Page 26 of The Inn Dilemma

“What do you have here?” Nova asks, sliding in next to Aunt Birdie.

“This is Holt’s great-great grandma, Ella Mae’s,journal.” Aunt Birdie carefully runs her fingertips over the page. “She had such amazing ideas for the rooms. She loved literature and wanted to share that love with her family. Ella Mae and Frederick wanted a big family and the couple loved the classics, so they planned on decorating each room to be themed around a different classic book. Unfortunately, she died young and wasn’t able to fulfill that dream before her passing. I can tell from her journals she was a remarkable woman, someone ahead of her time.”

Nova’s eyes light up. “Well, then, let’s make her dreams a reality!”

As much as I don’t want to crush Aunt Birdie’s dreams, I need to bring her back to reality. “Not to be a party crasher, but you’ll need to get approval through the historical society before you can even think about changes.”

Aunt Birdie and Nova both pinch their lips and give me a disapproving glare.

“Youarea party pooper. Let us dream,” Nova says before sticking her tongue out.

Aunt Birdie’s shoulders slump. “Well, there goes that.”

After Uncle Walt died, Aunt Birdie became obsessed with researching the Graves’ family history. I’m not quite sure why, but I assume it was her way of coping with his unexpected passing. Aunt Birdie has pretty much turned diving into the family history and achieving every goal the founding family wrote down into her life purpose.

“Listen, Ella Mae Graves deserves to have her dreams become a reality. A mural for each room to fit what she wanted. The historical society should see the beauty in that and of completing an unfinished partof history. A mural from classic literature in each room. How beautiful would that be?” Aunt Birdie says this all as if she’s trying to convince me.

Nova nods enthusiastically. “That would set the Storybook Inn apart. And!” Her eyes go wide with excitement. “This is the Storybook Inn! How perfect would it be to have each room tell a story? Speaking of”—her brow scrunches— “why is this called the Storybook Inn?”

“Well, rumor has it that the great storyteller, Demitri Wolf, wrote his greatest work,The Tall Tale of Tate Windsor,while he stayed with the Graves family in the late 1800s. But there’s nothing about it in any of the journals I’ve found. It’s just been a rumor since the family estate became the inn in the 1970s,” Aunt Birdie goes on to explain. “The Graves who opened the inn took that rumor and ran with it.”

Nova tilts her head in concentration as she looks down at the page Aunt Birdie is looking at. “He looks just like Holt!” She points to an old picture of a man standing in front of the fireplace.

“That’s his grandfather.” Aunt Birdie looks up and smiles at me. “He got to hold Holt as a baby, and then, just a few days later, passed peacefully in his sleep.”

“Dad never talked about him,” I say, my throat growing thick. Dad never talked about anyone, really. When I moved in with Uncle Walt and Aunt Birdie, I learned how to value my family history and about where I came from. It also taught me how to appreciate the Storybook Inn and the experience people get when staying here.

“He should have. He was a good man. Did you know—” She cuts herselfoff.

“Did I know what?” I press.

Aunt Birdie bites her lip. “It’s something I shouldn’t bring up.”

“You have me too curious.”

She takes a deep breath. “I just don’t want it to make you feel bad.”

For some reason, this has my palms sweating. “What do you mean?”

“Your grandfather almost joined the first group of Navy SEALS.”

Shock ripples through me. “Almost?”

“He never shared the details of why he didn’t. But his faith was strong, and he clung to the knowledge that it wasn’t God’s plan for him. He lived a fulfilling life even without achieving that goal.”

Aunt Birdie’s words hit me straight in the chest. How many times have I felt like a failure and like I let my men down by being medically discharged? How many times have I questioned God, asking why He allowed me to excel at the program only for it to be stripped away in a moment?

Almost as if she knows I need some form of comfort, Nova gets up and sits next to me, leaning her head against my shoulder.

“Kind of cool you guys had the same dream,” she says.

“Holt shares a lot of the same characteristics as his grandfather. A hard worker, loyal to a fault, and a faith that can move mountains.”

Aunt Birdie’s words fill me with warmth. She’s always spoken highly of Grandpa Graves, so I allow her compliment in comparison to soothe the ache that’sremained since waking up in a hospital bed after the explosion.

“Thanks” is all I can manage around the tightness in my throat.

Aunt Birdie reaches around Nova and pats my shoulder, giving me a proud smile. “Well, let’s get a plan ready to present to the historical society that will knock their socks off!”

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