CHAPTER ONE

My blocky heels clicked in a satisfying way through the parking lot outside the squat, wide building where I worked just outside Washington DC. My service dog, Taco, trotted happily at my side, his nails clicking on the asphalt. Every day was a good day when you were a Labrador. If only life for humans were as straightforward.

“Morning, Ms. Vale.” The security guard greeted me without looking up when I swiped in and proceeded through the turnstile. He needed only to see my clearance pop up on the screen in front of him to know it was me. I wondered sometimes if someone else could simply swipe my card and walk on by. They’d have to have a service dog at their side, of course. 

“Morning Sam,” I returned, feeling the tiniest bit nostalgic, knowing this would be the last time we’d engage in this little ritual. Not that Sam and I were friends, exactly. I didn’t have many of those, so maybe the man who checked my ID each day was closer to my heart than he was for most people. But there was no point being nostalgic now. This life was coming to an end. 

I made my way to my office, unlocking it with the key I’d have to surrender shortly, and sat down to pull the letter I’d composed over the weekend up on my screen to print. Taco curled up on the cushion in the corner of my office. 

“Time for work, Taco,” I said, echoing the words I’d said to him every day for the past four years—since he’d come to me as a newly trained allergen-sniffing service puppy. I let my eyes scan the words I’d written once more, doing my best not to feel remorse at leaving. 

After all, I loved my job. 

Well, love was perhaps too strong a word. 

But I was very good at my job. And people depended on me. And I liked that. No one really depended on me outside of work except Taco Dog. But here, in service to the US Department of Defense, I was needed. I created highly technical reports that the decision makers at the top depended upon. I was respected. I was—

“Dolly! Dolly Madison. Glad you’re here. What’s up, dog?” Steve Donhower stood in my doorway, his too-square jaw frozen in that half smile he seemed unable to alter. The last little bit of his greeting was directed at Taco and followed with a nasal chortle. Then his face shifted and he fixed his beady eyes on me. “Colonel Divot is coming in at ten and I’m gonna need you to walk him through that report you showed me Friday. No one else gets it, frankly.”  

I didn’t especially like Steve, but I struggled to maintain a placid expression. Steve pushed work off onto other people and was unqualified for his position, which was just above my own here at the contractor we both worked for. I suspected Steve had found his way to his position mostly thanks to his possession of a certain piece of anatomy I lacked. That, and because his father was a principal at the firm. 

I needed to let him know I wouldn’t be working here any more, that I’d had a major life shift and would be leaving town—the state, in fact—immediately. “Steve, I—” 

“Hey, Dolly, you didn’t happen to bring in any of those cookies today, did you?” Steve looked around my office, as if there might be a pastry case he’d missed upon first entering. I had a habit of stress-baking, so the office was usually the place I offloaded the extra treats. But in the last couple days, I’d been too stressed even to bake—something I hadn’t realized was possible before I’d gotten the news that changed everything about my life. 

“Sorry, no. No cookies today. And please, Steve, I’ve asked you several times to call me Dahlia. It’s more—” 

“Profesh. Gotcha, Ms. Parton.” He actually made a fake gun with his hand and winked at me as he pretend-shot it at me. 

“Yes. Professional.” I sighed. Maybe leaving wouldn’t be so bad. “Also, Steve?” I called him back as he turned from my office door. “I was just printing this up…” I reached for the letter of resignation on the printer. 

“You can show me whatever that is later—” 

“No, actually, I can’t.” The grief and stress and general anxiety were building inside me and forced my voice a bit higher than usual. High, but forceful, nonetheless.

Steve froze and his mouth actually fell open a tiny bit. Forceful was not a word people would generally use to describe me. Shy? Yes. Mousy? Unfortunately. Introverted? Yep. But today, I really needed Steve to listen to me. I didn’t have much time and I felt like I was closing in on an emotional breaking point.  

I picked up a pen off my desk and signed the letter with a flourish, handing it to him. “I won’t be able to meet with Colonel Divot today. I’ll be gone.” 

