The Inn at Angel Island

by Thomas Kinkade

  This had to be Claire’s handiwork, she realized.

  Liza took a closer look and noticed the pot was handmade, one of her aunt’s creations, probably unearthed during the clearing out of closets.

  Aunt Elizabeth had finished the pot with a blue glaze and a bright green stripe. She had also inscribed a saying along the rim. Liza lifted it up to read the words.

  And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.

  Liza couldn’t recall the last time she had been inside a church, not counting her aunt’s memorial service. But she easily recognized one of Aunt Elizabeth’s favorite bits of scripture. The words helped her feel calmer. No telling what the day-or the Hardys’ visit- would bring. Liza decided she would try to take a page from her aunt’s book and hold on to the view that no matter what, all would work out for the best.

  She glanced at her laptop again but the cool, fresh air and fair weather distracted her, calling her outdoors. This could be her last day on the island, she realized. Or close to it. It might be her last chance to get out and enjoy herself here. There didn’t seem to be any sense in staying indoors to do any sort of work.

  Liza grabbed her sweater and down vest, then went downstairs, where she scavenged the kitchen for a few snacks and her refillable water bottle. She stowed her necessities in a small, light pack, along with her sketch pad and cell phone, and slung it over her shoulder.

  There was a note from Claire on the kitchen table, written in even, square handwriting. The housekeeper had gone up to the General Store for some vegetables to make soup and would be back soon.

  Liza wrote a note back, explaining that she was going out for a while but noting that Fran Tulley would be by with some clients around eleven.

  “Thank you for the pot of bulbs I found in my room,” she added at the bottom. “That was very thoughtful.” As always, Liza added to herself.

  She headed out the back door, suddenly aware of just how much she would miss Claire when she left here. It had only been two weeks, but she’d grown accustomed to the older woman’s calm, steady ways-and her incredible cooking.

  What would Claire do if they sold this place? She seemed so attached to the inn, an integral part of it. While Liza was sure that Claire could find work easily, it was hard to picture her working anywhere else. Claire seemed to belong here, Liza mused.

  Liza found the bike she preferred in the shed, hooked the helmet to the handlebars, and tugged the bike outside.

  She wondered where Daniel was this morning. She’d seen his truck and heard men working outside earlier, but it was quiet now.

  If things worked out with the Hardys, she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore either, she realized. She would miss him, too-or maybe just miss what might have been.

  She slipped on her helmet and started off on the bike. She had no plan in mind, just to ride long enough to make her too tired to think. The Angel Wing Cliffs should do it, she decided, and headed off in that direction.

  Liza rode for about an hour along the main road, which offered an ocean view most of the time. By the time she reached the cliffs, she was more than ready to take a break.

  She stopped on the side of the road near a large smooth boulder, where the cliffs were in full view and the shoreline stretched out below. They had stopped at this very spot the day she and Peter had come out here with Will. The weather had been chillier then. It felt more like spring today, and there were more signs of the season. The brush and trees scattered on the cliff top looked as if they had been touched with an artist’s brush, tipped in bright green paint.

  The sun was high in the clear sky, beaming down on the empty road. She rolled the bike over to a shady spot under a tree. The tree was still bare of leaves, but she could see small green buds on the branches, nearly ready to burst.

  Tired from riding, Liza took off her helmet, then took a bottle of water from her pack. The water was still cool and tasted wonderful. Such a simple pleasure, she realized, cold water when you’re tired and thirsty.

  She sat on the side of the road and gazed around. She hadn’t seen a car or another biker, or even anyone walking on the road since she started the ride. She felt as if she were suddenly the only person left on the island. It wasn’t a bad feeling either.

  It was so very quiet. She heard the sound of the waves dashing on the shoreline far below and the breeze rustling the branches of bushes and trees. A flock of birds hopped among the brush, chirping and squawking at one another before growing silent again.

  Liza took out the food she’d brought-an apple and a wedge of cheddar cheese and a few whole grain crackers-and ate every bite. The snack revived her, but she wasn’t quite ready to get back on her bike. Stowing her trash in the pack, she noticed her sketch pad and took it out.

  It was open to a sketch of the seabirds on the shoreline that she had drawn the other day. Liza looked at it for a moment, then flipped to a fresh page. She took out her soft umber pencil and started to sketch the view before her, the Angel Wing Cliffs and the shoreline below.

  Perhaps it was a trick of the sunlight at this time of day, but Liza could see the cliffs clearly as wings today. The rugged white cliffs seemed both solid and gently yielding, almost ready to expand and lift off the earth. It was really an inexplicable sight, impossible to describe in words, and Liza struggled to capture some small sense of it in her drawing.

  Her aunt had painted this same view of the cliffs in watercolors and oils. Many famous painters were fascinated with a particular landscape, painting it over and over in all types of light, in different seasons, and with different techniques. Van Gogh and the haystacks. Monet and the water lilies. Aunt Elizabeth had been that way about the cliffs, and Liza had seen many versions of this landscape among the paintings in the attic.

