carved welcome sign above the double wooden doors of the main building had its summer cloak of sunflowers and wildflowers draped over the top. The porch welcomed guests with rockers and Adirondack chairs, giving the place a quaint, homey feel. The landscaping in front of the porch, however, was barren in spots and in need of new plantings. As I walked closer, I noticed the exterior paint was past due for a refresh. Both issues would be easy enough to spruce up.

  For the nine-hundredth time since I’d received the call from Loretta Lawson telling me of my dear aunt Phyllis’s unexpected death, I shoved away the threatening steamroller of emotions and focused my brain on all the pressing practical matters.

  I pulled my determination around me like a protective cloak, went up the two steps to the porch, and pushed open the door of the inn.

  The first thing that hit me was the smell.

  Banana muffins and cinnamon, plus a hint of humid lake air.

  Oh, God.

  How was it that, out of all the things—thoughts, memories, sights—a smell could be what nearly leveled me?

  I held on to the door for an extra couple seconds and greedily sucked in a breath, loving and hating the aroma at once.

  “Good morning. You must be Ava.” It wasn’t the full, sixty-something voice I’d expected but a younger woman’s.

  I turned my attention to the familiar check-in counter straight ahead. A woman with long strawberry-blond hair had her gaze fixed on me and a questioning look on her pretty face. She looked to be close to my thirty-seven years old, maybe a little younger. Her expression was neither warm nor chilly, more guarded, and I realized I hadn’t replied.

  “Yes,” I said as I strode across the area toward the desk. “Ava Dean, Phyllis’s niece. I’m sorry, I expected Loretta or one of the other ladies in the Diamonds to be here. But thank you. Thanks for covering.” I glanced around the area, which was deserted at the moment.

  “I’m Magnolia James.”

  She came around the desk and extended her hand. I took it, racking my brain for why the name was familiar. She must be a townie. I’d known a lot of them at one time, but since moving away, I’d let as much of Dragonfly Lake go from my memory as possible—with the exception of Aunt Phyllis.

  “Are you an employee here?” I asked, knowing Aunt Phyllis didn’t have many. She’d always been one of those people who kept her costs down by doing as much as she could herself. It was only recently I’d convinced her to hire someone to man the front desk overnight, but I thought she’d hired a man for that position.

  Though this wasn’t a bed-and-breakfast but more of a boutique hotel—with a central common area and two wings of twelve rooms each that jutted out from either side, providing each room with a lake view—Aunt Phyl had worked the front desk, baked and served the breakfast goodies, ensured the guests had whatever they needed, and had been known to help with housekeeping even though she had Gretchen Morris as the head of Housekeeping and, last I knew, a handful of part-time cleaners. Her other longtime employee, Halstead, was the head of Maintenance. I’d known the man who was probably close to seventy now since I was a kid, but I still wasn’t sure whether that was his first or last name.

  “I’m a friend,” Magnolia said. “Just trying to help out.”

  I was trying to wrap my head around the friend bit. My aunt had a tight-knit group of the dearest ladies, the Dragonfly Diamonds, as they called themselves, a nod to their weekly poker nights. They were all in their sixties or thereabouts. Loretta Lawson, Dotty Jaworski, Kona Powers, Rosy McNamara, Darlene Lionetti, and Nancy Solon had been her tight friendship circle for years, since before I’d moved out, but as far as I knew, those ladies didn’t hang with the under-forty crowd.

  My confusion must’ve shown on my face, because Magnolia continued, “I’m sort of in the Diamonds. A recent addition. It’s a long story.” She flashed a smile that was full of nervousness. “I…don’t have a lot of friends. Not super-close ones, for, well, reasons. When I went through a rough patch a few months ago, Dotty gave me a job at the Lily Pad and leased me the apartment over the store. She was so sweet, knew I was mostly alone, so she invited me to poker night, and”—she laughed—“I had so much fun. They were all so kind to me and welcomed me in and, well, it stuck.” Sobering, she said, “Phyllis was such a sweetheart. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Magnolia’s eyes teared up instantly, telling me the loss was also hers.

  “She was,” I said. “A sweetheart.” Exactly the type who would welcome Magnolia into the group if she knew she was lonely or alone. I didn’t allow my mind to go too far down the road of how wonderful my aunt was, because I couldn’t afford to break down. “I’m sorry for your loss too. Everybody’s loss.”

  Magnolia let out a sob that took me aback for a second, and then I couldn’t help but hug her. She accepted it, wrapped her arms around me, and held on, her body heaving silently for a few seconds. I tried hard not to let it get to me, but my eyes filled with tears and my chest welled up with grief.