“You’ll be… what?” 

“I have to resign. Effective immediately.” I had practiced this with Taco at home, finding the perfect balance of detail without divulging an unprofessional level of family information. 

“But, but… why?” Steve looked more shocked and upset than I’d anticipated, his big jaw hanging open as he looked between the letter and me. “I can be more profesh, Dahlia. I can, I promise.” 

Steve sounded more sincere than I’d ever heard him, and it was the first time he’d used my proper name. Those tiny improvements would have made a big difference a week ago. But now? I didn’t have a choice. 

I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping to contain a bit of the rush of emotion that was jolting around inside me as I tried to summon the words I’d rehearsed. “My sister,” I began, and then to my horror, I felt my eyes fill with tears. I sniffed, took a deep breath and tried again. Surely I could simply decide not to cry. Couldn’t I? I was strong. I could control myself. This was why I’d practiced. Crying at work would be unacceptable. 

Taco rose from the corner and came to stand next to me, leaning gently against my leg. His version of a reassuring pat. 

I had practiced this at home without getting horribly upset, but speaking the words to Taco’s soft furry face hadn’t been preparation enough for the reality of having to tell another actual person that my only sister—my twin sister—was gone. 

“Your sister?” Steve took a step forward, his face softening as he realized the nature of my news. 

“My twin sister died of cancer. It was very sudden. She has a… a…” Oh no, the tears again. One actually slid down my cheek and I rushed to wipe it away. I blurted the rest. “She has a daughter in California who has no one else. I have to go.” 

“Of course you do,” Steve opened his arms as if he believed I might step in for a hug, and I took a step back, finally finding the steel in my spine. Hugging people was not my favorite activity at the best of times. Hugging a man who routinely called me Jolly Dolly was not on my agenda today. Probably not ever.

“So you see, I am offering my resignation. My flight is at one.” 

“Today?” Steve looked surprised again. 

“My niece needs me.” It was true. My family was small. It had been me and my sister, who for a decade had made a strict habit of not speaking to one another, but she had evidently realized in death that I was her only option in terms of guardianship material. 

“You’re going to California to get your niece,” Steve said, recovering his bravado slightly. “So you’ll be back.” 

I shook my head. “No, Steve. I will not be back. I also inherited guardianship of my sister’s inn on the coast. Until I can figure out what to do with it, and with her daughter, I’ll be living there.” 

“But you have a security clearance,” Steve said, apropos of nothing. 

“Yes. I do.” The emotion was beginning to recede and I felt stronger. I patted Taco’s head and he grunted softly. 

“But we’ll have to read you out.” Steve said this as if it would be a nearly impossible feat.

I nodded. I just hoped handling all the administrative details that would allow me to depart wouldn’t take too long. 

Eventually, the security team had read me out of the projects for which I’d been cleared, taken my badges and keys, and my files and computer, and I’d left the office feeling oddly like I’d never worked there at all. Strangely, it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. In an odd way, I felt lighter. More free. 

How strange to be untethered from the one thing I had any actual connection to. And what a sad statement on my life here. I swallowed down any remorse—you couldn’t change who you were, after all—and I girded myself to get through this day. 

I went home and gathered my packed bags. Taco Dog looked slightly more professional when he was wearing his “service animal” vest, which was his usual travel attire. Of course, that was only true if you disregarded the time he’d worn the vest while chasing after the tennis balls on the bottom of an elderly lady’s walker… Taco didn’t like to discuss that. He was a service dog. Just not the best behaved, perhaps. But he could sniff out a peanut or a pea like nobody’s business, and that was all I really needed him to do. Legumes and I were not friends.

I looked wistfully around the hastily packed apartment I’d called home for the last decade. Again, that odd feeling of lightness filled me. I was almost… relieved? 

I’d lived here, in this apartment, working the same job as a technical analyst in the same office with the same people for ten years. And for most of that time, I had enjoyed it. Even if it had been a bit lonely. 

