Liza blinked. Her eyes had filled with tears for some strange reason.
“Jeff . . . it’s too late for all that . . .” Her voice sounded shaky, as though she were unsure of her words. Was she unsure? Had he got her thinking again about starting over?
“You don’t have to answer me now, Liza. Give it a chance to sink in.” He took her hand again, and this time, she didn’t pull away. “The other night, when I read your note, I realized how much I still love you. I really do,” he insisted. “I’ve made my mistakes. Nobody is perfect. If you’ll just forgive me, it will be completely different this time, I promise . . . If we had a baby, it would all work out for us. It’s the chance of a lifetime, Liza. I just don’t want to miss it.”
“Oh Jeff,” she said sadly. “A child is not the answer.” She was suddenly sure of that. “It never was,” she told him. “Please, just go, will you? It was wrong of you to come here like this. I’m very . . . upset. Really.”
“Liza, don’t say that.” He reached for her, and she pulled away.
Then she slipped past him and ran down the steps, tipping over the paint tray in the process.
Jeff tried to follow her. She heard his fast steps on the gravel. She turned and saw Peter step into Jeff ’s path and grab his arm, not roughly but firmly enough to stop him.
“Liza said she doesn’t want to talk to you right now, Jeff. I think you should just respect her wishes and go.”
Jeff glanced at his former brother-in-law but didn’t struggle. He just stared at Liza, a pleading look in his eyes.
Liza saw a bike in the drive, leaning against a tree, and ran toward it. Will must have gone for a ride and left it there, lucky for her. She jumped on and started riding.
Jeff called after her, but she didn’t turn around. She hoped he didn’t try to follow her with his car. But she could go off the road onto a path and lose him easily while on the bike, she realized.
If only it were that easy to get him out of her life.
Liza rode fast but aimlessly. She climbed the hill on the main road and flew down the other side as if she were being pursued by a pack of hungry tigers. She passed through the island center and considered going into Daisy Winkler’s tearoom, where she could hide away, read books, and sip mint tea all day. But that stop was too close to home. If Jeff pursued her, he would be sure to find her there.
She rode on and turned onto Ice House Road, the road that cut north to south on the island and ended up at the Angel Wing Cliffs.
Thick gray clouds had moved in, covering the sun, as if Jeff had brought the bad weather with him, she thought. There was a strong wind, too, that seemed to be blowing against her no matter which direction she rode. It made it much harder to pedal, especially uphill. Liza was glad she’d worn a heavy sweatshirt that morning for painting and that there was a fresh water bottle on the bike rack.
She thought she might ride up to the cliffs and sit there for a while. Hopefully, Peter would persuade Jeff to go back to the city. Quickly.
But as she rode along, she came to the old cemetery and decided to stop there. She parked her bike on the side of the road and walked in through the wrought-iron gate. Set on a hill and surrounded by a low stone wall, the cemetery was not very large.
There were headstones that dated back to the 1600s, when the first inhabitants of the island had arrived; the markers were old stone tablets, moss covered and practically worn away by the caress of salty winds and rain. And the simple passage of time.
Searching for the marker for her aunt and uncle, Liza saw quite a few gravestones marked with the surname North. Claire must be a native of the island, Liza realized, her family lineage dating back all the way to the earliest settlers. Somehow, Liza wasn’t surprised.
Wandering down the narrow rows, she finally found the headstone marked Dunne and under that the names Clive and Elizabeth, and the dates of their births and deaths. She gazed down at it a moment. She had expected to find the spot bare. But someone had planted spring bulbs in a cluster at the bottom of the stone, and she could see that the earth had already been cleaned of weeds and turned, the green shoots making their way up toward the sun.
There would be flowers blooming here in a few weeks. Maybe sooner than that. The thought pleased her but also made her wonder who had been so careful and considerate, coming to this remote spot to plant flowers that no one would see.
