The Inn at Angel Island (30 page)

Will scowled and stomped off into the house, slamming the door behind him.

“That went well,” Liza observed. Her brother arched an eyebrow at her. “We’re not restoring the Sistine Chapel, Peter. Let him paint with you.”

“I want him to paint. But there’s a right way to do this, Liza. You don’t want the house to look like a big mess when we show it, do you?”

“Of course not,” she replied. Though she thought Will had been painting pretty well so far. Maybe even better than Peter, who was so painfully slow and meticulous, he could have been doing brain surgery.

“I was working on the porch before the rainstorm. I’ll just keep going on it,” Liza told her brother. She was happy to have that territory staked out for herself. She didn’t need to be back here, in the middle of Peter and Will all day.

With a paint can in one hand and brushes and a tray in the other, she marched off toward the front of the house.

If you ran an inn, this is what you would be doing most of the time,
she reminded herself,
painting and repairing. You couldn’t call Daniel for every little thing.

Though she’d definitely want to.

Liza set her equipment on the porch, climbed halfway up the ladder, and started to paint the window trim in the bright sea green her aunt and uncle had used. She had always loved this color; it seemed so much a part of the island and the inn.

As she worked, her thoughts drifted. Eve might not like it, but Liza was glad she had asked for more time off. It hurt all over again to think about how she had been pushed aside. So much had been going on the past few days, she had been distracted. Now it all came rushing back. She felt so awful about the situation that she hadn’t checked her e-mails or messages in two days. That was saying something.

Maybe once more time had passed, she would see things differently. But right now there didn’t seem anything left for her at the agency. It was hard to imagine returning to her job. In two more weeks. Or ever . . .

“Whoa there, lady. . . . You don’t need to paint the windows. I don’t think the customer would like that.”

Liza turned suddenly at the sound of Daniel’s voice—and smacked him on the side of the head with her paint tray.

“Daniel! For goodness’ sake . . . I’m so sorry . . .” She hustled down the ladder, sloshing green paint off the tray in all directions, drips falling on both of them. He stepped back, then sat down on the top of the porch steps, holding the side of his head with his hand.

“It’s all right. I have a hard head, but you are dangerous. Don’t even look at the electric saw.”

He was right. She was dangerous with a paintbrush. Around him anyway. She took a step closer and tried not to laugh.

“Let me see your head. Take your hand away. Is there a bump?”

When he wouldn’t cooperate, she reached out and moved his hand with her own. His hand was wide and calloused, covered with sawdust and now some paint. Which was also on his face and in his hair.

“I’m so sorry. Let me wipe that off your head at least.”

Before he could answer, she grabbed a clean wet rag she had stashed in her back pocket and gently wiped the smear of paint from his skin and hair. He sat very still, tilting his head toward her.

It felt odd touching him so personally, despite the fact that he had kissed her. This was different somehow. She felt as if she were taking care of him.

“I see something, a little red spot where the tray nicked you.” She reached out with her fingertips and felt a small bump on his forehead near his hairline. Her fingers yearned to touch his thick dark hair again, but she quickly drew her hand back.

He stared up at her, and she forgot what she wanted to say.

“I’ll go inside . . . and get some ice,” she finally managed.

“That’s okay. I’ll be fine. Sit down. Take a break. Talk to me a little.”

He reached out and took hold of her wrist, tugging her down to sit on the step next to him.

Liza sat and stared straight ahead. He was very close, though they weren’t quite touching.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked again. “Head injuries can be tricky. You don’t have a headache or anything?”

He laughed. “It was a paint tray, Liza, not a bowling ball.” He turned to look at her. “I guess I would have to wear some protective headgear, though, if we ever go bowling.”

Was he thinking of asking her out on a date? She hated bowling. But she would put up with the hardship if necessary.

“How’s the roof coming along?” She half dreaded hearing his answer, knowing fast progress meant less time to work on Peter.