  After a few moments, Magnolia pulled away with an embarrassed half smile as she swiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s been a quiet night here and it’s just…sad, and I’ve tried to be strong, but then—”

  “No apologies,” I said. “Have you been here all night?”

  “We divvied it up into shifts. Deshon, the night shift guy, his wife is eight months pregnant and their two-year-old daughter’s been sick, so we told him to stay with his family. I took the midnight shift because those ladies don’t need to be here in the middle of the night, and I don’t sleep much anyway…” She shook her head as if trying to stop rambling. “It’s been slow. Peaceful. There’s only a handful of guests at the moment, so it was no work at all.”

  “But I bet you’re exhausted.” I knew I sure was.

  “Grief does that to a girl, doesn’t it?” She looked self-conscious, and I wondered what her story was. She had a sort of flawless beauty about her, even with fatigue lining her eyes, her skin milky and perfect, her wavy hair enviable, particularly to someone with thin, board-straight, plain brown hair like me.

  “Grief sucks,” I said half to myself, and I fought down another surge as I walked behind the counter and spotted the ancient padded stool Aunt Phyl had used in more recent years.

  Magnolia followed me behind the counter and picked up her bag. “There’s a guy coming to look at the air conditioner for the west wing sometime this afternoon. We have all the guests on the east side. I guess it’s a good thing there are only six parties at the moment, two of which already went out for the day. Oh, and Olivia is bringing donuts from Sugar for breakfast all week so we don’t need to bake.”

  “That’s so nice of her.” Sugar was the bakery on Main and had never disappointed, but I didn’t know who Olivia was. I needed to start a list of people to thank.

  “Also, just so you know, the left-side door to the deck is sticking. I locked it and put a sign on it to use the other one, like Halstead said to, and he’s going to check on it this morning.” She flashed a nervous smile. “Sorry. It’s a lot to walk into on top of…everything else.”

  “Halstead’s the best. I know he’ll take care of it.”

  A checklist was starting in my mind, and that was fine. That was good. Checklists were actionable. I’d get this place all fixed up and beautiful so I could find an on-site manager to run it for me. Someone who would appreciate it and love it and care for it as much as my aunt had. I could never sell it—I was well aware of the numerous offers Phyl had received over the years. She’d never once given any consideration to them, staunchly believing a chain would ruin the small-town lakeside inn she’d poured the last third of her life into. Selling this place would be dishonoring Phyllis Sharp, and I wouldn’t do it. However, there was no way I could move to Dragonfly
Lake and run it.

  There was a pang in my chest that I couldn’t be that person, but I reminded myself Aunt Phyl would understand. She knew I was this close to realizing a lifelong dream.

  “I need to get to the Lily Pad to cover for Dotty’s weekly hair appointment,” Magnolia said, “but let me know if there’s anything else I can do. I know Loretta will be checking in soon. She’s kind of the group leader, bless her.”

  “Thanks, Magnolia. I know Aunt Phyl will”—I closed my eyes briefly—“would’ve appreciated your help.”

  With a tired wave, Magnolia was out the door with a black umbrella that had a big hot-pink flower on the underside, and I could hear the rain coming down hard again, which seemed perfectly appropriate for this day. Not giving myself time to sit and acclimate, I smiled sadly when I found the “master file box” on the counter.

  “Dear Auntie,” I said quietly.

  There was a hitch in my breath as I remembered our discussion the last time I’d visited. I’d tried for the hundredth time to convince her that some inn management software would be worth the expense and would make her life easier. She’d assured me something like that would derail her and ruin her whole system. Investing in software would be a priority going forward.

  I picked up that old “system” now—the long, skinny file box—and opened it. It was so old that the clasp no longer functioned. Inside were dividers for every guest room. In each section were color-coded index cards, a different color for each month. I located the six with paper clips, which marked current checked-in parties, marveling yet again that this was how the woman had functioned since buying the inn for her and my mom to run together twenty-five years ago.

  Noting which rooms were occupied, I grabbed the keys to a couple that weren’t—yes, honest-to-god old-fashioned metal keys—and set off to look into them to see if there was anything else to add to my checklist.

  I came out from behind the counter and took a longer look around now that I was alone. When guests came in the main door, the ornately carved staircase on the right was the first thing they usually noticed. To the left was a cozy area with a couple of chairs, a sofa, and a luggage cart at the ready. The carpet in this area was tired and would need to be replaced, maybe with some homey wood planking.

  To the left of the check-in counter was the arched doorway to the common area, which opened up into a high-ceilinged room lined by windows on the lake side and a giant stone fireplace backing up to the front desk. I walked through to the gathering room, as Aunt Phyl had called it, my eyes drawn to the windows even though it was anything but a lovely day.