I’d never been good at making friends—that was my sister’s domain. And when we’d lived near one another, her friends were my friends. And she’d been my best friend. But when things… happened… she left me and took her bright, full life with her. I’d done my best to create a full life for myself, but it turned out I didn’t have much of a knack for it. And for the most part, that was okay. 

Sure, now and then I looked around and wondered if I might not be happier with a little more interaction. But since Taco had arrived four years ago, I’d been happily occupied and hadn’t really felt alone. He was a good friend.

The flight to California was uneventful, as all the best flights are. Taco was very well behaved and only moderately drooly when one of the flight attendants gave him a treat. He didn’t try to disassemble anyone’s mobility assistive device this time, so that was a definite improvement over our last trip. 

I had no trouble finding a ride and navigating the coastal highway to the tiny town of Saltcliff on the Sea, where my twin sister had run a quaint bed and breakfast for the last ten years of her life. An inn I’d never been invited to visit or even seen, except on the inn’s site online.

Maybe it was the flowing curves of the seaside road, maybe it was the salt air or the sunshine, but that feeling of lightness hit me again and even grew as I neared Saltcliff. By the time I led Taco and rolled my suitcase through the gate in front of the inn, I was managing my stress and uncertainty well. To most, I probably looked like I was on the edge of a breakdown, but for me, this was practically ebullient. 

All those good feelings departed immediately upon meeting my niece, Diantha Vale.

CHAPTER TWO

“Let’s go in,” I had just suggested to Taco, and we headed down the gravel path toward the front door of the inn, which was set back under a pale yellow stone archway. The entire structure appeared to have sprung naturally from the landscape, like a country cottage—a big one—from a fairy tale. The roofline curved and swooped, shingles curving right along with it, like something you might find in the Shire, where the hobbits lived. The building was two stories, all pale yellow stone with some darker bits, and the windows were arched and divided into charming panes, the borders painted in a pale green color. 

An enormous tree leaned close to the front of the building, a gnarled and twisted limb supporting a swing that hung just next to the inn’s facade. 

“You must be her.” There was a smallish person sitting on the swing, though I’d only just noticed her, camouflaged as she was in silence, stillness, and a getup that made me wonder if bank robbing was part of her daily routine. 

I pulled myself up a bit straighter. I was a her. But was I “her”? Yet to be determined. 

Taco Dog dropped his tail end and let his tongue loll out one side of his mouth as he watched the person hop off the swing and approach. He let out a gentle whine of greeting. 

“And you would be…?” I lifted my sunglasses to peer down at the person, who was smaller than I’d initially thought. 

“I’m Danny.” 

Danny. “Diantha?” 

“Like I said. Danny.” 

Well. 

My niece Diantha had a beautiful face with a pert little nose that reminded me exactly of my sister Daisy’s. She also had smears of chunky eyeliner surrounding her eyes, lipstick that was nearly black, and a ring in one nostril. Her short, DIY haircut fell around her face in locks that were black tinged with both blue and green, and her short black dress might have had a first life as a flour sack—do they make those in black? From its hem descended two skinny, shredded-fishnet-clad legs. Her feet were hidden by enormous, thick-soled black shoes. 

“You’re staring,” she said. 

Taco let out a little groan, as if apologizing for me. 

“Yes, sorry. I am. I apologize. I believe I’m your Aunt Dahlia.” 

“You don’t know who you are?” Diantha asked, one side of her dark lips quirking up. “Do you know who this is?” She extended a hand, palm up and fingers curled inward, toward Taco. He leaned his nose forward, accepting her greeting. 

“Yes, of course. This is Taco Dog.” 

“You named your dog Taco?” 

“Taco Dog,” I said again. 

“Isn’t it a little extra to name your dog ‘Dog’?” Now both sides of the girl’s lips tilted into a smile and both her hands planted themselves into Taco’s excessively furry ruff as she dropped to her knees in front of him. Taco, the traitor, groaned in delight and nuzzled the girl’s face. 

