Page 2 of No Room in the Inn

“Willow?” my mom says, and even though we rarely speak anymore, I can tell immediately that something is wrong.

“What happened?” I say quickly, my eyes widening, my mind racing. “What’s wrong? Was there a fire? Is it Dad? Mom,is it Myrtle?”

My mom sighs. “Your cat is fine, Willow,” she says. She’s been crying; I can hear the sniffles and the way she sounds like she has a bad cold. She also sounds a little annoyed—my mom isn’t Myrtle’s biggest fan—but come on, am I supposed to pretend like I don’t love my cat more than almost anyone or anything?

“Then what happened?” I say, absently reaching behind me to close the door. I walk slowly to the sofa and let myself collapse on it even though my clothes and hair are wet. This couch has been through worse, I’m sure; I bought it used.

“It’s—it’s Granny,” my mom says, and even though I just laid down, I sit back up immediately. How could I have missed Granny? Why wasn’t she the first person I thought of?

“Did she—is she—” I say, but I can’t quite get the words out. Talking about death always feels like some sort of bad omen to me.

“Yes,” my mom says. Her voice is quiet, subdued. “About thirty minutes ago. She went into the hospital this afternoon, and she was a little better once they got her on oxygen, but…she took a sudden turn for the worse.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say.

My mom is quiet before saying, “I didn’t want you to worry in case it was nothing.”

My mind goes slowly blank, something I catch happening but feel powerless to stop. It’s as though my brain is taking a step back to process. I find myself staring with unnatural intensity at a stain on the armrest of the couch, and the memory rushes in with a vividness that surprises me. I spilled hot chocolate there about a year ago. It was a normal evening; nothing special or distinct that I should remember, but somehow right now I can taste the melting marshmallows on my tongue, feel the warmth of the mug before it slipped out of my hands and onto the couch.

“Willow?” My mom’s voice snaps me out of my reverie, and I give my cheek a few firm pats to bring me back to reality.

“Yes,” I say, tears stinging my eyes. “I’m here.”

It’s not unexpected that Granny has passed away, I guess, in the sense that she was somewhere in her eighties. Gramps has been gone a good five years. But she is—shewas—the kind of person whose body seemed to age without her permission; a still-youthful soul trapped inside, frustrated at the limitations her own body imposed upon her. It’s hard to believe she’s gone.

“When is the funeral?” I say, mostly on autopilot. I don’t really want to go to Woodfield—because my parents are there but also because if the weather is cold here, it’s most certainly worse in Woodfield—but obviously I have to go to the funeral. I’ll stomach cold weather and seeing my parents for a day or two. Granny was always supportive of me. She loved me, and she was easily my favorite grandparent. Plus I’ll get to see Myrtle and my best friend, Sarah.

“Next week,” my mom says. “Will you come?”

“I’ll come,” I say.

“What about your job?” She doesn’t quite spit the word out, but her tone is frostier than it was two seconds ago.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, because I’m not about to explain everything that has happened in the past hour. She would undoubtedly have things to say about Chauncey and the job I’m now not going to take, and I don’t feel like listening to that.

I hear a drawn-out sigh from her end of the line, which means she’s preparing to say something else. So I wait, swallowing against the lump in my throat.

It’s funny how you can go days or even weeks without thinking about someone only to have every memory of them rush in when they pass. Right now I’m being assaulted with images of baking with Granny when I was little, images of her reading to me, images of watching Hallmark Christmas movies together—all of it on repeat, over and over again in my head. Tears sting my eyes again, and I wipe hastily at them.

“There’s something else,” my mom says.

Finally. There’s no point in rushing my mom toward anything; she’ll speak when she wants to speak. I get my stubbornness from her; unfortunately, it’s not a great look on either of us.

“What is it?” I say, and my mind is once again assaulted with all the things she could say. She said my dad and Myrtle are fine; who else could have died? Is someone sick? Is it Sarah?

“Before she passed…” My mom trails off, leaving me with silence for an absurdly long time, and I hold in the scream threatening to make its way out.

“Mom, just say it,” I finally say.

She clears her throat. “Before she passed, she said…” She breaks off yet again, but then she speaks. “She said she was leaving you the bed and breakfast.”

I blink once. Twice. Three times.

“What?” I finally say, because I can’t have heard her right.

My mom sighs. “The bed and breakfast, Willow. Granny left it to you. It’s yours.”

Chapter 2

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