The Inn at Angel Island

by Thomas Kinkade

“She must be around somewhere. I don’t keep her on a leash, Peter.”

  Liza never really asked Claire questions about her work or told her what to do. Claire seemed to know automatically what needed to be done and when to do it.

  “Maybe she’s upstairs, making the beds,” Liza offered as she loaded the dishwasher.

  “Yeah, she is,” Will reported, stomping into the kitchen. “There’s some painter dude staring through my window. Then she comes in and wants to make the bed…”

  Will sat at the table, holding his head. His thick dark hair was sticking up on end, as if someone had been working on it with an eggbeater. He wore a huge baggy T-shirt and sweatpants, his feet bare. He hadn’t reached his full height yet but had very large feet. Like a puppy with big paws.

  “Want some breakfast?” Liza asked her nephew.

  “Something simple. Don’t let him make a big mess again,” Peter said quickly. He wiped down the countertop with a large sponge and gave Liza a look. “Give him some yogurt or toast. Scratch that. No toast. Too many crumbs.”

  Liza knew that Claire had squirreled away a few pancakes for the boy but then decided not to make Peter crazy by warming them up now. Will would have to have the treat some other time-or figure out how to get up earlier and eat with everyone else.

  “What is he all freaked out about?” Will strolled over to the refrigerator and took out a container of yogurt, then found a spoon on the table and began to eat it, standing up.

  “The real estate agent is bringing a couple over to see the inn,” Liza explained.

  Will scratched his neck. “Like, they might buy it?”

  Liza nodded. “Like, we hope so.”

  He grinned. “Me, too. Then we can get the heck out of here.”

  “Will,” his father grumbled, “just eat something and go back upstairs and stay out of the way until these people are gone, okay?”

  “It’s no big deal,” Liza said quickly. “You don’t have to stay in your room all day, Will. It’s really gorgeous out. You ought to go down to the beach or something.”

  “I’ll take him to the beach,” Peter cut in. “Later, when we’re finished here with the realty agent.”

  “I don’t care. I want to stay in my room.” Will dumped his yogurt container in the trash, left the spoon in the sink, then headed for the hallway. “This place sucks. You’d have to be crazy to want to buy it.”

  Peter looked at Liza as if to say, “See what I mean?”

  Liza sighed inwardly. Peter was convinced that Will was the problem, but from what Liza could see, Peter was at least half to blame; he kept pushing Will’s buttons. She dearly hoped she wouldn’t have to be the one to explain this to her brother.

  Saved by the knocker, she thought, as the brass knocker sounded on the front door. “I guess they’re here.”

  Peter quickly wiped his hands on a towel. “I’ll get it,” he volunteered.

  “That’s all right. I can go.” Liza smoothed down her sweater and pushed her hair behind her ears. She hadn’t put on a drop of makeup this morning, but it was too late now to worry about her appearance. The visitors weren’t coming to see her, anyway. They were coming to look over the inn.

  She wasn’t sure why, but the realization gave her a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  She pulled open the door, fixing her face in a wide smile. “Hello, Fran. Come right in.”

  Fran quickly introduced the Nelsons, Alice and Ben. They were in their midthirties, Liza guessed, just a few years older than she was. She noticed Alice Nelson’s designer handbag and leather boots, and Ben’s supple suede jacket and the little polo-player logo on his baseball cap. Universal sign language that they had an impressive income. That was heartening, Liza thought.

  Peter had run into the foyer right behind her and was now vigorously shaking Ben Nelson’s hand.

  “Why don’t we start down here?” Fran said brightly. She had a sheaf of notes in hand, Liza noticed, that must have listed the specifics for the property.

  Fran began her tour, and the Nelsons peered around.

  “And in this room, there’s stunning crown molding around the ceiling and bookcases. And these beautiful pocket doors.” Fran demonstrated, pulling the doors in and out. “That’s the original molding, and it is in excellent condition, as are these wide plank floors…”

  The couple looked up at the molding, then down at the floors.