  Of course, lots of people who came to the island chose this spot to paint or photograph. But it made Liza suddenly feel close to her aunt, in touch with Elizabeth’s spirit, to recall those efforts and work at that vision herself.

  After she filled a few pages, the light and the wind shifted, subtly changing the scene. Liza felt she was ready to close her sketchbook but sat with it in her lap a moment and ran her finger along the edge of the binding.

  She had practically laughed at the sketchbook the night Peter had handed it to her. Her old efforts seemed so amateur, even embarrassing. But now, she held them in her lap like a treasure, a glimpse into her past, a touchstone she had lost and forgotten about but now rediscovered. An important part of herself she had pushed aside but now embraced.

  With her eyes closed against the sunlight and the rhythmic echo of the waves below in tune with her own heartbeat, Liza felt as if the entire world had very slowly come to a full stop. A sense of complete and utter calm filled her like a white light. She felt part of something larger, connected to the ocean waves and blue sky, the rocks and sand, the trees and birds.

  It was a rare and indescribable feeling. Even as she experienced it, she knew she could never explain it to anyone. For the first time in a long time, she felt whole. And certain. As she slowly opened her eyes and looked at the world around her, her surroundings somehow looked different and new. Or perhaps she was the one who felt different deep within.

  She wasn’t sure exactly. But she was sure of one thing. She knew what she had to do.

  Liza returned to the inn in the late afternoon. Peter was sitting on the porch in an Adirondack chair. She left her bike on the gravel drive and walked up to him.

  “How’s it going? Did the Bramble take anything?”

  “One or two items. That woman who owns the place, Grace Hegman? She’s very fussy and drives a hard bargain. You wouldn’t think so from that display in her window.”

  Liza could tell that Peter was out of sorts. Was he just annoyed after dealing with Grace Hegman? Or was it something more? She walked onto the porch and sat in a chair next to him.

  “I called Fran Tulley,” he reported. “She said the Hardys were here a long time, but we s
houldn’t expect any word until tomorrow. Maybe even Monday,” he added glumly. “They need to review their information and figure things out. I hate all this waiting.”

  “I know,” Liza said sympathetically. But what she was thinking was, no news is good news. From her point of view anyway.

  She stared out at the ocean, realizing that she had fully expected to return here and be facing a firm offer from the Hardys. The delay in their reply seemed an amazing, eleventh-hour reprieve.

  Thank You, God. She offered up a silent prayer without even realizing it.

  “I guess it won’t be the end of the world if they don’t make us a good offer,” Peter said, though his tone belied his words. “I just wish we had this settled.”

  “I do, too,” Liza began. “But even the fact that they’re so interested is a good sign. I mean, at least it shows the property is a good investment.” She turned to face him, gathering her courage. “It’s nice to see all the hearsay confirmed, don’t you think?”

  “There was never much question of that.”

  “I know, but I’ve been thinking…” Liza leaned back. “Why hand over this great investment to some stranger and never get to reap the long-term benefits? I’m sure Aunt Elizabeth knew about the changes on the island. Maybe she just assumed we would be smart enough to hang on to the property until the value went up. By the time we’re ready to retire, this place could be worth a fortune.”

  Peter moaned and covered his face with his hands. “Don’t tell me you’re going off on me again, Liza. It’s been a hard day. I’m not sure I can take it.”

  “Peter… please… just listen a minute. I felt awful all day, thinking someone might buy the inn. I just feel it in my heart that selling it is the wrong thing to do. I’ve had time to think about this, and I’m very certain that I don’t want to go back to my job. Not in two weeks, not ever.”

  He had taken his hands off his face, and she saw that he was about to interrupt.

  “And this is not about losing that promotion,” she quickly added before he could speak. “I never got to tell you about the call from my boss on Friday night. Right before we went into the movie. She called to tell me that… that I did get the VP spot. It seems I totally misunderstood what she said last week and tortured myself for no reason.”

  But maybe that misunderstanding had turned out to be a good thing, Liza realized now. It had forced her to look at her life from a new perspective and see alternatives beyond her job at the agency.

  Peter shook his head in confusion. “I don’t get it. You got the promotion-and now you don’t want it?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. I guess I feel gratified by the offer. But I know now it’s not for me. Having a bigger office, a big title, even making more money. It’s just not going to get me where I really want to go.”

  “And where is that, Liza? Do you know?”

  “Yes, I do,” she insisted. “I want to stay here and run the inn.” She paused, giving the words a chance to sink in. “I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, Peter, but that is the honest and entire truth. I know for sure, this is what I really want to do.”

  “Liza, don’t you realize what you’d be throwing away? Everything you worked for. Your entire reputation in the business. You can’t just wake up one morning and say, ‘Heck, I’m going to chuck my entire career out the window.’ I can’t let you do that.”

