The Inn at Angel Island

Chapter Thirteen

“THAT was Fran,” Peter announced on Saturday morning, snapping his cell phone shut. “The Hardys will be here around eleven with their architect in tow. Fran is some sales agent. I can’t believe she talked them into coming back.”

“Maybe they looked around at other old houses on the market and decided this place was still a better bet, lightning bolts and all,” Liza said.

She lifted one end of a rolled-up rug while he hoisted the other. Peter had called the Bramble Antique Shop right after breakfast, and Grace Hegman, the owner, agreed to see some pieces of furniture. They had picked out a few chairs, a large mirror, and some small items and begun packing Liza’s SUV.

“It’s practically impossible for lightning to strike twice in the same spot,” Peter pointed out. “I mean, statistically and all that stuff. Maybe Fran reminded them of that. Maybe they’ll make an offer.”

“Maybe.” Liza forced a positive note into her voice, one she didn’t really feel.

Lost in his happy thoughts, Peter took no notice of Liza’s mood or the fact that she was not pleased by the call from Fran.

Just as well, Liza thought. She hadn’t told her brother her big news about the promotion yet. She knew that if she told Peter, he would immediately assume she was happily returning to her job and accepting the new spot. Liza guessed that if she even dared to hint at her doubts, he would tell her she was crazy, then bombard her with reasons why she had to accept the offer.

Liza didn’t want to hear any of it. She wanted to sit with her questions for a while. Her questions and confusion. The news about the Hardys returning should have tipped the scales in favor of accepting the promotion, she thought. But she still wasn’t convinced that selling the inn and going back to the city was the right thing to do.

Working together, the two of them managed to push the rolled-up rug onto the roof of the car. Peter secured it with some bungee cords and nylon twine, then headed into the house for more furniture.

Liza stayed out on the porch, her hands pressed to the small of her back where it ached a bit. She gazed out at the ocean, squinting at the sunlight.

Was this how it was going to wind up after all? She had been here nearly two weeks and only three couples had come to see the property. Now, suddenly, the Hardys would return and make an offer. And that would be that.

No more arguing with Peter. No need to imagine how this room or that room would look with fresh paint or new curtains. No more fantasizing about living here and running the place.

If this were a movie, I’ d be really disappointed at the ending, Liza realized.

But it wasn’t a movie, it was her real life. Just like returning to her job at the agency was her real life. But another voice inside her spoke, and it quoted one of Aunt Elizabeth’s favorite sayings, “If you keep doing what you’ve always done, you’ ll keep getting what you’ve already got.”

Which Liza had always taken to mean that a person couldn’t expect anything different in life if he or she kept sticking to the same old game plan. Wasn’t that the question she was wrestling with right now? Whether or not to stick to the straight and narrow-or take a detour into unknown and even frightening territory?

“Guess I’ll bring this old lamp. It needs to be rewired, but maybe she’ll take it. It looks like real brass.” Peter’s appraisal interrupted her thoughts. He tramped out onto the porch again, carrying a pole lamp, the frazzled cord dragging. “By the way, Fran thinks it would be better if we weren’t here when the Hardys come,” he added as he passed by. “So they can look around without anybody getting in the way.”

Fran dreaded the thought of Peter hovering and ruining her sale, Liza suspected. But she couldn’t tell her brother that.

“Okay, I’ll make sure I’m not underfoot.”

Peter stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at her.

“Do you want to come into Cape Light with me?”

She considered the offer, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ll work around here awhile, then maybe go down to the beach or take a bike ride.”

“All right. I think I’ve got the best of the lot. If Grace Hegman takes this load, I can always come back for more, right?”

“Absolutely,” Liza agreed, though she wondered what he had actually packed. She hadn’t been watching very closely, she realized. There were a number of items she didn’t want to part with, including some chipped china dishes and broken lamps. Had he taken any of those? Then she decided she just didn’t care.