It should have been me, Liza thought. But I was too busy, as usual, doing my oh-so-important work for the agency. It must have been Claire, she realized. Just a guess, but it seemed like something Claire would do.
Well, I’ll come again and bring more flowers, Liza promised herself. There was plenty of time for that.
She sat down on the grass near the marker and read the inscription:
Two roads diverged . . . I took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference.
—Robert Frost
Frost was their favorite poet. Frost and Whitman. Liza had found their beloved, worn-out volumes of Leaves of Grass and Frost’s collected works when she was cleaning out the bookcases. She had put them aside to take home as mementos. Her aunt used to read passages from Leaves of Grass to her, but Liza had never read the entire collection of poems on her own. She would start it, she decided, maybe tonight. It had to be a more worthwhile pursuit than staring at a computer screen and trying to catch up on office work. Where had that gotten her?
Liza gazed at the gravestone, wondering what Aunt Elizabeth would have thought about the scene at the inn today. Would she have encouraged Liza to have more patience with Jeff and consider his hope to reconcile? Liza had a feeling her aunt wouldn’t have encouraged that. Actually, she wouldn’t have tried to push her one way or the other. “Listen to your heart, Liza, not your head,” Aunt Elizabeth used to say.
Her heart was telling her that it was over with Jeff. That she was even fortunate they had never had children together. That would have been a big mistake, she could see it now very clearly. She would have children someday. But she wasn’t ready.
“If you’re not sure, give it time. The right answer will come to you,” her aunt used to say. “Give it time.”
That was her aunt’s guiding principle. Give things time. That seemed to be Claire North’s philosophy as well. Of course, it seemed that out on this island, there was an endless amount of time. It was different back in Boston, in her own life.
Jeff had been pressuring her their whole married life. Liza could see that now. He had come this morning, trying to sweep her off her feet. But this time, she wouldn’t be rushed.
Liza stood up and gazed at the grave again. She wished her aunt were around to talk to, to give her some advice about . . . about everything.
One thing suddenly seemed clear. If Aunt Elizabeth were around, she would probably be displeased with the way Liza and Peter were rushing to sell the inn. Aunt Elizabeth had given the best years of her life to that beautiful old building, and now they were just abandoning it. It made Liza feel sad and even ashamed of herself in some way.
Liza had been telling herself they had no other choice. But there were always other choices. That’s what her aunt would have said. If you were daring and honest enough to look for them.
She felt a few raindrops and pulled up her hood, then felt around in her pocket for a tissue. She found a shell instead.
How had that gotten there? She must have picked it up on the beach at some point but didn’t remember when.
She held it for a moment, then placed it near the headstone.
It was a very pretty shell and all she had to offer right now.
Her aunt would like it. She had always been pleased by original gifts, Liza recalled.
Liza closed her eyes a moment and said a prayer. It was not something she was used to doing, and the words slowly came to her. It was a prayer her aunt used to recite at night as she tucked Liza and her brother into bed.
Dearest Lord, teach me to be generous.
Teach me to serve You, as You deserve,
To give and not to count the cost,
To fight and not to seek for rest,
To labor and not to seek reward,
Save that of knowing that I do Thy will.
Finally she stepped away and said good-bye to her aunt and uncle. The rain was falling steadily now, and the wind was even stronger. It was time to return to the inn, whether Jeff was still there or not. She reached into her pocket again, looking for her cell phone. It wasn’t there, and Liza stood in the rain, searching all her pockets, twice, before she faced the fact that she had somehow forgotten it back at the inn.
She almost started laughing. How ironic. After carrying her BlackBerry around everywhere, like an extra body part, she didn’t have it handy when she needed it most. She shook her head, went and got her bike, and wheeled it onto the road. Nothing to do now but head home the same way she came.
Liza pedaled steadily but slowly through the rain. She wondered if a car or truck would pass and give her a ride back.
But nobody came along the old road going in her direction.