I cleared my throat, uncertain what the next move should be. Sometimes I envied my dog, who suffered no such uncertainties. He leaned into my niece’s arms until he finally lowered his head to the ground and flopped down onto his back, exposing his belly for her to scratch. 

“Is he really a service dog?” 

“He is, and you’re really supposed to ask before you pet someone else’s dog. You had no idea if he might be vicious.” 

Diantha laughed at that as Taco let out an indignant groan. He was the furthest thing from vicious there was. 

But still. 

None of this was going at all the way I’d imagined. In the last photo I’d seen of my niece, she wore a little pink pinafore and mary janes on her tiny feet. Of course, she’d been two in that photo. But I hadn’t been prepared for this… what did they call this look? Goth? Emo? I didn’t know, but it assured me that I was utterly unprepared for the task I’d taken on here. 

“Well, it seems I will be your guardian now, Diantha,” I tried. 

The girl froze, just for a second, as if the words had hit something deep inside her she hadn’t realized she’d left unprotected. But then she stood and brushed off her knees, lifting her little heart-shaped face in a defiant motion. 

“Right,” she said, and then she turned and headed for the front door of the inn. 

“Well, okay. Come, Taco.” I followed her, wishing I had a better sense for exactly what was supposed to come next in this process. There’d been no briefing or directions sent ahead. Just the lawyer’s call, the address, and the suggestion to settle in at the inn before our meeting Tuesday for lunch. 

I stepped through the heavy wood door into what appeared to be a living room. Since the inn had once been a home, it made sense. 

A fire glowed low in a fireplace against the far wall, and the room was scattered with comfortable-looking furniture—armchairs and low tables, couches and ottomans. There were side tables with glowing lamps, and  the walls were covered with volumes of books tucked into dark wooden built-in bookcases. 

Diantha was nowhere to be seen. 

I let out a little aggravated sigh and let go of my suitcase. “Hello?” I called. No one answered, and the picture window on the far side of the room drew my eye. Taco and I stepped closer. Outside the big window was a patio scattered with tall heating stands and tables and chairs. Beyond the patio was the sea. The Pacific Ocean, to be exact. 

It hurled itself lazily against rocky cliffs on either side of a wide pale beach. People ran and walked along the sand, dogs following at their heels or chasing ahead of them. The sun glinted off the green-blue surface of the water as waves broke near shore, carrying surfers atop a few of them. Despite the beachy scene, the air outside had held a chill, and I gave an involuntary shiver, thinking of those souls out there riding waves in wetsuits. Too cold for me, certainly. 

It was on the heels of this thought that a voice greeted me. 

“Hello, there. You must be Dolly.” 

I swallowed back the automatic correction I made whenever anyone shortened my name, and turned to address a tall, thin, dark-skinned woman with the most elegant posture I’d ever seen. I immediately straightened, suddenly self-conscious in my own stance. The woman was beautiful in an understated way, and though I tried hard to decide, it was impossible to know if she was thirty or seventy years old. She had an ageless grace I knew I didn’t share, and I felt suddenly self-conscious in her presence. Which, of course, made no sense at all. 

“Hello. Yes, I’m Dahlia. Daisy’s sister.” 

The woman reached out a long-fingered hand, clasping my own. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Daisy was a wonderful woman. One of my dearest friends. Very special to me.” A tear gathered in the corner of one of her eyes and slid silently down her cheek, as if it didn’t want to interrupt what she was saying.  

“Then I am sorry for your loss,” I said, feeling like an imposter for accepting condolences for a sister I barely knew. 

The woman bowed her head a moment, and then lifted her dark eyes to me again with a smile. “I’m Amal. I am the manager here. Or, I was… I mean…” the smile faltered. “Depending, of course, on what you intend to do with the inn.” 

I retrieved my hand from Amal’s, feeling awkward as usual, but rushed to reassure her. “I know next to nothing about running an inn. I believe your job is quite secure.” Taco Dog nosed forward, clearly feeling left out. “This is Taco.” 

