The Inn at Angel Island (29 page)

Maybe that’s my problem lately,
Liza mused.
I’m thinking too much
. “Don’t think . . . just live,” she adapted her art teacher’s counsel.

Liza wasn’t sure how long she sat there, drawing her small, winged models. Her drawing hand began to cramp, and she stopped to stretch her fingers. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the entire flock of birds took to the air.

The birds hovered over the shoreline and rolling waves. The gulls formed a soft white cloud, swooping and flying as one. Then they sailed off down the beach and disappeared, searching for some fresh feeding ground, she guessed.

Liza sat back and looked over the drawings. A few weren’t half bad, she conceded. It had been fun to try her hand again. She had been afraid of what might happen. Afraid that she’d lost her eye, her talent.

But maybe that never really goes away, she realized. It’s like riding a bike. The equipment is a little rusty and clunky at first, but little by little, you get it all rolling along again.

Could she ever really quit her job and stay on this island?

Run the inn and return to her artwork?

Liza had joked about the possibility yesterday with Daniel. But hadn’t she been a tiny bit serious, too? Hadn’t she wished she had the courage to strike out on her own like that? To choose the road less traveled, the way her aunt and uncle had?

Liza sighed and put the sketchbook aside. Perhaps it was better to just stick with the plan. Sell the inn, return to Boston. Take her lumps at work or look for a new job. Draw a little in her spare time if she liked. Take an art class again.

Time was running out. Her two weeks away from the office were almost over. They expected her back next Monday. If she wanted a longer leave from work, she would have to call Eve before the weekend, either tonight or tomorrow.

Liza didn’t know what to do. She’d had so little sleep last night, it was hard to make any decisions right now. Liza bunched up her scarf under her head and lay back on the sand.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.
God, I’m not too good at prayers,
she began silently.
I don’t have much practice, but I just feel the need to talk to You. I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do. Should we sell the inn? Should we wait? Should I stay here or go? If I could just have a sign, I’ d be ever so grateful . . . You don’t need to send another lightning bolt. A less dramatic sign would be fine.

Liza wasn’t sure how long she slept. The sun had traveled across the sky, and the air felt cooler. She sat up quickly and looked down. There was something in her lap, stuck to her jacket—a thick white feather. She picked it up and examined it. It was a long, silky plume. Very pure and clean.

She didn’t think it had come from the flock of birds she had been drawing; they were mostly gray. She glanced around, but there were no birds in sight.

Staring down at the feather, Liza had an odd feeling. It seemed to be a sign, wordless approval of her artistic efforts for the day and also an answer to her question.

Liza stood up, brushed herself off, then carefully tucked the feather into her jacket pocket. She set off for the inn, knowing this was something she couldn’t explain to anyone. Well, maybe Claire North would understand. It seemed to Liza that her rambling, desperate prayer had been heard. Heard and even answered.

 

 

PETER didn’t seem to mind that Liza had taken a day off from house repairs. He didn’t say anything about it at dinner. He had helped Daniel with the roof repairs for most of the day and was eager for Liza to see their progress.

After they cleaned up the kitchen, Liza followed her brother and Will upstairs, heading for the attic. But when they reached the second floor, Will headed to his room instead.

Liza was surprised. “I guess you’re tired from all the work you did today.”

“Yeah, I guess,” the boy mumbled, avoiding her glance.

“Well, thanks for pitching in. I’m sure Daniel appreciated the extra help.”

“Yeah, well at least somebody did.” Will gave his father a dark look, then turned toward his room.

Will’s door closed, and Liza looked over at her brother. “Did you and Will have another fight today?”

Peter shrugged. “Oh, he’s just in a snit. That work was dangerous. I didn’t want him getting hurt. Was that so wrong? I didn’t feel like carrying his fingers in a plastic bag of ice to some emergency room and—”

“I get your point,” Liza quickly cut in.

Poor Daniel. Had he played referee all day between them?

Peter shook his head. “Let’s go up and look at the roof. I’ll try to make it up to Will tomorrow,” he added in a tired tone.