  The rain poured into the lake in sheets, the wind whipping the tree branches around dramatically. By most vacationers’ account, not a pretty day, but I’d always loved the rainy days, from the drama of a storm to the peace of a quiet rainfall, as much as the sunny ones.

  One of the tables-for-two in the breakfast area caught my eye because there was a wadded-up napkin on it. I went over and threw it away, and my gaze veered back to the weather out the window.

  I’d been twelve when my mom and I had moved from St. Louis to Dragonfly Lake, into the cottage with my aunt Phyl. As a teenager, I’d helped around the inn each day, then gradually spent more time caring for my mom over the years, but whenever it rained, if I could slip away for a few minutes, I would find an unrented room, let myself in, and sit out on the covered private balcony to watch the storm.

  I knew there’d be no time for such a luxury today. I was beginning to wonder if I’d be able to arrange all the necessary improvements before I flew back to LA next week. I had a funeral to plan, and I needed to dive into the search for a full-time manager. The projects were adding up and needed to be taken care of before I hired someone, and I hadn’t even made it past the common areas yet.

  To say I was conflicted was an understatement. I needed to do this place—my aunt’s pride and joy—justice by finding the perfect person to run it and care for it. My conscience and my heart wouldn’t allow anything else. But the timing couldn’t be worse.

  Three days ago, I’d been on top of the world after my agent had pitched my TV series to an exec at Stream, a not-so-creatively-named up-and-coming streaming company. That meeting had gone well, so well that we had another one next week to discuss me being the head writer, and I’d been floating…until Loretta’s call about my aunt’s unexpected heart attack at the Country Market, of all places.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think too hard about what her final moments must have been like.

  My poor aunt, though… She’d been such a good human, such a caring woman. She’d put everything she had into this inn, and it was up to me to make sure it wasn’t sold off and it didn’t go broke.

  This was her legacy. That she’d left it—and everything she owned—to me wasn’t a surprise as I was her only family, but I’d never expected this to happen now. She’d only been sixty-six years old. I knew better than most not to count on anything, but I always thought that dear woman would live to be a hundred.

  I could still hear her voice Friday night when I’d called her to tell her about my agent’s promising meeting. Oh, Ava, I’m so proud of you. It’s your time, hon. I can feel it. You’ve spent too many years putting your dreams on the back burner, first with your mama, then with that no-good ex-husband of yours. It’s time for Ava to Ava the heck out of the world.

  I sniffled and choked out a laugh as I turned from the view of the lake and attempted to get back on task.

  With a glance toward the underused kitchen, I headed out toward the hall that connected to the east wing. I entered the old elevator and pushed the button for the second floor.

  When the elevator doors opened, I heard a racket out in the hall. As soon as I craned my neck out, I spotted Halstead, the head of Maintenance, at the other end of the hall, pushing a large heavy-duty garbage can under a stream of water pouring out of the ceiling.

  “Halstead!” I called, my joy at seeing him battling with concern over what looked like a waterfall where there wasn’t supposed to be a waterfall.

  “Little Avie, I wondered when you would get here.” In spite of what appeared to be a roof disaster, his weathered face morphed into an affectionate grin, his eyes brimming with warmth and concern. “Get over here.”

  I would’ve run to him even without the directive, and within seconds, I was wrapped in the big, burly man’s grandfatherly arms.

  “How you holding up, little one?” he asked when I buried my face in his chest.

  To everyone else, Halstead was gruff, quiet, and focused on his responsibilities of making sure everything at the inn worked as well as it could. To me, he was the giant teddy bear who’d always made time for me. I’d suspected for ages that he had deep, unrequited feelings for my aunt, though I’d never asked him.

  “I’m doing okay,” I said, willing it to be so. “How are you holding up?”

  “Keeping busy, as you can see.” He ended the hug and gestured to the ceiling, and I didn’t fail to notice he hadn’t really answered my question. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ve been telling your aunt we need to do something about the roof for quite some time.”

  “What needs to be done?” I stepped back because that was no small trickle, and I didn’t care to get splattered.

  “Right now? I’ll have to patch what I can. We had some wind last night and I suspect some more shingles came loose, but I won’t know till I go up and look.”

  “It’s raining too hard,” I said.

  “Reckon it’ll subside soon enough. I need some supplies from the hardware store ASAP while I try to Band-Aid this. You up for that?”

  “Sure,” I said automatically, thinking I needed to be about three places at once. “What about the front desk?”

  “There’s a sign behind the desk you can put out. Phyllis had her number on it for emergencies. Change it to mine. It’s on the list there.”