CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The lobby of the quaint bed and breakfast buzzed with a subdued energy, the patter of rain against the windows setting a steady rhythm. In one corner, a trio of elderly ladies, their spectacles perched precariously on the tips of their noses, were absorbed in a game of bridge, their murmurs punctuated by the occasional triumphant exclamation. Near the crackling fireplace, Aunt Vera was nestled together on an overstuffed couch, a thick blanket over her lap and a novel with pages turning faster than April knew she would be able to read.

By the bay window, Rebecca, the birdwatcher, had commandeered a small table, her headphones effectively isolating her from the world as she sketched in a small book. The intensity in her eyes betrayed her focus, the tip of her tongue peeking out in concentration. A few feet away, April"s soon-to-be husband Jackson lounged in an armchair, his attention split between a crossword puzzle and the gentle thrumming of raindrops against the glass.

April, a silhouette of practicality amidst the tableau of relaxed guests, moved through the lobby with purpose. Her gaze landed on Richard, her father, who was regaling a pair of amused teenagers with exaggerated tales of his youthful escapades. His hands animatedly sculpted the air as he spoke, his laughter infectious.

Approaching him with a subtle clearing of her throat, April touched his shoulder, earning an immediate pause in his storytelling. "Dad, could you and Uncle Eamon take a look at the sump pump in the basement?" she asked, her voice threaded with a hopeful urgency. "I just want to make sure we don"t have a repeat of last spring"s flooding."

Richard"s face brightened at the mention of Eamon, a mischievous spark igniting in his eyes. "Sure thing, April," he replied with a broad grin, the prospect of camaraderie with the new family member clearly appealing. He gave a playful wink to the teens, promising to continue his tale upon return, and rose to his feet with a spryness that belied his years.

April watched as her father strode toward Eamon, who had been engaged in a boisterous round of charades with a gaggle of children, his arms flailing comically as he mimed. The sight of Richard approaching was enough to draw Eamon"s attention away from his rapt audience, his face lighting up with anticipation at the new adventure awaiting them in the depths of the old house.

April"s smile lingered as she crossed the cozy lobby, weaving through clusters of her guests who had found ways to entertain themselves despite the storm raging outside. Her mother knitted on a chair in the corner, her needles clicking rhythmically like a metronome for the hushed conversations around them.

She approached the window where the other bird watchers sat, the two men had set up a temporary observation post. Their binoculars lay idle on the windowsill, fogged up from the dampness that clung to the pane. "I"m afraid there"s no change in the hurricane updates," April said, a note of apology in her voice. "I"m truly sorry about the disruption to your bird-watching plans."

The bird watchers offered gracious nods, their expressions tinged with disappointment but understanding. "It"s alright," Liam replied, his gaze still hopeful as he peered out at the stormy horizon. "Nature has its course; we"re just here to witness it when we can."

As she walked back to the reception desk, April let the gratitude for such patience and empathy wash over her. It was a balm for the stress that often accompanied her role as hostess and caretaker of this seaside retreat. She remembered times when guests had been less forgiving, some going so far as to accuse her of ruining their vacations because of inclement weather. But today, surrounded by those who knew she was no Mother Nature, April felt a warmth that no gust of wind could chill.

At the polished wood of the reception desk, she paused, casting a glance over the lobby—a mosaic of lives intersecting, each person finding comfort in their own way. The storm outside seemed a distant thought, its fury held at bay by the walls of the bed and breakfast that had become an unexpected haven. April allowed herself a moment to simply observe, taking solace in the resilience and adaptability of her guests, before turning her attention to the tasks awaiting her.

April"s fingers danced across the keyboard with a fluidity born from years of practice, her eyes flicking between the screen and the inbox that seemed to continuously populate with new queries. Every ping was a reminder of the world outside Dune Island"s cozy confines, yet here she was, tethered to her sanctuary by a storm as relentless as the tide.

"Is there space for two next weekend?"

"Can you accommodate a gluten-free diet?"

"Are pets allowed?"

