Thomas Kinkade

by The Inn at Angel Island (v5)

  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,” she 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.

  “Good morning, guys. Heading out somewhere?” she asked, as she walked into the kitchen.

  “Will wants to do a whale watch. There’s a boat out of Newburyport, but we have to hustle to catch the morning sail.”

  “That’s a great idea. You’d better bring warm clothes. It can be cold on the water this time of year,” Liza reminded her brother.

  “We’re bringing a ton of stuff. Sweatshirts, hats, extra socks, sunblock, water bottles, snacks—” He glanced at Will who continued the list.

  “Tripods, iPods, binoculars, at least three cameras.”

  Peter nodded in approval. “Check. And double check.”

  Will nearly gagged. “Dad, that’s so dorky.”

  Peter just laughed and pulled on a Red Sox cap, turned backward. “Is that better?” he asked his son.

  Will rolled his eyes, and Liza laughed, feeling relieved to see that her brother and nephew were on better terms today.

  Liza saw a loaf of Claire’s freshly baked bread on the counter and dropped a slice in the toaster. “Do you want some sandwiches? I think there’s plenty of stuff in the fridge.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Peter assured her. “We really need to go. I’ll call you later. We might stay in Newburyport for dinner,” he added.

  “Have fun,” Liza called after them. She watched Peter head out the door with Will close behind. Her nephew slung an orange backpack over his shoulder, then turned and waved. She smiled and waved back at him. Will looked excited. He seemed to have forgotten he needed to look bored and cool.

  A short time later, Liza headed out to the shed to find some gardening tools and gloves. Everything she needed was neatly stored on the potting bench, not far from her uncle’s workbench. She piled what she needed in a wheelbarrow and pushed it out to the garden, then began the slow but necessary job of cleaning out the dead leaves stuck under the flowerbeds and tugging out anything that looked like a weed.

  Maybe she wouldn’t be here to see flowers bloom, but she could clear the way for them and make the garden presentable for the next owner, whoever that might be.

  She had been working for a while and had accumulated an impressive pile in the wheelbarrow when a shadow fell over her.

  Liza turned and looked up. It was Daniel. Even though it was Sunday, she had a feeling he would come by.

  “That looks like slow going,” he said.

  “It’s even slower for me since I’m not sure what’s a weed and what’s a flower,” she confessed. “I have to stop and really think about it.”

  “When in doubt, don’t pull it out,” he advised her with a grin.

  “That’s a pretty safe philosophy.” Liza stood up and pulled off her garden gloves. She looked a perfect mess, wearing a pair of her aunt’s cast-off overalls and a huge misshapen sweater. But for some reason, Daniel was smiling at her as if she were dressed for the red carpet in an evening gown and jewels.

  “So,” she began, “you’re almost done with the painting. Is that why you came over today, to finish up?”

  He gazed at her a moment, almost smiling but not quite.

  Then he shook his head. “Oh, I didn’t come here to work. I just stopped by to grab the color wheel.” He held it up for her to see. “I left it on your porch and need to drop it off with another client.”

  He did look a little more dressed up than usual, in an oxford-cloth shirt, neatly pressed jeans, and a leather jacket. His shirt was an unlikely shade of pink. Liza had never guessed a man could look so good in that color, but there you were. You learned something new every day around here, didn’t you?

  Still, a certain light in his eyes made her wonder if he had really needed that color wheel or if it was just a convenient excuse.

  Don’t flatter yourself, Liza, a little voice inside her warned.

  Liza smiled to herself, blithely dismissing the warning.

  “Right, I didn’t notice it out there,” she said lightly. “You have other clients?” She put o
n an indignant tone, teasing him. “I thought I was the only one.”

  He laughed and stepped closer. “You’re my favorite,” he admitted, teasing her back. But when he caught her gaze and held it, it didn’t feel like teasing anymore.

  “The paint job looks wonderful,” she said, needing to break the suddenly serious mood. “You’ve done a great job.”

  She meant it, too. Daniel had definitely gone the extra mile to make the inn look refreshed and elegant again, repairing steps, loose clapboards, and even the broken shutters and windows. Liza was almost certain that they weren’t paying him enough for this painstaking attention.

