Authors: Thomas Kinkade

The Inn at Angel Island (22 page)

BOOK: The Inn at Angel Island

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Liza felt dizzy. Her head was spinning, and she thought she might faint. She felt like screaming but covered her face in her hands instead. She sat down hard on a chaise lounge, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes.

How could this have happened?
It was a nightmare.

After all her hard work and dedication, she felt betrayed and exploited. So humiliated. It was exactly the way she felt the night she discovered Jeff ’s affair.

What an irony that her focus on her job may have even cost her that marriage. She definitely pushed aside Jeff ’s wish to start a family so she could advance in her career. And where had that gotten her? No baby, no marriage, and now, no promotion.

Why was life so unfair? Why was everything so hard? She didn’t deserve this. She really didn’t.

Chapter Nine

L
IZA heard the back door slam and saw Peter marching toward her. “Liza, have you seen that wide scraper with the red handle? I need it for the . . .” His voice trailed off as he took in her expression. “Liza, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”

She looked up and shook her head. It was very hard to say it out loud.

“You don’t look so good,” he said gently. “Do you want to talk?”

“I’m all right,” she said, but she knew she had to tell him. “I just spoke to my boss. That promotion I was going for? Sounds like they’re giving it to someone else.”

“No, that’s impossible. You deserved that promotion. You work night and day for that company. They can’t do this to you,” Peter railed, sounding every inch the protective big brother. “And to tell you over the phone? That stinks.”

“My boss didn’t actually say it point-blank. When I asked her, she just said she would talk to me about it when I got back to the office. But I definitely think that’s what she was trying to tell me. She was trying to prepare me for the bad news.”

Peter gave her a thoughtful look. “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think. Maybe you misunderstood?”

Liza met his gaze and sighed. “Maybe. But I don’t think so.”

Peter sat down next to her. “What if you went back to the office and claimed your territory? Boston’s only a two-hour drive. You could go today. Meet with your boss and make her reconsider?”

Liza had thought of that and had finally rejected the idea. “It’s not just Eve’s decision. And I don’t think they’ll change their minds and give it to me just because I stomped my feet and demanded it. Besides, Eve said she couldn’t talk about it with me yet. Maybe the decision isn’t final,” she added, though she honestly felt that there was slim hope left.

Peter leaned over and put his arm around her shoulder. “I know this must really hurt. I wish there was something I could do for you.”

Liza forced a small smile. “Thanks, pal. Just listening to me moan and groan helps. A little anyway.”

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off ? The painting can wait. You can take a ride somewhere, go into Cape Light or Newburyport? Get some distraction. Do you want me to come with you?”

Liza considered the offer. Both of those towns were perfect for an afternoon of walking around and browsing. But it would take more than window-shopping to cheer her up today. She felt so angry she was about to burst at the seams.

“I think I’ll feel better if I just stay here and paint some more,” she told him. “It will help keep my mind off it.”

“All right. Whatever you say. If you change your mind and decide you want to go back to Boston and fight, you just go. I can take care of this place.”

“I know you can, Peter. Thanks.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood up. “I just need a minute or two. I’ll be in soon,” she promised him.

“All right.” Peter gave her a last look, then left her to get herself together.

Liza turned away from the house and looked at the shed and the garden and the property beyond.

The sun was high in the sky and felt strong today, warming the damp earth and calling forth the scents and sights of spring. Green shoots were pushing up from the soft ground, and the buds on the trees were swelling, about to burst into flower.

How could this be happening? Didn’t the entire world realize she was sad and devastated?

Spring obviously didn’t care. It was coming anyway. The seasons moved on, each day leading to the next. It was a comfort in one way and, in another way, offered her a humbling measure of perspective.

Liza worked diligently for the rest of the day, struggling to get her mind around the devastating news.

She wasn’t sure if Peter had told anyone about her disappointment, but the rest of the house seemed to sense she was unhappy about something and stayed out of her way.