What was the sense of haggling? It felt as if this place were slipping away from her, like grains of sand sifting through her fingers, and she just couldn’t hang on to any of it.

Peter had pulled out his cell and begun texting someone. He stared at the phone and released an impatient sigh.

“Do you believe this? I’ve been reduced to texting my son while he’s under the very same roof. What is the world coming to?”

Liza would have laughed if her brother hadn’t seemed so distressed. “Why don’t you just go up and knock on his door?”

Peter’s mouth grew tight. “Tried that, he won’t answer. He’s pretending that he’s sleeping, but I know he’s awake in there.”

“What’s the matter? Did you argue?” Liza hadn’t witnessed any squabbles last night, but emotional weather between father and son had been unstable the last few days.

“He got a message from a friend last night that the camping trip was great, and now he’s mad at me for missing it.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Liza replied. “I thought he was enjoying the island-at least, he seemed to be into painting and repairing the place.”

“He’d probably tell you it is ‘okay,’ ” Peter said.

“Maybe it is. But I bet it doesn’t compare to an outdoor adventure with his friends. I remember what it was like at that age to feel like you missed out.”

“Well, that’s the way it goes sometimes. Life isn’t fair. The sooner he figures that out, the better,” Peter muttered. “There will be other camping trips. I’ll take him myself next school break.”

“Good idea. You ought to tell him that,” Liza replied.

“If he ever comes out of his room, I will. Guess I have to drag him out.”

Peter shook his head, then pulled open the door and went inside. Liza followed, dreading the scene to come. Luckily, Will was coming down the stairs just as they reached the foyer.

“There you are. It’s about time,” Peter greeted him.

Will gave a long, dramatic yawn. “What’s up?”

“We’re going to town to that antique store, remember? I need your help unloading things.”

Will rolled his eyes. “More grunt work. This is child labor, you know. And I’m not getting paid a dime.”

Peter’s expression tightened. “You’re getting an iPhone out of the deal, as I recall. Or you might get it if you stop giving me so much attitude.”

Will’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean, might?”

“I mean, your smart mouth is putting that agreement in jeopardy,” Peter said evenly.

“I can’t believe you! You said it was a done deal. All I had to do was get on the plane,” Will reminded his father in an outraged whine. “No way! That totally stinks!”

Peter’s face grew bright red. “That’s it, Will! One more word out of you, pal, and no new phone. And the one you have will be turned off.” Peter paused, letting his words sink in. “Now, go outside and get into Aunt Liza’s car.”

Will stared at Peter defiantly. He looked like he was going to mouth off again, then just blinked, his eyes bright and glassy. With an angry sigh, he stomped down the stairs, brushed past the adults, yanked open the front door, then slammed it on his way out.

Peter let out a long, shaky breath. “Another cheerful outing with my boy. What a joy,” he said drily.

“Peter… I know you have to set some boundaries for his behavior, but put yourself in his place. This visit hasn’t been much fun for him. I think he’s been a pretty good sport most of the time. I bet his friend just rubbed it in about the trip, and that’s what got him all upset.”

“I know that. But he’s got to figure out that he can’t blame me for everything that goes amiss in the universe either.” Peter scratched his head, looking baffled by the mysteries of fatherhood. “Don’t worry, he’ll cool off. We’ll work it out somehow. I think once he gets hungry for lunch, he’ll decide to acknowledge my presence again.” He offered Liza a small smile. “Let’s just hope there’s some good news later about the Hardys, right?”

Liza nodded quickly, even though her idea of good news and Peter’s were two different headlines.

Peter and Will set off for Cape Light, and Liza went up to her room. She glanced at the laptop on the table by the window but didn’t open it. Instead, she drew the shade and lay down on her bed. She rarely napped during the day, not unless she was sick. But she did feel off today in a way-not exactly sick but not completely well either.

She noticed the white feather on her nightstand and picked it up, twirling it in the dim light. It was so pure and silky. As if it had fallen from an angel’s wing, she thought, instead of some ordinary bird.