  Fran seemed to have the situation totally under control, and Liza slipped away, planning to retreat to the kitchen. She paused in the foyer, glaring at her brother, sending him a silent message to do the same and leave the Nelsons alone with Fran.

  He pursed his mouth and shook his head. Liza’s heart sank.

  No telling what he might say or do. She didn’t want to see it.

  She grabbed her down vest from the coat tree and headed out the kitchen door into the backyard. The irony of it all was that Peter was the one most eager for the sale, and now he was bound to interfere and possibly spoil it. There was nothing she could do about it, Liza reasoned. She decided to get a little work done outside while the house tour was going on.

  Liza tramped through the backyard, realizing it was badly in need of attention. Now that the snow had melted, she could see that there were lots of old leaves and frost-damaged branches that needed cleaning up. Her aunt had taught her a bit about gardening, and Liza had always liked working with plants, but she had never had a chance to do much of it. None of her Boston apartments had had a yard, much less room for a garden.

  She decided to grab a rake and at least get a start out here. Maybe Will would even help her later-if she asked him really nicely.

  She went into the big shed to look for a rake but soon got distracted. The outbuilding had once been a horse stable and still had big swinging barnlike doors, a dirt floor, and two stalls inside.

  Her uncle’s workbench stood to one side near a large window. Practically all of his tools were still in place: the long band saws hanging on the wall, the rows of wrenches in graduated size, the screwdrivers and hammers, the big metal vise on the worktable that held wood steady while Clive shaped it or made a repair.

  It looked just the same as when she was a child, Liza thought. As if Uncle Clive might step back to do some work at any minute.

  A shadow crossed her line of sight, and Liza turned to see Daniel standing in the doorway.

  “It’s a regular tool museum in here,” he said lightly. “I’d be careful, though. There are some Harry Potter-sized spiders.”

  The thought made Liza’s skin crawl, but she wasn’t about to let him see that. “I’m looking for a rake,” she said. “Have you seen one around?”

  “Over in the corner.” Daniel pointed to the far left side of the barn. “I think there are a few propped next to the wall behind the bicycles.”

  “Bicycles?” Liza stared around. “I don’t see any bicycles.”

  “Covered with that blue tarp. There are two or three. Your aunt kept them around for guests. She liked me to keep them in some sort of riding condition-though they’re so ancient, it’s a challenge, even with air in the tires.”

  Liza had loved biking when she was young but hadn’t ridden in years. She walked over to the bikes and pulled off the tarp.

  There were three of them, old-fashioned ten-speeds with curled handlebars and very hard-looking seats. They were stored upside down, so that the tires wouldn’t get warped or deflated.

  She reached out and spun a pedal, watching the rear wheel of the closest bike spin with a familiar clicking sound.

  “Do you like to ride?” Daniel had sneaked up on her, his voice so close, she suddenly jumped.

  “Oh… you scared me.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  “Of course not,” she said quickly. She turned and looked up at him. He was so tall. She could hardly make out his expression in the dim light.

  “I used to like to ride when I was younger,” she admitted, “but I haven’t been out o
n a bike in years. Maybe I’ll take one of these for a spin sometime. Are they rideable?”

  “They are. Unless you’re training for the Tour de France.”

  “I decided to skip it this year. Too much going on around here,” she answered, matching his dry tone.

  “That makes sense. Well, if you do go for a spin, there are a few bike tools and an air pump in that box.” He pointed to a wooden box near the bikes. “And some helmets, too.”

  “Okay, thanks.” She turned to him and smiled.

  “Are we still looking for the rake? Or going for a ride instead?”

  Who is this “we” you’re referring to? she wanted to ask.

  Me, of course, his dark eyes seemed to answer her with a playful light. As if to say he wouldn’t mind skipping work for a while and going for a ride with her.

  Liza hesitated, wondering if she should suggest the idea. Then she quickly caught herself.