The sky grew even darker, and she heard a rumble of thunder, then saw a bolt of lightning strike out over the water. Daniel had been talking about the spring storms just this morning. Well, here they were, Liza realized. Right on time.
Maybe this one would knock down the inn, and they wouldn’t have to worry about painting it, fixing it, or even selling it.
Liza felt her clothes getting waterlogged from the rain.
Her jeans stuck to her legs and made it hard to pedal. She finally got off the bike and began to push it as she walked on the shoulder of the road.
The entire situation suddenly made her laugh out loud. This was just a metaphor for her entire life, wasn’t it? She could only imagine what she looked like, with her soaking wet clothes and her hair plastered to her head, pushing along the broken-down old bike. She had splashed through so many puddles her legs were covered with mud up to her knees. Her sweatshirt and jeans clung to her skin.
What was that saying she once heard? “Man plans, God laughs.”
She had always been a very good planner. Her life was organized and scheduled, every assignment, appointment, and deadline neatly noted in her daily diary. School, marriage, buying a condo, her promotions up the corporate food chain.
Now here she was. At her wit’s end. Laughing like a crazy lady. Pushing a bike on a country road in a thunderstorm. She didn’t remember noting this episode in the plan. God was getting a good laugh today, wasn’t He?
Liza paused and turned her face up to the sky. “Pretty funny. I hope you’re enjoying yourself!” she shouted.
She heard a car coming up behind her and quickly yanked the bike to the side of the road. She turned and saw a white pickup truck slowing to a stop.
It was raining so hard she couldn’t trust her vision . . . Was that Daniel behind the wheel . . . or just her hopeful imagination?
The truck pulled up slowly alongside her, and the driver’s side window came down. It was Daniel. He took her in from head to toe, looking like he wanted to laugh and was struggling to hold it in. “Want a lift?”
She stared at him a moment, trying to remember the last time she had been so happy to see someone.
“Thanks, but . . . I’ll only get the inside of your truck soaking wet. And it’s not that far now. I can walk the rest.”
Daniel abruptly stopped the truck, got out, and grabbed the bike without even asking. He tossed it in the back of the pickup with one swift, easy motion. He was pretty strong, she realized.
“Would you like to ride in the cab? Or in back with the bike?”
Liza imagined herself hoisted up and thrown in the truck bed. He looked like he could do it, too.
“In the cab, thanks.” Liza walked around to the passenger’s side and got in. Daniel slipped behind the wheel and closed his door. “Put your belt on,” he reminded her as he started the engine.
The wipers slapped at the rainy windshield, and the windows grew foggy despite the blower. She felt her shoulder brush Daniel’s as the truck rolled along, hitting puddles and potholes in the old road. It felt very close and intimate in the truck cab. Daniel stared straight at the road. His thick, dark hair was slicked back, emphasizing his strong profile.
She pushed her wet hair back with her hand, knowing she looked a perfect mess. Like a drowned cat. No help for it, she decided. She wiped a little space on her window with her hand and noticed they were near the town center.
“So you were sent to hunt me down and bring me back? Dead or alive, is that it?”
Daniel laughed. “Something like that. I didn’t have my loyal bloodhounds handy, but I volunteered anyway.”
He had volunteered to come find her? That was . . . interesting.
“What about my ex-husband?” she asked quietly. “Didn’t he volunteer?”
“Yes, he did, now that you mention it. We decided to split up and look on different sides of the island. I drew a little map for him with some . . . directions.”
Liza glanced at him, detecting a small smile. She had a strong feeling Daniel’s map would have Jeff driving in circles for days. But she didn’t comment.
“He might have found his way back by now, though,” he added, making her laugh. He glanced at her. “Are you worried that he’s waiting for you?”
Liza shrugged. “I wouldn’t say ‘worried.’ And I certainly wouldn’t mind a cup of tea,” she added, as Daisy Winkler’s cottage came into view.
Daniel glanced over at her and smiled, quickly turning the truck toward the tearoom. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing. And here we are, right in front of Daisy Winkler’s.”