Maybe a sign from above was not like a fortune cookie, predicting your future, but more like a marker in the road, an arrow, pointing out a new direction, saying, “You can go this way if you choose. Didn’t you notice?”

Liza considered all that had happened and decided the feather was telling her she could continue with her artwork if she chose to do so. It was not too late to follow her bliss, her heart’s desire.

Liza resolved that was what she would do, no matter what happened with the Hardys. She closed her eyes and felt herself drift off to sleep.

The next thing she knew, a gust of wind blew through the curtains and caused the shade to flap like a bird’s wing. She opened her eyes and glanced at her watch. She had only slept for a few minutes but felt much better. Refreshed and ready to start her day again, she got up and walked over to the window and raised the shade.

A small blue ceramic pot sat on the windowsill. She hadn’t noticed it before. It was filled with white pebbles and bulbs. Small green shoots pushed themselves up from the center of the wrinkled brown orbs. Liza wondered what type of flowers would bloom from the bulbs-paper whites or daffodils? Her aunt used to force bulbs in the late winter, to lend the house some fresh flowers before the spring. Liza had never learned the knack or had the patience.

This had to be Claire’s handiwork, she realized.

Liza took a closer look and noticed the pot was handmade, one of her aunt’s creations, probably unearthed during the clearing out of closets.

Aunt Elizabeth had finished the pot with a blue glaze and a bright green stripe. She had also inscribed a saying along the rim. Liza lifted it up to read the words.

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.

Liza couldn’t recall the last time she had been inside a church, not counting her aunt’s memorial service. But she easily recognized one of Aunt Elizabeth’s favorite bits of scripture. The words helped her feel calmer. No telling what the day-or the Hardys’ visit- would bring. Liza decided she would try to take a page from her aunt’s book and hold on to the view that no matter what, all would work out for the best.

She glanced at her laptop again but the cool, fresh air and fair weather distracted her, calling her outdoors. This could be her last day on the island, she realized. Or close to it. It might be her last chance to get out and enjoy herself here. There didn’t seem to be any sense in staying indoors to do any sort of work.

Liza grabbed her sweater and down vest, then went downstairs, where she scavenged the kitchen for a few snacks and her refillable water bottle. She stowed her necessities in a small, light pack, along with her sketch pad and cell phone, and slung it over her shoulder.

There was a note from Claire on the kitchen table, written in even, square handwriting. The housekeeper had gone up to the General Store for some vegetables to make soup and would be back soon.

Liza wrote a note back, explaining that she was going out for a while but noting that Fran Tulley would be by with some clients around eleven.

“Thank you for the pot of bulbs I found in my room,” she added at the bottom. “That was very thoughtful.” As always, Liza added to herself.

She headed out the back door, suddenly aware of just how much she would miss Claire when she left here. It had only been two weeks, but she’d grown accustomed to the older woman’s calm, steady ways-and her incredible cooking.

What would Claire do if they sold this place? She seemed so attached to the inn, an integral part of it. While Liza was sure that Claire could find work easily, it was hard to picture her working anywhere else. Claire seemed to belong here, Liza mused.

Liza found the bike she preferred in the shed, hooked the helmet to the handlebars, and tugged the bike outside.

She wondered where Daniel was this morning. She’d seen his truck and heard men working outside earlier, but it was quiet now.

If things worked out with the Hardys, she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore either, she realized. She would miss him, too-or maybe just miss what might have been.

She slipped on her helmet and started off on the bike. She had no plan in mind, just to ride long enough to make her too tired to think. The Angel Wing Cliffs should do it, she decided, and headed off in that direction.

Liza rode for about an hour along the main road, which offered an ocean view most of the time. By the time she reached the cliffs, she was more than ready to take a break.