Each email she deftly addressed, her mind weighing availability against requests, weaving the intricacies of hospitality like a seasoned artisan. If the tempest insisted on locking her within these walls, she would harness its prison into productivity.

A sudden burst of laughter, robust and carefree, erupted from the direction of the basement. The sound cut through the patter of raindrops like a knife through butter, drawing April"s attention away from the digital world and back into the tangible warmth of the bed and breakfast.

She quirked an eyebrow, a smile involuntarily blossoming across her lips. It was a rare kind of laughter, rich with history and camaraderie, the kind that echoed down hallways and seeped into the hearts of those who heard it.

Abandoning the reception desk, April navigated the room with a grace that belied her haste to discover the source of such joyous uproar. As she approached the door leading to the basement, her steps slowed, anticipation mingling with fondness. She could already picture the scene below – her father, Richard, and Uncle Eamon, each man a child in his own right when given half a chance.

The door creaked open, revealing the pair halfway down the staircase, caught in a moment of unadulterated mirth. Eamon, with beer in hand, leaned against the wall for support as he chuckled at some jest or memory Richard had undoubtedly shared. Richard himself, the eternal patriarch with a touch of the mischievous twinkling in his eyes, raised his bottle in salute to his brother-in-law"s amusement.

"Your dad," Eamon managed between sharp exhales of laughter, "is a hoot."

April leaned against the doorframe, her presence unnoticed for a moment longer, observing the bond that so easily flourished between the two men. There was no need for words; her smile said all that needed to be said. She agreed wholeheartedly.

As the laughter subsided into gentle chuckles, April"s ears pricked up at an out-of-place sound. It was a quiet, deceptive whisper beneath the joviality—a trickling. Her heart sank even before her eyes confirmed the source. The basement, which should have been dry, was betraying her with a thin sheet of water that lazily claimed the concrete floor.

"Did you guys even check on the sump pump?" Her voice carried a softness that belied the urgency of the situation as she sidestepped her father and Eamon, who were still perched on the stairs.

Richard looked up, confusion giving way to concern as his gaze followed hers. In his eyes, she could see the gears turning, piecing together the purpose of their descent that had been forgotten amidst old stories and shared laughter.

"April, we meant to look at it," he started, with a sheepish tilt of his head. "But we got to talking about—"

"Talking." The word hung between them, a single note of frustration threatening to crescendo into a symphony of anger. But she quelled it, pressing her lips into a line. Anger wouldn't sop up the water, nor would it unflood the memories they had drowned in.

There was nothing she could do right now except explode. And she was trying everything in her power not to allow that to happen. She wanted to tell them how irritated she was. How she had just a little faith left in them and it was slipping away each time they missed the opportunity to prove to her they were more than just children trapped in men's bodies.

"Later," she said, finally, fixing her father with a steady look. "We"ll deal with this later."

The resolution in her tone was enough for Richard to nod, understanding the unspoken promise of an impending discussion. For now, they had a more pressing crisis to stem.

Richard waved a dismissive hand at the encroaching water, his face etched with confidence that seemed incongruous to the situation. "Don"t worry, April, I"ll take care of it," he assured her, rolling up his sleeves as if preparing for battle with the elements. Eamon nodded in agreement beside him, already moving to survey the perimeter.

"Great," April replied, though her voice lacked the conviction of her father"s. She turned away, her movements measured and deliberate, as she ascended the creaking stairs that led back to the safety of the lobby. Once there, she pressed her back against the door, the wood cool and unyielding, a stark contrast to the warmth of the chaos within.

Her fingers found their way to her temples, massaging in small circles that did little to alleviate the tension that had taken root. Eyes closed, she inhaled deeply, the scent of rain and old books mingling in the air. The sound of the storm outside was a distant drumbeat, a reminder of nature"s indifferent might. Could this get any worse?

In her mind, she saw the bed and breakfast as she had envisioned it—a sanctuary, a haven of comfort and joy. But now, with every drop that added to the basement"s unwanted pool, that vision seemed to slip further away. And yet, April held onto it, clinging to the hope that, like the tempest outside, this too would pass.