Amal smiled and her shoulders dropped a bit, though she still stood at least six inches taller than my perfectly average five foot, three. She gazed at Taco and reached out a hand to let him sniff before looking back up at me. 

“May I show you around?” Amal asked. “I’ve done my best to clear some space in your sister’s rooms for you.” 

“Thank you.” 

Amal led me to a big door to one side of the central seating area. She knocked lightly on the door, and then twisted the knob, pushing the door inward. We stepped in, and more of my sister’s life was revealed. We stood inside what appeared to be a house in a house. 

“Your sister and Diantha live here,” Amal said, catching herself. “Lived here. You’ll live here, I mean.” Her eyes brushed mine, looking painfully sad for a split second, and then she took a deep breath and led me farther inside. 

The space was less formal than the inn’s living areas, but no less cozy. Oversized chairs and a long sectional couch took one corner of the room, while three doorways stood closed just past a small dining area. A kitchen was visible beyond the dining room. 

“Diantha’s room,” Amal gestured to the first closed door. “Bathroom,” she pointed at the second and then moved over to open it. I gazed within. Not entirely modern, but certainly functional. “And your room here.” Amal opened the third door and a familiar scent wafted out as I stepped closer. 

I hadn’t seen Daisy in years, but the air inside her room took me back to childhood. It smelled of her somehow. Nothing I could put my finger on, but it was the essence of nostalgia moving through the space. Taco whined and I felt tears pressing in the back of my throat. 

“I’ll give you a few minutes to get settled and then we can tour the rest of the inn?” Amal said, seeming to know I needed a moment. “I’ll go get your bag.” 

She disappeared, and Taco and I stood in the center of my sister’s room. In the center of her life, really. I was an imposter and a misfit in every conceivable way. But somehow, I’d have to make this work. For Diantha. For Daisy, too, I guessed. For all the sisterly things she wanted that I was never able to give her. 

For a moment, I stood still, some idea that Daisy was here with me taking space in my mind. But she was not, I knew that. My twin sister was gone. And I had never gotten to say so many of the things I’d wanted to say. Things I’d needed to practice, to think about far from the moment in which they were required. 

Taco sat down and I stepped to the dresser, examined the items lining its top—a jewelry box, a small wooden elephant, a glass bottle holding an amber liquid. I looked up into the mirror that hung over the dresser, seeing myself but also seeing my sister. We’d never been identical—not in our genes or in our ways of being in the world. Daisy was beautiful—wide-eyed, blond, and tan-skinned. She got along easily with other people and always seemed to know what to say. My own brown hair did little to set off the sallow tone of my skin or my light brown eyes. And when it came to people? Well, books were always much easier for me to understand. I’d always thought maybe Daisy’s life was easier. Although for many years, she used her innate understanding of the world—of people—to make my life easier too. As I stared at my reflection, I could almost see her there at my side, and my heart twisted inside my chest. 

Being in her room, in her life, made it all real in some ways. Surrounded by her things, I felt closer to my sister than I had in many years. I was about to leave the room and its dusty yellow walls when a photograph hung next to the door caught my attention. It was us—my sister and I. Moving closer, I recognized the shot. It had been taken at Grandmother’s farm, the two of us sitting on the steps of the broad porch. Daisy and I wore sundresses, our knobby ten-year-old knees pushing from the hems as we sat side by side. My gaze was fixed on the camera, solemn and serious, but Daisy’s eyes were on me, her mouth open in a laugh and her arm flung around my shoulders. My sister had been my very best friend for so long… the photo created a heavy feeling inside me, as if I’d been holding a rock within that I’d only just noticed. 

“Oh Daisy,” I whispered, tracing one finger down her cheek. Taco let out a little whine behind me, and I turned to him. “Let’s look around.” 

I wandered the rooms, avoiding Diantha’s, since the heavy beat of music suggested she was inside, though I couldn’t imagine what pre-teens with dark eyeliner did alone in their rooms these days. I doubted she was talking on the phone endlessly as Daisy had done, nor working on a scale reproduction of the Titanic as I’d spent several years doing in my free time before graduating high school. 