She didn’t even come down for the special short ribs dinner that evening. Instead, she soaked in a hot bath, and once the coast was clear, she snuck down for a bowl of cold cereal that she ate in her room.

As tired as she was, Liza felt too riled up to fall asleep.

She lay in the dark, her eyes wide open, playing out scenarios in her mind. She would return to the office, confront Charlie Reiger, face down Eve Barkin, and give them both a piece of her mind.

But what good would any of that actually do? Unless she was willing to quit her job and walk out on all of them.

That would be satisfying, she thought. For a few minutes anyway.

But it was a terrible career move. It would be hard enough to find a new job in this economy without being branded as a nutcase or a hysteric. The story would hit the grapevine quickly, sealing her fate.

What will I do without that job?
she wondered.
It’s my entire life—even though I’m not sure I like it anymore. How pathetic is that?

Well, I could always come back here and run the inn. Now there’s a pleasant fantasy.
She smiled to herself, amused at her own wild ideas.

It was a crazy notion. Crazy and impossible.

Too bad I’m so logical,
Liza thought with a sigh.
People like me never have any fun.

LIZA was the last one to come downstairs the next morning. Claire greeted her warmly. “Did you have a good rest?” she asked, as Liza poured herself a mug of coffee.

“Not bad, all things considered.” She didn’t feel as angry anymore at her situation, just deflated and sad.

Liza hadn’t talked to Claire about her work situation, but Liza was sure the housekeeper had heard something from Peter. She seemed to be sending Liza silent waves of comfort, her sympathetic smile speaking volumes.

“A good night’s sleep is a wonderful thing,” Claire noted. “It heals your spirit and puts things in perspective, don’t you think?”

Liza had to smile. “Yes, it does. A little, anyway.”

“It’s a beautiful day,” Claire went on. “The weatherman said it was going to rain but no sign of it yet.”

“Let’s hope the clouds wait until tonight. I’d hate for Daniel to miss a day of work.”

“Oh, he’s out there,” Claire assured her. “He was down a few men on his crew for some reason. Daniel asked Will to help him. And Peter volunteered, too,” she added with a sly smile.

Claire looked down, continuing to wash out the griddle. “Though I’m not sure if he really needs all that help . . . if you know what I mean.”

“Poor Daniel,” Liza said with a smile. She poured herself more coffee and swiped a slice of whole wheat toast from a plate on the table. “Guess I should check this out. Nobody’s come back inside yet screaming, right?”

“So far, so good,” Claire assured her quietly.

Liza went out the back door and soon spotted her brother. He carried a large paintbrush and a bucket of yellow paint. “Hey, kid. How are you doing?” Peter greeted her.

“Hanging in. What’s going on out here?”

“Daniel is short a helper or two today, and he asked Will if he wanted to step in.” Liza detected a distinct note of pride in Peter’s tone. “I might help myself. The outside is the priority, don’t you think? The faster Daniel finishes, the better for us.”

“Fran did say something like that,” Liza agreed. Which reminded her—with all her own troubles, she had lost track of the real estate agent. She had to call Fran this morning and see when she was bringing the Hardys back.

“Maybe we should all work outside today,” Peter said, sounding enthusiastic. “It would be great to have the front of the inn done before the Hardys come back. It could make all the difference. Curb appeal and all that?”

Peter had been reading too many “sell it yourself ” articles on the Internet, Liza thought. Then again, working with Daniel for the day wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.

“Sure,” she told her brother. “I’ll help paint the outside.”

Maybe she was just volunteering so that she would have a good distraction from her worries, she realized. And maybe that wasn’t the worst thing either.

A short time later, Liza stood on the porch, carefully applying cream-colored paint to the columns and railing. Daniel had not been delighted to hear that a band of amateurs insisted on painting with him, but they were his customers and, for various reasons, he was down several of the men on his regular crew today.

Since he knew they needed the job done as quickly as possible, he didn’t refuse their help.