Moments later they were standing in the attic. The branch had disappeared, and the jagged hole had been cleaned up. Fresh beams of wood crossed over the hole, which was covered on the outside tonight by a sheet of canvas.

“Not bad,” Liza said. “It’s coming along quickly.”

“I thought so. But Daniel thinks it needs at least two more days. At this rate, it will be Labor Day before we sell this place.”

“I’ve been thinking, Peter, maybe this delay isn’t such a bad thing?” He turned and looked at her, but she rushed on before he could interrupt. “Right before the storm, when I ran off on the bike, you know where I ended up? At the cemetery. I went to look for Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Clive’s headstone.”

“I guess I should visit, too, before I go,” Peter said. “Maybe I’ll take Will.”

“Maybe you should. I was so upset about Jeff and about my job, about a lot of things. I just sat there for a long time, thinking. I got this feeling that if Aunt Elizabeth were here, she wouldn’t like the way we’re handling things—rushing to sell this place to the first person who has a pulse and enough credit to get a mortgage.”

Peter laughed, a sharp, surprised sound. “What other credentials should we be looking for, do you think?”

“You know what I mean.” Liza walked over to a pile of her aunt’s canvases that were stacked against the wall. One had fallen, and she bent to pick it up. Some of these should be framed, she thought. They would look great in the bedrooms and hallways.

She dusted her hands off and looked at her brother. “I know the roof repair is an annoyance and a speed bump. But it’s also an opportunity. Maybe we should just slow down and consider our options.”

Peter laughed. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me. You think that lightning bolt was ‘a sign’ or something now, too?”

Liza wasn’t entirely sure what she thought about the lightning bolt. Maybe it was a sign of some kind. Who could say either way? She wasn’t willing to go down that road with him right now. It was beside the point anyway.

“Let’s just say we’ve been forced to stop and take stock. We have no choice. So why not look at all the possibilities?”

“What possibilities?” Peter folded his arms across his chest, his expression not quite angry but tense. Still, she had to persist, get this out in the open while she had a chance.

“There are choices we’ve never discussed,” Liza said carefully. “Like holding on to the place as an investment. Once the island gets more active, the property is bound to increase in value. Maybe we could find someone to run the inn, and we could be absentee owners.”

“Liza, please. Don’t do this to me. Not now.” Peter shook his head. “I don’t want to be an absentee owner of a run-down money pit. And how would we find anyone to manage this place for us? Anyone we could trust? And what about the cost of renovating? Aunt Elizabeth had her regular customers who didn’t expect much, but you’re talking about a wave of tourists with far different expectations . . . And why am I even getting into this discussion in the first place? Honestly, Liza. This is the last thing I expected. I’m really not in the mood to argue with you tonight.”

“I’m only pointing out some possibilities,” Liza said quietly.

Then she stopped talking. She didn’t want to argue either, and she didn’t have answers to his questions. But now that Peter had mentioned it, Liza did think Claire North would be the perfect person to run the inn. She was definitely someone they could trust.

“You know I need my share of the money,” her brother continued. “I thought this was all settled between us. Why are you back-tracking?”

Liza sighed. “It’s hard to explain. It’s just that my feelings have changed since I’ve gotten here. I’ve started to feel differently, and I can see some interesting alternatives to selling. Can’t you?”

“To be perfectly honest, I’ve felt relieved knowing I won’t be stuck with this place. It’s practically falling down. Or haven’t you noticed?”

Liza didn’t think the condition of the building was quite that bad. Though the repairs needed were definitely daunting.

Peter’s expression remained tight and grim. She could see that she wasn’t making any headway.

“If it’s a matter of money, I have some savings I can loan you, Peter. I’d be happy to help you. Honestly.”

Peter stared at her, then let out a long frustrated sigh. “It’s not just the money, Liza. It’s the whole idea of it. I own half of this property,” he reminded her. “It’s not just about your feelings, which seem to change day to day.”

“I can’t help it. I’ve had a change of heart.”