“The hole is nearly patched. We still have to do the shingles. Fran can bring lookers around, I guess.”

“All right. I’ll tell her that if she calls.”

He studied her with a curious expression. “You don’t want to call her?”

Liza shrugged. “I’m busy now. Maybe later.”

“Your brother would call her in a heartbeat,” Daniel pointed out.

“Yes, he probably would.”

“Have you talked to him at all about your doubts?”

She looked away, wondering if she should confide in him.

It felt a bit disloyal to Peter. This was their private business, family business. But for some reason, she wanted to tell Daniel what was going on.

“We talked about it last night. I asked him to just slow down and try to consider the possibilities—keeping the place and having someone run it for us. Or letting me stay.”

“Some good ideas. Especially the second idea,” he said quietly. “What did he say?”

She turned to him, surprised to find that his face was so close to her own. Their shoulders were practically brushing. Had he moved closer at some point? Had she moved closer to him without realizing it?

“He said he would think about it. But I think he was just placating me. He still seems very intent on our original plan.” She swallowed hard and looked back at the ocean in the distance. “I just want to look at all the options and not rush into anything.”

Daniel nodded. “That sounds reasonable.”

“Not according to Peter. He’s annoyed at me for changing my mind. He thinks I’m just being emotional, overwhelmed by everything. And who knows, he may be right. Maybe it is just pie in the sky to even consider it. This place needs a ton of work that will cost a ton of money—doesn’t it?”

Daniel considered the question a moment. “The place needs work, no question. But you could do the basics first, then manage the rest over time. Your aunt didn’t rent out all the rooms, you know. She just had a few on the ocean side ready for guests and the one large bathroom on the second floor. Renovating a big house like this is usually done in stages.”

“That makes sense.” Some of the rooms were in much better condition than others, and it wouldn’t take much to bring them up to quality standards. But there were certainly other concerns, beyond wallpaper and new curtains.

“What about the plumbing and electricity and the furnace? All the stuff you can’t see—and that I don’t know anything about?”

“Your aunt kept up with those repairs. You might need a new water heater and a new roof in a year or two. And new windows and insulation would save a lot of money on heating bills in the winter.”

He had told her that before. They were all important, costly changes, but there was nothing that was a big emergency.

“Hey, guys. What’s up?” Peter came around the corner of the house.

Liza suddenly stood up, feeling guilty, though she wasn’t sure why. “I was just taking a break with Daniel. I hit him in the head with the paint tray,” she explained.

“No major damage,” Daniel added. “But you should watch out for her.”

Was Daniel going to tell Peter that they’d been talking about the inn? She glanced at him. No, he wasn’t.

Peter still looked at them curiously. Did he suspect something? He probably just thought they were flirting, Liza decided. Which was partly true.

“How’s the porch coming, Liza?” Peter asked.

“Slowly but surely,” Liza said. “That’s more or less my painting style.”

“Slowly but deadly, more like,” Daniel murmured, making her smile.

“Where’s Will?” she asked Peter.

“Still sulking in the house. He’s probably on his computer.”

“Maybe I can lure him downstairs with some lunch,” Liza suggested. “I’m about ready to go in for a bite.”

“Me, too,” Peter quickly agreed. He said good-bye to Daniel and headed through the front door.

Liza lingered a moment with Daniel. “Would you like to have lunch with us?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then he shook his head. “Thanks. I’m okay. I’d better get back to the roof. I’ll see you later.” He started down the steps and headed to his truck.

Liza watched him a moment before going into the house. It was probably better that he didn’t take a break with them, she decided. Peter might initiate some conversation about selling the inn and realize that she had turned to Daniel for advice.

No telling what might happen then.

 

 

THEY finished painting a little before five o’clock. Liza felt bone tired but forced herself to rally. They had promised Will a trip into Cape Light tonight, and she didn’t want to disappoint him.