“Yes, here we are. How convenient,” she agreed, meeting his dark gaze for a moment. Then she opened her door and slipped out her side of the truck.
The rain came down steadily as they ran down the path to the front door of the cottage. Liza was closest to the door and rang the bell. Daniel stood behind her. He had opened his jacket and held the edges out over her, like a canopy.
“Get under,” he urged her as they stood waiting for Daisy to come to the door.
She stepped back, her shoulders nearly touching his chest.
She felt her breath catch at his nearness and felt the warmth of his body, even through her wet clothes. She was glad that he couldn’t see her face. She was sure her cheeks were bright pink.
Daisy finally came to the door. Her small face stared out at them quizzically.
“Hello, Daisy. Are you open today?” Daniel asked politely.
“Yes, of course. Come in, come in . . .” Daisy urged them forward. Liza stepped inside, then felt self-conscious as she dripped water all over the entranceway.
“Oh, my dear, it looks like you’ve been swimming. Did you fall off a boat?” Daisy inquired in a serious tone.
Liza smiled and shook her head. “I was out on my bike, and the rain started.” She stared down at her mud-covered shoes. She looked as if she had just emerged from a swamp. “Oh, dear . . . I don’t want to make a mess in here. Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll get something for you.” Daisy waved her hands in the air as she trotted off to some other room of the cottage.
Liza glanced at Daniel as Daisy disappeared. He was so tall, his head nearly grazed the low ceiling. “She must be getting a towel,” he whispered. Liza nodded. Then he reached out and pushed a wet strand of hair off her cheek. His touch was gentle and startling at the same time. “You do look like you fell off a boat. You look like a drowned—”
“Don’t say it,” she warned him fiercely. But couldn’t help smiling.
Before he could answer, Daisy reappeared. She carried a towel along with a load of clothes draped over one arm. “I picked out a few things that might fit you from the thrift rack in back.”
Daisy had a thrift rack in here, too? Liza hadn’t noticed that during her first visit, but she had only glanced inside and ha
dn’t really looked around.
Daisy handed over the bundle of clothes. “There’s a powder room right there.” She pointed to a pink door in the short hallway that separated the tearoom from another large room. “You dry yourself off and put on some warm things. I’ll get everything together for your tea.”
Liza glanced down at the clothes as Daisy trotted off in the opposite direction. The clothes were very—Daisy-ish. “I can’t wear this stuff. I’ll look like a mannequin in a costume museum,” she whispered to Daniel.
He picked up the edge of a sheer, frilly blouse. “This looks promising. Why don’t you try this one?”
“Dream on, pal.” Liza snatched it back, and he laughed.
She headed for the powder room, shut the door, then jumped back when she saw her reflection in the small, gilt-edged mirror. Daisy’s offerings suddenly looked much better. Anything would be an improvement, she realized.
A few minutes later, Liza emerged feeling drier, warmer, and much more presentable. She had washed up, twisted her wet hair into a knot at the back of her head, and secured it with some bobby pins she found in the bathroom. From the pile of antique clothes, she had picked out a dark blue velvet blouse with long full sleeves and a row of tiny, shiny buttons down the front. The blouse came down below her hips and had a high neck with a pointed collar. It would have looked very modest—a great disappointment compared to the sheer frilly number Daniel had picked out—except that it was a little snug across her bust.
But that couldn’t be helped, Liza thought. It was the only top that didn’t make her look like a heroine in a gothic romance. Well, not completely.
She couldn’t find anything suitable to replace her wet jeans, though Daisy had given her several long skirts. She managed to clean her pants off a bit and replaced her wet socks and sneakers with some thick, warm socks.
When she came back to the tearoom, Daniel was seated at a small table by a window at the front of the shop. The table was set for two with china teacups and plates. A teapot stood between the place settings, alongside a tiered tray of cakes and little sandwiches that made Liza instantly aware that she was starving.
Thomas Kinkade Page 18