She stopped on the side of the road near a large smooth boulder, where the cliffs were in full view and the shoreline stretched out below. They had stopped at this very spot the day she and Peter had come out here with Will. The weather had been chillier then. It felt more like spring today, and there were more signs of the season. The brush and trees scattered on the cliff top looked as if they had been touched with an artist’s brush, tipped in bright green paint.

The sun was high in the clear sky, beaming down on the empty road. She rolled the bike over to a shady spot under a tree. The tree was still bare of leaves, but she could see small green buds on the branches, nearly ready to burst.

Tired from riding, Liza took off her helmet, then took a bottle of water from her pack. The water was still cool and tasted wonderful. Such a simple pleasure, she realized, cold water when you’re tired and thirsty.

She sat on the side of the road and gazed around. She hadn’t seen a car or another biker, or even anyone walking on the road since she started the ride. She felt as if she were suddenly the only person left on the island. It wasn’t a bad feeling either.

It was so very quiet. She heard the sound of the waves dashing on the shoreline far below and the breeze rustling the branches of bushes and trees. A flock of birds hopped among the brush, chirping and squawking at one another before growing silent again.

Liza took out the food she’d brought-an apple and a wedge of cheddar cheese and a few whole grain crackers-and ate every bite. The snack revived her, but she wasn’t quite ready to get back on her bike. Stowing her trash in the pack, she noticed her sketch pad and took it out.

It was open to a sketch of the seabirds on the shoreline that she had drawn the other day. Liza looked at it for a moment, then flipped to a fresh page. She took out her soft umber pencil and started to sketch the view before her, the Angel Wing Cliffs and the shoreline below.

Perhaps it was a trick of the sunlight at this time of day, but Liza could see the cliffs clearly as wings today. The rugged white cliffs seemed both solid and gently yielding, almost ready to expand and lift off the earth. It was really an inexplicable sight, impossible to describe in words, and Liza struggled to capture some small sense of it in her drawing.

Her aunt had painted this same view of the cliffs in watercolors and oils. Many famous painters were fascinated with a particular landscape, painting it over and over in all types of light, in different seasons, and with different techniques. Van Gogh and the haystacks. Monet and the water lilies. Aunt Elizabeth had been that way about the cliffs, and Liza had seen many versions of this landscape among the paintings in the attic.

Of course, lots of people who came to the island chose this spot to paint or photograph. But it made Liza suddenly feel close to her aunt, in touch with Elizabeth’s spirit, to recall those efforts and work at that vision herself.

After she filled a few pages, the light and the wind shifted, subtly changing the scene. Liza felt she was ready to close her sketchbook but sat with it in her lap a moment and ran her finger along the edge of the binding.

She had practically laughed at the sketchbook the night Peter had handed it to her. Her old efforts seemed so amateur, even embarrassing. But now, she held them in her lap like a treasure, a glimpse into her past, a touchstone she had lost and forgotten about but now rediscovered. An important part of herself she had pushed aside but now embraced.

With her eyes closed against the sunlight and the rhythmic echo of the waves below in tune with her own heartbeat, Liza felt as if the entire world had very slowly come to a full stop. A sense of complete and utter calm filled her like a white light. She felt part of something larger, connected to the ocean waves and blue sky, the rocks and sand, the trees and birds.

It was a rare and indescribable feeling. Even as she experienced it, she knew she could never explain it to anyone. For the first time in a long time, she felt whole. And certain. As she slowly opened her eyes and looked at the world around her, her surroundings somehow looked different and new. Or perhaps she was the one who felt different deep within.

She wasn’t sure exactly. But she was sure of one thing. She knew what she had to do.

Liza returned to the inn in the late afternoon. Peter was sitting on the porch in an Adirondack chair. She left her bike on the gravel drive and walked up to him.

“How’s it going? Did the Bramble take anything?”

“One or two items. That woman who owns the place, Grace Hegman? She’s very fussy and drives a hard bargain. You wouldn’t think so from that display in her window.”

