of interfering. When their parents died he’d appointed himself guardian and lord over his sisters. He’d gotten better the past couple of years—after a sisterly intervention—but there was still room for improvement.
Once in her bedroom Grace showered and got into her pajama bottoms and a top that read Due to unfortunate circumstances I am awake. She had the room all to herself now that Molly was married. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but sometimes she missed her sister’s idle rambling and the bookwormy way she stayed up late reading whatever novel she couldn’t put down. She didn’t miss the messiness or the lamp shining late into the night, however.
If Grace were lonely for noise, her wish was soon granted. The family staying in the room next to hers returned, and their toddler began crying—screeching really.
Grace grabbed her laptop and started some tunes flowing through her earbuds. Now was as good a time as any to figure out how to fix her problem.
She began researching survivor’s guilt. She got caught up in story after story of people who were living with the same problem she was experiencing. Trauma brought on by war events, mass shootings. Stories much worse than hers, which somehow only added to her guilt. At least she wasn’t having nightmares, mood swings, and depression.
She turned her search toward overcoming the problem. What did she have to do? She immediately discounted counseling. Been there, done that. Most of the advice was about changing the way you think. Okay, she could work on that. But it seemed so passive. She wanted to do something. She wanted these feelings gone, and she sure didn’t want another panic attack in front of a handsome guest.
Finally, she stumbled upon an extensive article from a psychology site that recommended turning guilt into helping others. Guilt made a person feel helpless—this she knew—while action, specifically helping others, made a person feel useful and purposeful.
Okay. Here was a plan she could get behind. Maybe it was self-serving, helping others to help herself, but hey, two birds, one stone. She would try to be more outwardly focused, on the lookout for how she could help others. That was really just the Christian way of life anyway, wasn’t it? Love God, love others, and all that.
Having a plan made her feel better. She set her laptop aside, suddenly weary, and turned off her lamp.
Her thoughts immediately turned toward the conversation she’d had with Wyatt as they walked into town this morning. She enjoyed talking to him, bantering with him. Grace had never been talkative like Molly, but she’d always been quick on her feet with conversation. With Wyatt she’d met her match. He didn’t say much, but what he said counted. He’d kind of flirted with her. And maybe she flirted back a little.
She hoped to see him the next day. And a few minutes later she drifted off with a smile.
Chapter Nine
Grace heard footsteps on the stairs, and from her position behind the front desk, she tensed in anticipation. But a moment later the small family who’d been staying in the room next to hers appeared.
“Good morning. Checking out?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the father said.
Grace made small talk as she completed the checkout process then handed them the receipt.
“Do you need directions, or are you all set?” she asked the father since their toddler was busy spilling juice on his mother’s shirt and wiggling to get down.
“I think we’re good to go.”
Remembering her pledge to be more helpful, she asked, “Can I get you some muffins or coffee to go? They’re orange spice today, and it’ll just take a minute.”
“No thanks. We’re running a little late as it is.”
“Well, let me get the door for you.” She scurried from behind the counter. “Have a safe flight. We hope to see you again soon.”
Once the family was out the door, Grace went back to the computer. She’d already bookmarked the top five commercial property sites at which to list the inn. She felt good about their chances of selling the inn on their own. She just needed that listing from her sister.
She texted Molly, who was due at the inn soon to clean rooms. Do you have the listing written yet? I’d like to get it uploaded today.
A moment later Molly texted back. It’s finished. But I already left the house. I’m at the coffee shop. I’ll have Adam email it to you. Want a frappé?
I’ll wait to hear from him then. And no thanks.
She hoped managing the listing wasn’t