  Are you out of your mind? Inviting the housepainter to go for a bike ride-in the middle of a workday?

  Liza glanced at him and backed away from the bikes. “I can’t go now,” she said abruptly. “I have a lot to do.”

  “Right. Work. I almost forgot. I have a house to paint.”

  “Yeah, I think you do.”

  He walked away smiling, looking pleased that he’d gotten to her.

  He did get to her. She wasn’t sure why. He hardly treated her the way a contractor should be treating a customer. Somehow she stood for it-and even encouraged him.

  Liza grabbed the old rake and got to work, gathering the dead leaves that littered the lawn. There were more under the bushes in the garden, but she decided to leave the garden for later. She pushed herself hard, deliberately trying to work up a sweat and burn off the ire from the latest in her office drama.

  But for some reason, she wasn’t really thinking about Charlie anymore. Her thoughts kept wandering back to Daniel Merritt, who was working nearby, up on a ladder at the back of the house. She raked industriously, never once glancing his way, yet for some reason totally conscious of his every movement.

  The way she acted around him was silly, almost embarrassing, as if they were playing some dumb flirtation game. She was pretty rusty at that sport; she’d be the first to admit it.

  Daniel Merritt, on the other hand, seemed a pro. He probably charmed lots of women he worked for. Out of sheer boredom, she guessed, from living around here. Liza knew she shouldn’t make too much of it, especially since she would be leaving in just over a week. So what was the point of encouraging anything?

  The pile of leaves and branches was growing bigger. Liza took a break to admire her progress and look for a new spot to attack with her rake. The kitchen door opened, and Will came out. Liza waved to him as he walked over, his hands dug deep in the front pockets of his jeans, the hood of his brown sweatshirt pulled up over his head though it was quite a mild day.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, Will,” Liza echoed his greeting. “Is the real estate agent still here?”

  Will nodded. “She’s, like, popping out of the woodwork, everywhere you turn. It’s like a slasher movie or something. And my dad is, like, stalking them. It’s really bizarre.”

  Liza had to laugh at the description. “Sounds about right. Want to help me rake?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I could. It’s so flipping boring here, there’s nothing else to do.”

  She handed him her rake and started toward the shed to look for another. She turned around and called back to him over her shoulder. “I found some bikes. Maybe we could all go for a ride later. Your dad and I can show you the island.”

  He looked up at her, and she noticed a slight sign of interest in the flicker of an eyebrow. “What is there to see around here?”

  “Lots of things. The beaches and some farms. There’s a little bunch of shops not too far away. There are these amazing cliffs on the other side of the island that are shaped like wings. There’s a legend about them.”

  Peter came out of the house then. He didn’t look happy.

  “Are the Nelsons gone?” Liza asked him.

  He nodded quickly. “On their way to another appointment. Another big house on the island, though I don’t think it’s quite as large as this one or has a water view. I wish I knew where it was. I’d like to check out our competition.”

  He was getting obsessed. Liza let out a long breath, struggling for patience.

  “I don’t think we can really worry about that too much, Peter. What did Fran say?”

  “She just said she would call us later. Very noncommittal. I couldn’t really tell if she had a feeling about them one way or the other.”

  “We can’t expect the first people who look at the inn to buy it,” Liza reminded him.

  “Why not? Sometimes ballplayers hit the first pitch out of the park. It happens, you know.”

  Will, who had started raking, rolled his eyes so that only Liza could see. She struggled not to grin and give him away.

  “Fran made a few mistakes when she was showing the place,” Peter went on. “I had to correct her.”

  “What kind of mistakes?” Liza asked warily.

  “Oh, little things. She said the house was built in 1895 for a sea captain. It was actually 1890. And she said the banister is oak when it’s maple. We don’t want to be inaccurate.”

  “No, we wouldn’t want that,” Liza muttered. She hoped Peter hadn’t driven Fran Tulley crazy. Her brother could be so dense at times.