  Liza held on to her patience. “It’s not your decision to make, Peter. It’s mine. I’ve lived my entire life doing what I thought I should do to make other people happy or approve of me. Or to be considered a success on their terms. I don’t want to do that anymore. I simply won’t,” she stated flatly. “Even if you don’t agree to let me take over here, I’m not going back to the agency. I’ll start freelancing as a graphic artist or do some consulting. And I’ll get back to my own artwork. If I don’t do it now, while I feel motivated, I probably never will. You’re the one who told me I should,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, but I didn’t say for you to blow up your entire life doing it,” he shot back.

  Liza ignored his irate tone and pale, shocked expression. “If I stay out here, I can work independently to bring in money until the inn turns a profit again. I know it will be hard at first, but I have so many contacts in the business. Even Barkin & Carr will give me work. I know you were expecting money from the sale,” she rushed on, before he could argue again, “but I could easily loan you money for your business. Couldn’t you just give me a chance and see if I can make it work out? Maybe just a year or so? The inn might be worth more by then, too, if we still need to sell it.”

  Peter looked about to answer, then just let out a long, exasperated breath. He rose and shook his head, pacing back and forth on the porch.

  “Liza… please. Don’t press me for an answer on this right now. It’s a lot to think about, a lot to consider. And it’s definitely not a good moment to back me into a corner. Your timing is just terrible.”

  Liza’s heart sank. “Why is it terrible? Has something happened that I don’t know about?”

  “I had a call from Gail today-another big argument about Will. She won’t agree to the joint custody. We had a terrible fight, then Will got on the phone and told her that he doesn’t want to live with me half of the time. He has one more week off from school for the spring break, but he told his mother he wanted to go home tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Peter… that is terrible. I thought you were making some progress with him. Except for the past day or so,” she added.

  “I thought so, too. I know this place isn’t as exciting as a trek into the mountains, but I thought he was having some fun. And we were getting a bit closer again.”

  Peter sat back down and covered his face with his hands. It had been a bad day for him. First, a battle with his ex-wife, then rejection from his son, and finally a hard sell from his sister.

  Liza could understand why her brother wanted to be free of the inn. It was just one more thing to worry about in his overly complicated life.

  She knelt by his chair and rubbed his shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I’m sorry about Will. Maybe he didn’t mean what he said about living with you. Were you two still arguing over the cell phone?”

  “We smoothed that one over right before lunch at the Clam Box, as I predicted,” he added with a small smile. “Afterward, we were walking around town and he wanted to use my camera. He had forgotten the one I gave him and wasn’t even sure where he had put it. So that got me annoyed. I only had my Nikon, the one I use for work. I didn’t want him to fool around with it. So he was mad at me all over again when Gail called.”

  “That might have been it right there. He was just trying to get back at you,” Liza pointed out. “He probably didn’t mean it.”

  “Maybe. But that doesn’t help my case with Gail. She heard him say that and will use it against me in some deposition or in court. Even if he denies it later.” Peter let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe I should just give up and see him every other weekend. Or just when she decides I can. Maybe that’s the way he really wants it, too.”

  “Listen,” Liza said, “I’m no expert on kids, but I think it’s clear that you shouldn’t give up. You’re his father, Peter. You shouldn’t be kept away from your son. He’s in a difficult stage right now, and the divorce has made it worse. But when he gets older, he’ll appreciate that you fought to be with him. I know he will.”

  “You think so?” he asked hopefully.

  “I do,” she said.

  Peter looked somewhat calmer, comforted by her words. “Thanks, Liza. I appreciate you listening to me. Sometimes I feel so alone. I don’t have many people I can talk to.”

  “Me, too.” She smiled at him. “But we still have each other, right?”

  “Yes, we do.” He smiled back and patted her hand. “I’m sorry we’re arguing about the inn. It sounds as if coming back here has really affected you.”

  “It has,” s
he said quietly. “I’m not sure why, but I can’t deny it. I really dreaded coming back here, but now… I just feel really different. And really grateful.”

  He looked into her eyes, seeming surprised at what he saw there. “I’ve been so busy with my own problems, I didn’t even notice what was going on with you. I’m sorry,” he added sincerely. “Why don’t you give me a little time to think things over? I need more time with Will, too-that is, if I can persuade him to stay for a few more days.” Peter shook his head. “I know the inn is important to you. But to me Will is more important, the most important thing in my life. The divorce taught me that.”

  “I understand,” Liza said. “I think he does, too. Let’s just put it aside for a while and come back to it when we feel ready.” Liza went inside, satisfied that her brother had finally heard her. He understood how she felt about the inn and what she wanted. There was no need to discuss it further right now.

  She also felt an inner certainty that the right thing would happen, one way or the other. She wasn’t sure how or where this feeling had come from, but the intuition was strong and unmistakable, lending her a sense of calm in the midst of her confusion.

  She only hoped that she could hang on to this fragile peace of mind, come what may.

  ON Sunday morning, Peter and Will were up and dressed and had already eaten breakfast by the time Liza came downstairs. They were getting ready to go someplace, she noticed, some special destination by the look of the belongings gathered for the outing.

  They weren’t going back to Tucson, were they? Liza felt a prick of alarm. Her brother would have said something last night if that was his plan. But you never knew. Peter’s moods changed as quickly as the weather sometimes.