Liza liked working outside. It had gotten claustrophobic in the tiny bathroom yesterday, and she had dreaded facing that project again. But outside, with a blue sky above, the sun shining brightly, and a light breeze blowing, it was hard to be unhappy. All she had to do was glance out at the ocean, and the blue waters immediately washed away any negative thoughts.

“So, you’ve ended up working for me after all. Never say never.” Daniel walked up behind her, the sound of his voice so close, she jumped up and hit her paintbrush on his knee.

“Sorry,” she said. She looked up and smiled.

“I should have expected that.”

“Yeah, you should have. It will wash out, right?”

“Someday,” he said lightly. He grabbed another brush and dipped it into the paint tray she was using, then started to paint the railing on the other side of the steps. Was he going to partner up with her on the porch? Liza wasn’t sure she liked that idea. It made her too nervous. She was sure she would end up hitting him with the brush again. Or worse.

“We’ve been lucky with the weather,” he said, seeming unmindful of her discomfort. “It usually rains a lot around here this time of year. That would have really slowed us down.”

“It has been great weather,” she agreed. Thinking back, the only rain she had seen out here had been the night she arrived.

She glanced over at him. It was funny how just talking about the weather seemed so . . . significant. She felt as if she were in high school or something, talking to a boy she had a crush on and not knowing what to say.

“So . . . are you a big Sox fan, or do you just like the hats and T-shirts?”

“A fan . . . and I wear the hats and T-shirts to prove it.”

He laughed. “Think they’re going to make it to the Series this year?”

“Of course I do. They have a great chance.” She turned and looked at him. “I’m counting the days until the opening at Fenway. Then it’s really spring.”

Daniel laughed. “Wow, you are a fan.”

Liza didn’t say anything. She turned around and got back to the painting. Lots of men thought it was funny to meet a woman who liked baseball as much as she did. Amusing . . . or just plain odd. She couldn’t help it. She also liked opera. That was just who she was.

They continued working without talking. Liza didn’t mind at all. It was an easy kind of silence between them, not tense or strained. She liked just being near him for some reason. It was exciting and somehow comfortable at the same time.

She was so focused on painting that she didn’t hear the car coming up the drive until it had pulled all the way up to the house.

She looked up to see who it was and nearly dropped her brush. A silver Volvo convertible had arrived, and Jeff had jumped out of the driver’s side.

“Liza, please don’t be mad. I know you asked me not to come. But I can explain,” he began, as he walked toward her.

Liza stood up and drew in a long breath.
What in the world?

She glanced down at Daniel. He had stopped painting and was staring at her. “A friend of yours?” he asked quietly.

“Sort of,” she murmured back. “My ex-husband.”

He nodded and looked back at the porch rails. “I get it.”

“Good. At least one of us does,” she replied.

Jeff stood in front of her at the bottom of the steps. He stared up with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry to bother you, Liza. But we really need to talk.”

Talk? What did they have left to talk about? Liza walked down the steps to meet him. “Didn’t you get my note about the roses?” she asked him quietly.

“I did.” He reached out and touched her shoulder for a moment, then let his hand drop away. “That’s when I realized that I needed to talk to you. Face-to-face.”

Liza stared at him in disbelief. “I told you in no uncertain terms it was time for us both to let go and lead our own lives. What part of that message didn’t you understand?”

“Liza—”

“No,” she cut him off. “You shouldn’t have come without calling first, Jeff.”

“I know. But if I called and asked, I thought you would tell me not to come.”

He was right about that. He smiled down at her and stuck his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He wore a fine-gauge-wool sweater over designer jeans. His light brown hair was freshly cut, and his blue eyes sparkled.

He was an attractive man, she noticed in some distant part of her brain, but she wasn’t attracted to him anymore. Was she?

Why did he have to come back like this and get her all confused again?

“I’m sorry, Liza, but after I got that note, everything seemed so final. I realized our marriage was really over and—I just couldn’t handle it.”

BOOK: The Inn at Angel Island

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