  “Thanks. I like this old place. I did my best under the circumstances. We should be done in a day or two,” he reported. “How’s it going with your brother? Does he still want to sell?”

  Daniel cut right to the chase, as usual. But she was almost getting used to it.

  “Yes, Peter still wants to sell. But I’ve persuaded him to at least think about holding on to the place and letting me run it.”

  “That’s something . . . What about your job?”

  “I’ve decided to quit my job, no matter what happens,” she told him. “I’m going to look for freelance work and try my own artwork again.”

  She did feel sure this was the right thing to do, but saying it out loud made it seem very real. And frightening.

  A big smile spread across Daniel’s handsome face, warming Liza like pure sunshine. He looked so happy at the news, you would have thought he had just been told he had won a prize of some kind. Daniel Merritt had a way of making her feel special—and right somehow.

  “Sounds like a good plan to me. You have it all figured out, don’t you?”

  “A little. Not all of it. Not by a long shot.” She let out a long breath but couldn’t help smiling again. “I started in the art department. So I figured I could go back to that, design work, graphics. That sort of thing.”

  “I’m not surprised. You seem the arty type.”

  “I do?” Liza was surprised and pleased by his comment. Was he just saying that to get on her good side? He was already on her good side. That was for sure.

  “Well . . . thanks. I don’t know anything about running an inn. That’s going to be the hard part—a pretty steep learning curve, I imagine.”

  “You watched your aunt all those years. Something must have sunk in.”

  “That’s true.” Liza hadn’t thought of it that way. “I guess I did learn a lot from her.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Daniel said evenly. “I’m sure you’ll do an amazing job here if your brother gives you the chance. I hope he does. It seems to me the right thing to do,” he added in a serious voice.

  He reached out and touched her shoulder. She felt the warmth and strength of his hand and leaned toward him, appreciating his encouragement and support. His touch seemed to calm her worries. It felt good just to be near him.

  He turned and looked at the house again. “Guess I’d better get going. See you tomorrow.”

  Liza nodded. “Sure, see you.”

  She watched Daniel walk down the drive to his truck. His brief visit had been a bright spot in her day, giving a boost to her flagging energy and tamping down a few stray doubts.

  Their conversation had made her feel hopeful again. Maybe Peter would give her a chance here. And maybe she really could run this place. What an amazing change of course that would be in her life’s path. Setting off for a new place, to be sure. But not exactly. In a way, it would be more like traveling back to her origins, her center.

  IT was late afternoon when Liza finally decided to come indoors again. The sun was low in the sky, and the shadows in the garden had deepened. Her back ached a bit, and her hands were a mess, despite her gloves. But the garden looked terrific, as if she had given the grounds a giant haircut. She could hardly stop admiring her handiwork, looking at it from the kitchen windows.

  Her aunt had possessed a genuine green thumb. Liza had never believed she inherited the trait, but she had never had a chance to work in a real garden before either. It was possible that she had a knack for growing things, too, she thought. She certainly enjoyed it.

  Liza washed her hands in the sink, then searched the fridge for something to eat. She hadn’t even stopped for a real lunch today and felt very hungry. There was no telling what time Peter and Will would be back, so she wasn’t going to wait.

  Claire had cooked a large pot of chicken soup the day before, and Liza found the leftovers in a white plastic container. She dumped the soup in a pot and waited by the stove until it came to a simmer.

  Fixing herself a steaming bowl, Liza set it on the table. The broth was thick, filled with chunks of chicken, herbs, and noodles. Liza forced herself to eat slowly, but she was so hungry and the soup was so good, she could hardly hold herself back.

  Finally, spooning up the last drop, she sat back from the table, feeling full and sleepy and thinking that a hot shower and a nap were next on her agenda.

  But before she could budge, her BlackBerry buzzed. Liza quickly checked the ID. Fran Tulley. Liza felt the dozy, contented feeling vanish as her heartbeat accelerated. She answered quickly and greeted Fran in a wary tone.

  “Hi, Liza, glad I caught you. Guess what? Good news. The Hardys called in. They made an offer. A very nice one, considering.”