“You’ve had a lot going on in your life, too. Everything at your office and your divorce. Jeff surprising you here—”

“What are you trying to say?” she asked warily.

“Only that you’re going through a lot of change and loss, a lot of emotional upheaval. Maybe changing your mind about selling the inn is some sort of reaction to all that. That’s all I mean.”

What he meant was that she was upset and confused right now and that she shouldn’t trust her own feelings or impulses.

“I don’t think that’s it,” she said finally. “But I’ll think about it. If you’ll think about what I said.”

“All right. Fair enough. I’ll try.”

“Let’s just get the roof fixed and get our bearings,” Liza said. “We have to delay showing the place that long anyway.”

“Fran Tulley certainly thinks so,” Peter grumbled. He stood up and stretched, then rubbed his lower back. “I’m turning in. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Peter.”

She knew that she ought to go downstairs, too, but somehow she didn’t feel like leaving the attic space so quickly. She wandered around, peering into boxes to check for water damage.

She came to the boxes of Christmas decorations and thought about the kiss she had shared with Daniel in the shadows at that very spot. The episode seemed like a dream. Like some wild fantasy. How seriously should she take it? Another question to add to her growing list.

Most likely it was just a fluke, not the start of anything real, she told herself. She would be foolish to let things go any further if she wasn’t going to stay here.

It was funny how all the pressing questions seemed tangled together now, one sticky thread twisted with another.

Clearing out this old house had become a process of clearing out the cobwebs in her own life, Liza realized. Cobwebs she hadn’t even known were there.

Chapter Twelve

D
ANIEL started working on the roof very early the next morning. Liza heard heavy footsteps pass her bedroom door, then tramp up the next flight toward the attic. Hammering soon followed, making it impossible to get back to sleep. With a sigh, she got out of bed and quickly dressed.

Down in the kitchen, Peter and Will had already eaten breakfast and looked ready to start their workday.

“Daniel wants us to help his man with the exterior house painting today,” Peter said. “He’s concerned about falling behind schedule.”

Liza thought Daniel was probably concerned about having Peter and Will up in the tiny attic again, breathing down his neck as he hurried to fix the roof. But his diplomatic solution seemed to solve two problems at once.

“I’ll come outside and paint, too,” Liza offered. “It’s a perfect day. We can get a lot done.”

“My thought exactly.” Peter took one last sip of his coffee and left the mug in the sink. He seemed in a better mood today.

Liza quickly downed some yogurt and a mug of coffee, then took out her BlackBerry. She had woken up certain that she wanted to stay on the island a week more, or even longer. Now she needed to tell Eve she wasn’t coming back on Monday.

But when she called the office, she got bounced to Eve’s voice mail. Though she would have preferred to tell Eve directly, she decided to leave a message. “Hi, Eve, it’s Liza. We’ve had some set-backs here. A branch went through the roof during a storm, and we need to make a lot of repairs. Everything is taking longer than I expected, actually. So I do need to take some more time here. A week at least. Possibly more. You can call me if you’d like, or I’ll try you again on Monday.”

Liza ended the call and put her phone away. She had been anxious about asking for more time. But after the call she felt relieved, certain that it was the right decision.

She stepped through the back door and was greeted by the warm sunshine. The day was clear and very mild. Spring had arrived. She could actually smell it in the sweet air and damp, earthy scent of the garden. Even the sunlight seemed brighter and stronger.

She found Peter and Will at the side of the house, choosing from a selection of paints and brushes spread out on a canvas. A man from Daniel’s crew had started to spray a coat of paint on the building with a special machine.

“Let’s put you to work,” Peter greeted her cheerfully, talking above the noise.

“We need to follow with the brushes, Dad. Before it dries.” Will, holding a thick brush and a bucket of ivory paint, walked toward the clapboard.

“Hold your horses. Just wait until I show you,” Peter said firmly.

“Daniel showed me the other day,” Will insisted. “It’s not exactly brain surgery.”

Peter reached out and took Will’s brush away. “I asked you to wait. Now just calm down.”