As I stepped back into the living room, Amal reappeared, pulling my suitcase behind her. 

“I’ll just put this in your room.” She did as promised, and then nodded toward the door that led back into the lobby of the inn. 

I followed as she led, and pulled the door shut behind me, gazing around the empty lobby as a shiver passed through me. 

“Amal?” 

She turned, her eyes friendly. 

“Are there no guests?” 

“Ah, not now, no. We cleared the books for a few weeks as Daisy…” Amal’s eyes flooded with tears and then she blinked purposefully. “We thought it would be best. But guests will begin checking in again this weekend.” 

“I see,” I said, and nodded to indicate that we could proceed with the tour. 

Amal took me through two guest rooms on the main level and four more upstairs, each of which had its own bathroom and cozy furnishings. “Each room is named for a character of one of Daisy’s favorite books,” Amal explained, pointing to the nameplate on the door of an upstairs room as we pulled it shut. So far, I’d noticed Alice, Holden, and Gandalf. I’d had no idea Daisy cared for fiction. Interesting. 

Eventually, we found ourselves back in the kitchen of the little house where I’d live with Diantha. Amal explained that guests were given extensive breakfast offerings each morning, usually laid out in a buffet style in the dining room that lay just off the main lobby. 

“I see,” I said, glancing longingly at the double ovens and sprawling center island, which was topped with a gorgeous butcher block that was clearly not just for show. My brain was spinning. I was tense and nearing overwhelm with so much new and unfamiliar in such a short period of time. When I was overwhelmed at home, I baked. Often in very large quantities. 

“Who prepares the breakfast?” I asked. 

“Daisy did for a while,” Amal said. “But when she got sick, Danny and I helped.” 

“You manage quite a lot here, I guess.” 

Her eyes dropped mine, and she put an elegant hand flat on the countertop as if to brace herself. She nodded. “Daisy was… she was special to me. I would have done… I mean, I was happy to help.” 

“Danny cooks, then? Does she receive compensation for her work here?” 

Amal looked up and her eyes narrowed slightly, and then she said, “No, Daisy believed it was important to pitch in where you were needed, and I guess Danny realized she was needed in here.” 

“I will do the baking,” I said, realizing it had been more of an announcement only when Amal’s eyebrows rose swiftly. 

“Oh, no, you don’t need to—” 

“I would very much like to do the baking,” I tried again. I knew I’d need something to steady me through this transition, and this kitchen was calling to me already. 

“Oh, okay, well…” 

“I’m an excellent baker.” 

“I have no doubt, it’s only—” 

“Daisy told you about the coffee cake?” There had been an early baking incident when we were very young. I’d been a bit too literal as I improvised a recipe once when we were five or so. But after that my baking had been faultless. Mostly. 

“No,” Amal said slowly. “Just… are you sure you don’t need me?” 

“You have enough to do, I’m guessing, since I haven’t the first idea how to manage guests and payments and whatever else we do here.” 

She nodded slowly, her thin lips pulling into a smile. “All right, then.” 

“I’ll practice over the next few days if you’ll help me understand what the requirements will be for quantities and variables.” 

“Ah, sure,” Amal said. 

“And if Diantha can continue to help, that would be ideal.” 

“She is a little bit…” 

I cocked my head, waiting. What was my niece, exactly? 

“Well, she’s sad, as you can imagine. We might want to give her a bit of space for a while.” 

I nodded. I would do some research. I wasn’t sure if space was the best idea, or if a more hands-on approach to guardianship would be better. “All right.” 

“Well,” Amal said. “There is plenty of food in the refrigerator. People have been dropping off casseroles for days. If it’s all right with you, I’ll just head home and return tomorrow to begin showing you the ropes a bit.” 

I nodded. “That’s fine. Diantha and I have lunch tomorrow with the attorney, also.” 

Amal smiled and excused herself, and I rolled up my sleeves after settling Taco in a corner. I needed to bake.