of space out. But it happens a lot less now.”
Doctor Arkwright remained very professional as they spoke, absorbing Emily’s admissions with nothing more than a sympathetic nod of the head. “It sounds like you may have been experiencing some mild PTSD symptoms,” she said.
Emily felt alarmed. It sounded so dramatic. For her, it had just been something she’d gone through, some kind of natural outcome to touching on the memories she’d closed off for so many years.
“Please, don’t worry,” the doctor reassured her. “It’s far more common than people believe, particularly when trauma happens in childhood. When we don’t have the language to express our emotions or even label them properly, repression becomes a natural defense mechanism. The important thing to note now is that you may be at a slightly higher risk of pre- or postnatal depression or psychosis. Again, it sounds dramatic but it’s very well treated these days, through counseling and medication if necessary. As long as we keep an eye on your symptoms there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Emily nodded and let out her breath. Doctor Arkwright was very reassuring, but at the same time she felt a sense of unpleasant anticipation for what might be in store for her. These things were never talked of. Not amongst her friends, nor her mother’s generation. She couldn’t help but feel worried about having a higher chance of experiencing something that was so poorly understood.
Doctor Arkwright smiled and handed a glossy folded slip of paper to Emily. “Here’s a pamphlet that details nutrition, vitamins, exercise, travel do’s and don’ts, et cetera. Take some time to read it and let me know if you have any questions when we next meet. I’ll also give you a prescription for prenatal vitamins, which are very important. We’ll book a sonogram for four weeks’ time, so you can see your baby.”
She turned to the computer and logged in an appointment for a scan. Then she turned back. “That’s it for now. I promise the follow-ups won’t take quite so long.”
She stood and offered her hand to Emily to shake. Emily stood and shook the doctor’s hand, and Daniel did the same. It felt like the appointment had gone so quickly and was over in a blur, though they’d been there for such a long time. Emily had no idea how much of what she’d just heard she’d managed to absorb. It felt like basically nothing.
They left the doctor’s office and walked together out into the bright day.
“Did you take any of that in?” Emily asked Daniel as they strolled to where the car was parked.
“Not really,” he confessed. “There was just so much information.”
As they walked, Emily studied his face. He looked stressed and she wondered which bit of the appointment specifically had worried him the most. Her age-related health concerns? Her possibly elevated risk of postnatal depression? Or just the fact that he hadn’t committed every single one of the doctor’s words to memory?
“It’s all in the pamphlet,” she reassured him. “We can read it over and over again. Every night before bed, if you want.”
She laughed, trying to lighten the mood. Though Daniel nodded, he still looked tense, his gaze somewhat far away. Emily wanted to ask him what was going through his mind, to find out what the issue was for certain, but he seemed to have shut down.
She felt her own excitement begin to fade away as a result. Daniel’s attitude seemed to be becoming more at odds with her own. She couldn’t see even the smallest flicker of excitement in his eyes. It was just concern, worry, and stress that she saw in his expression.
They got into the truck and drove home in silence.
CHAPTER THREE
Doctor Arkwright’s advice for Emily to stay off her feet and reduce her stress levels to the bare minimum went immediately out the window, because Memorial Day weekend arrived all too soon and the inn was packed to the rafters.
Emily hurried down the stairs into the foyer, where guests were milling about in groups. The inn was looking beautiful thanks to Chantelle’s decorations. She’d filled the place with flags. Posters for the town parade adorned every wall. It looked set to be the best event yet. Mayor Hansen had really gone above and beyond this year, with an antique fire truck procession, the marching band from the high school, and a twenty-one-gun salute at the end. Emily was glad he’d organized such a great commemoration for the men and women who’d given their lives for the country’s freedom.
Lois and Marnie were on the front desk, both looking rushed off their feet as they took calls and answered guest queries. Ever since Bryony’s redesign of the website had led to the inn being booked for the entire summer, Emily had had to shuffle things around. Serena wanted less work so she could focus more on her degree, so Emily had promoted Marnie from maid to front of house. Then she’d hired the Magic Elves cleaning company that Amy had sourced for the wedding to fill the void left by Marnie, and had gone on to employ an extra pair of hands in the form of a porter, a young man named Trent, whose role was to carry bags upstairs for the guests on check in. Despite the hecticness, it looked like the new system was working well. For now, at least.
Emily caught up with Bryony in the guest lounge. Her laptop was resting on her knees, a pile of half drunk cups of coffee stacked on the coffee table before her. Usually there were only ever one or two people in the guest lounge, but today every single table and couch was occupied with people drinking coffee and juice, reading papers, studying maps, and planning their days out.
“I know I say this every time I see you,” Emily said to Bryony as she sat beside her, “but seriously, thank you so much for everything you’ve done for the inn. I’ve never seen it like this.”
Bryony smiled. “No problem. I just can’t wait until you get all the renovation work done for the expansion. It’ll give me a whole load of new coding to do. New forms. New pages.” Her eyes glittered with excitement.
“You really love this stuff, don’t you?” Emily said, feeling baffled herself. She’d worked in marketing for years back in New York City and hated it now with every fiber of her being.
Bryony wiggled her eyebrows. “I love it. Plus, I get to see all the mysterious guests who book in. Look at this one.” She swiveled her laptop around to show Emily the accommodation spreadsheet which was automatically populated by website bookings through the magic wizardry of computer code. “The carriage house has been booked out by Mr. X. I’m hoping he’s another Roman Westbrook.”
Emily raised her eyebrows, excited also. “Or a James Bond villain.”
Just then, a group of three men walked into the inn. They were all wearing beige slacks and polo shirts, and had varying shades of gray hair. Emily noticed then that each had a large roll of paper under their arms and realized that they weren’t some kind of traveling barbershop quartet but the architects from Erik & Sons, with their initial sketches for renovating Trevor’s house.
She and Daniel had approached a local family firm, hoping they’d have a more sympathetic approach. As she leaped up now and walked toward them, she realized by their eerily similar appearances that they were the “& Sons” contingent. She shook each of their hands, blinking, feeling like she was looking at the same person three times over.
“We’re triplets,” the man with the lightest gray hair explained. “I’m Wayne. This is Cain. And that’s Shane, the youngest by five minutes.”
“My chances of remembering whose name belongs to who are more or less zero,” Emily confessed.
“We
