So here she was, asking Kathy for temporary accommodation at the Bed & Breakfast, until she found an affordable house or apartment to rent.
"Of course!" Kathy answered, once Pat had set out her case.
"And there's another thing," Pat added, with a single mother's pragmatism.
She wished Kathy to take care of Stephanie for the rest of the day and night.
"Stephanie, what would you like for dinner?"
The girl turned to look at Kathy. Her eyes were watery and her lips were at the verge of pouting.
"Thank you, but I don't think I will be able to eat anything."
"Your mummy has left a vanilla and chocolate ice-cream for you in this little fridge."
"I know. And that makes me even sadder."
Kathy went to sit by her under the window.
"I'll tell you why I'm sad," offered the little girl.
Kathy smiled gently.
"Ok."
"My aunt Libby has gone to rest with my Granny." She paused solemnly. "It's where people go when they're very, very old." She gazed at Kathy to see if she understood. The young woman just nodded. "They are together now and they're happy, and we must always remember them because they will always be watching over us."
Kathy nodded again, feeling proud by proxy of this intelligent, sweet Little Princess.
"But that's not why I won't be able to eat my dinner."
"Why, then?"
"Because of the butterflies," she confessed, pointing at the brand new coloring book that lay untouched on the closest bed.
Later that evening, Kathy was sitting in the Bed & Breakfast ground floor living-room. Stephanie was asleep and the guests that were not were out enjoying the island's September nocturnal breeze. Five phone calls had she received and she was now going over them.
Calls number two and three had been from her mother and from Mrs. Horwood. With them she'd commented the little girl's sense of guilt concerning the butterflies, which she disliked profoundly. Apparently, Pat hadn't realized that when she'd bought the book, and now the poor thing was torn between her deep apprehension and what she thought would mean hurting her mother's feelings.
Kathy had never liked butterflies much herself, which turned out to be quite an asset in this particular situation, for she was able to console the child in a much more effective manner.
"It's her way of coping with the sorrow and the loss. She knows her aunt has passed away, she sees the sadness in her mother's eyes, and she needs to think there's something she can do even if that means assuming a part of the responsibility for all the suffering," interpreted Estelle. "And do you know why I can know that without even meeting the child? Because when you described her behavior, it sounded just like you. And you are always assuming guilt that doesn't belong to you."