  Liza’s cell phone went off. She quickly pulled it from her back pocket and recognized Fran Tulley’s number. Was Peter right? Were the Nelsons going to make an offer?

  “Hello, Liza. It’s Fran,” the real estate agent began. “I’m out on another appointment, but I had a minute to call you.”

  “How did it go? Are they interested? Peter couldn’t really tell.”

  “They liked the place, but I think the repairs that are needed scared them off. They’re more the granite-kitchen, marble-bath type. It would be a lot of work to get the inn up to their standards.”

  “With those standards, yes, it would,” Liza had to agree.

  “I did want to tell you privately-and as diplomatically as I can-that it’s difficult to show a property with the owner hovering and cutting into the conversation. That’s why you hire someone like me. Because we have the knowledge and professional experience.”

  “I know exactly what you’re saying, Fran. I was wondering about that myself,” Liza replied quietly.

  She noticed Peter walking quickly in her direction. He had obviously figured out that she was talking to Fran. He signaled to her, but she waved him away.

  “Good. I’m glad we understand each other,” Fran said. “No offense to your brother,” she added. “I know you’re both eager to sell. But his contributions are not helping that effort.”

  “I’ll try to communicate that to him,” Liza promised.

  “I’d like to bring another couple by this afternoon. Would that be okay?”

  “Fine with me. And we’ll all try to stay out of your way,” Liza said.

  “Great. See you then.”

  Fran clicked off, and Liza turned to her brother, who was now hovering inches away.

  “Was that Fran? What did she say?” he asked.

  “She said the Nelsons liked the place, but they aren’t interested in taking on significant renovations. They like granite kitchens and marble bathrooms. They don’t want a fixer-upper.”

  “What else did she say? You were talking a long time.”

  This part was harder. Liza braced herself. “She said it was difficult for a sales agent to show a property if the owner was… hovering. It undermined her efforts.”

  “I was just trying to be helpful,” Peter explained. “And I wanted to see how she handled buyers and showed the place…” He looked a little deflated. “I guess she didn’t like that.”

  “She knows you were trying to help. But I don’t think you would like it if some
one was leaning over your shoulder, peering through the viewfinder, as you tried to do your job, would you?”

  Peter didn’t answer. But from his expression, she knew he had gotten her point.

  “She’s bringing more people today,” Liza added, hoping that would cheer him up.

  “Really? When?”

  “This afternoon. But we won’t be here, so you won’t be tempted to butt in again.”

  Peter’s face grew a little red. “Where will we be?”

  “We’re going to take a bike ride, you, me, and Will. We’re going to show him the island. Right after we rake up all these leaves.”

  Will paused and leaned on his rake, waiting for his father’s reaction.

  Peter looked at the both of them. “Sounds like you have it all planned. Where do we get the bikes-rent them somewhere?”

  “There are three perfectly good ones in the shed, oiled up and ready to go. A bit old,” Liza added, “but I hear they work.”

  “What about that endless to-do list of yours?”

  “It can wait a few hours. I promised Will a tour of the island,” she answered. “It’s a perfect day for it.”

  Peter turned to his son. “Do you want to go bike riding?”

  Will shrugged. “I guess. It beats raking leaves.”

  “He’s made some good progress,” Liza said, pointing to the large pile Will had gathered. “Why don’t we finish the job together and then go out for a ride? Maybe Claire can make us some lunch, and we’ll eat on the beach.”

  “All right,” Peter agreed. “The air is so clear around here; there’s great light. I’ll bring some cameras.”

  Liza fetched another rake from the shed and handed it to her brother. “Many hands make light work,” she decided, was one proverb that was very true.

  It was good to get this big job done, but she was looking forward to touring the island, too. She had always had such a strong work ethic, sticking to her responsibilities and duties no matter what. Never taking time for herself.

  Well, today she was going to do something fun and not worry about it. So she tried not to feel too guilty about abandoning the inn and her long to-do list. It was important to spend time with Will.