She took a quick shower and dressed in clean jeans and a plum V-neck sweater. She had a feeling that they would end up at the Clam Box for dinner, so there was no need to dress up.

There was never any need to dress up out here, Liza realized. Over the past two weeks, she had grown accustomed to not giving a thought to how she looked. It was a relief after life in the city, where she strategized every outfit, especially if she had a big meeting or was giving a presentation to a client.

She had never even realized how much time and money she wasted working on her image—always needing the right clothes, shoes, briefcase, handbag—not to mention the time she spent clothes shopping and at the gym and the hairstylist and getting facials and manicures. Personal maintenance was nearly a second job. It was so different out here. She glanced at her nails—a few were broken, the polish was chipped, all evidence that they had ever been manicured was gone. And that was fine. She needed so much less to get by.

She met Will and Peter down in the parlor, and they soon piled into Liza’s SUV and set off for the village. It was not quite six o’clock, and the sun was setting quickly. Will had never driven over the land bridge late in the day and found that part of the outing a big adventure.

“It’s like the road is practically floating on the water,” he said, staring out his window. “And the sky looks really neat, too. You should take some pictures, Dad,” he told Peter.

Peter seemed surprised by the suggestion but also pleased.

“I think this would make a great photo, Will. Why don’t you try it?”

Ever since they were kids, Peter had rarely left the house without some kind of camera. So Liza wasn’t surprised to see him take a small silver point-and-shoot out of his jacket pocket and hand it back to his son.

“I really can’t stop the car here, Will. There’s not much of a shoulder,” Liza told her nephew.

“That’s okay. I’ll just open the window. It might look more interesting with stuff blurred,” he added.

Peter glanced at Liza and smiled. She could see he was pleased at his son’s growing interest in photography, and Liza was pleased about it, too. It might create a new bond for them, something to help smooth over the rough patches.

Will found more interesting sights to photograph in the village. They walked down to the harbor and village green. Will ran out on the dock to take pictures. Peter and Liza stayed on the green, giving him some small measure of independence.

Liza noticed the old stone church. “I met up with Reverend Ben on the beach one day before you came,” she told Peter. “We had a good talk.”

“Really? What did you talk about?”

“About Aunt Elizabeth mostly.” Liza paused. It was still hard to talk about her aunt, even to Peter. “I asked him how it was with her, toward the end. I felt so bad that I never came out to visit last winter.”

Peter’s expression grew thoughtful. She sensed he felt the same way, but he lived so far away, he had a better excuse. “What did Reverend Ben say?”

“That she was always very positive and peaceful. She was satisfied with her life, the choices she made. And that she had great faith,” Liza added.

“We should all be so lucky, eh?”

Liza glanced at him and nodded. She did agree her aunt was fortunate, but she also knew it wasn’t a matter of luck. It was more a matter of Aunt Elizabeth knowing what she needed to make herself happy and sticking to her principles.

Will ran back to them, looking excited. “I think I got some really good shots of the harbor. Those big chunks of ice that are partly melted and the reflection of the water and the sunset . . .”

Peter looked impressed. “Wow, that sounds great. Can I take a look later when we get inside?”

“Sure. If you want,” Will said with a shrug.

Liza smiled. Will was obviously eager for his father to see the photos but couldn’t risk being uncool and actually showing that enthusiasm. It wasn’t easy being fourteen.

As she expected, they ended up at the Clam Box for dinner.

They all ordered the same meal, a cup of chowder and the clam roll with fries.

“This place is exactly the same,” she said to her brother. “They haven’t changed a thing.”

“For better or worse. Even the menu is the same,” he noticed. “I guess that Otto Bates has passed on by now, though. I think his son runs it.”

“What do you think, Will?” Liza asked him.

“It’s pretty cool. Sort of retro,” Will said.

“Very retro,” Peter echoed. “And I’ll bet they don’t even mean to be.”

After dinner they walked up the street to the movie theater.