  “An offer?” Liza sat up. Was this really happening?

  It felt like a bad dream. “What’s the offer?” she asked quietly.

  Fran eagerly told her the figure. “That’s just the opening bid. They’ll probably go higher if we push a bit,” she added.

  The opening bid was substantial, more than they expected. Peter, she knew, would be pleased.

  “Their architect was very helpful. He seemed to think the property was perfect for the house they have in mind.”

  “The house they have in mind? A new house, you mean?”

  “Yes, new construction. They love the location and the views.”

  Liza felt her soup coming back up. “They want to knock the building down? The entire inn?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Fran’s voice slowed considerably.

  “Did you and your brother figure out if you’re willing to sell in that situation? I just assumed you would be, since you both seemed in a hurry to sell.”

  They had spoken about it a little, but had they ever come to an agreement? Liza couldn’t remember. Though she could guess which side each of them would take on the question.

  “We didn’t really talk it out completely,” Liza told Fran.

  “Well, it seems the time has come to crack that nut,” Fran advised. “Why don’t the two of you talk it over tonight and get back to me tomorrow morning? I should be in around nine.”

  “Okay, Fran. We’ll do that. And thanks,” Liza added, remembering her manners. Fran had put in a lot of time showing the house. Liza couldn’t be mad at her. They had, after all, hired Fran to sell the inn.

  Liza hung up the phone and sighed. She did think Peter was finally giving some serious thought to her request. But once he heard this offer from the Hardys, Liza had a feeling that her plans and wishes would be quickly brushed aside. There wasn’t much she could do except argue—and Liza wasn’t sure she had the energy left for that conversation.

  After a hot shower, Liza pulled on some sweats and stretched out on her bed. All that hard work on the garden today, and now a bulldozer would plow it all under.

  Despite her aches and anxious thoughts, she fell into a deep sleep. When she woke up, the room was dark. She had no idea what time it was. She looked at the clock on the nightstand. Half past nine. She couldn’t believe she had slept that long.

  She got up and went downstairs. The rooms were dark. She turned on the lamp in the foyer that sat on the Eastlake table, then walked into the front parlor and turned on a light by the love seat and the small Tiffany lamp on the piano.

  The room looked cozy and warm. She sat in the middle of the love seat, savoring
the silence. The calm before the storm, she thought, knowing Peter and Will would soon be back.

  She hadn’t taken much notice of Peter’s photo-sorting project lately, but now she could see four albums piled on the tiger-oak table where he had been working. She walked over and opened the one on top. She saw a Post-it with her name on it. The other albums were also marked. One with Peter’s name and one with Will’s. And a smaller one, with Claire’s.

  It looked as though her brother had made each of them an album full of photos, as a keepsake. She opened up hers and looked through the pages. It started with old pictures and worked up to the present day, a chronicle of their aunt’s and uncle’s lives on the island and the summers Liza and Peter had spent with them.

  Liza opened the albums Peter had made for himself and Will, and realized they were much the same. There were similar photos, taken at the same occasions. Peter had taken the time and care to sort them all out and arrange them.

  It gave her a good feeling. Peter did care for the inn in his own way, more than he liked to show. Maybe he wouldn’t agree to destroy it. Maybe there was some hope here.

  Before Liza could look much further, she heard a key in the front door. She walked out to the foyer just as Will and Peter came through the doorway. They both looked tired and windblown. And angry.

  Will stalked into the house without acknowledging her. He bolted up the stairs, and Liza heard a door slam. Peter stood staring after him, a grim look on his face.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Liza asked, as he shed his down jacket.

  “Everything’s wrong. That’s what wrong,” Peter answered curtly. “It’s no use. I’ve tried and tried. Will and I are going back to Arizona tomorrow. I’m wasting my time here with that kid of mine.”

  “You had a bad day,” Liza said quietly.

  “Yes, we did. A very bad day. I’ve made up my mind about a few things, though. No more fooling around. Not with Gail or Will . . . or with you, Liza. I want to sell this house, as we agreed. I’m going to call Fran Tulley tonight. If the Hardys don’t want it, maybe she can set up an auction. There’s got to be a way to sell it faster.”