Liza could tell that Peter was out of sorts. Was he just annoyed after dealing with Grace Hegman? Or was it something more? She walked onto the porch and sat in a chair next to him.

“I called Fran Tulley,” he reported. “She said the Hardys were here a long time, but we shouldn’t expect any word until tomorrow. Maybe even Monday,” he added glumly. “They need to review their information and figure things out. I hate all this waiting.”

“I know,” Liza said sympathetically. But what she was thinking was, no news is good news. From her point of view anyway.

She stared out at the ocean, realizing that she had fully expected to return here and be facing a firm offer from the Hardys. The delay in their reply seemed an amazing, eleventh-hour reprieve.

Thank You, God. She offered up a silent prayer without even realizing it.

“I guess it won’t be the end of the world if they don’t make us a good offer,” Peter said, though his tone belied his words. “I just wish we had this settled.”

“I do, too,” Liza began. “But even the fact that they’re so interested is a good sign. I mean, at least it shows the property is a good investment.” She turned to face him, gathering her courage. “It’s nice to see all the hearsay confirmed, don’t you think?”

“There was never much question of that.”

“I know, but I’ve been thinking…” Liza leaned back. “Why hand over this great investment to some stranger and never get to reap the long-term benefits? I’m sure Aunt Elizabeth knew about the changes on the island. Maybe she just assumed we would be smart enough to hang on to the property until the value went up. By the time we’re ready to retire, this place could be worth a fortune.”

Peter moaned and covered his face with his hands. “Don’t tell me you’re going off on me again, Liza. It’s been a hard day. I’m not sure I can take it.”

“Peter… please… just listen a minute. I felt awful all day, thinking someone might buy the inn. I just feel it in my heart that selling it is the wrong thing to do. I’ve had time to think about this, and I’m very certain that I don’t want to go back to my job. Not in two weeks, not ever.”

He had taken his hands off his face, and she saw that he was about to interrupt.

“And this is not about losing that promotion,” she quickly added before he could speak. “I never got to tell you about the call from my boss on Friday night. Right before we went into the movie. She called to tell me that… that I did get the VP spot. It seems I totally misunderstood what she said last week and tortured myself for no reason.”

But maybe that misunderstanding had turned out to be a good thing, Liza realized now. It had forced her to look at her life from a new perspective and see alternatives beyond her job at the agency.

Peter shook his head in confusion. “I don’t get it. You got the promotion-and now you don’t want it?”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. I guess I feel gratified by the offer. But I know now it’s not for me. Having a bigger office, a big title, even making more money. It’s just not going to get me where I really want to go.”

“And where is that, Liza? Do you know?”

“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “I want to stay here and run the inn.” She paused, giving the words a chance to sink in. “I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, Peter, but that is the honest and entire truth. I know for sure, this is what I really want to do.”

“Liza, don’t you realize what you’d be throwing away? Everything you worked for. Your entire reputation in the business. You can’t just wake up one morning and say, ‘Heck, I’m going to chuck my entire career out the window.’ I can’t let you do that.”

Liza held on to her patience. “It’s not your decision to make, Peter. It’s mine. I’ve lived my entire life doing what I thought I should do to make other people happy or approve of me. Or to be considered a success on their terms. I don’t want to do that anymore. I simply won’t,” she stated flatly. “Even if you don’t agree to let me take over here, I’m not going back to the agency. I’ll start freelancing as a graphic artist or do some consulting. And I’ll get back to my own artwork. If I don’t do it now, while I feel motivated, I probably never will. You’re the one who told me I should,” she reminded him.

“Yes, but I didn’t say for you to blow up your entire life doing it,” he shot back.

Liza ignored his irate tone and pale, shocked expression. “If I stay out here, I can work independently to bring in money until the inn turns a profit again. I know it will be hard at first, but I have so many contacts in the business. Even Barkin & Carr will give me work. I know you were expecting money from the sale,” she rushed on, before he could argue again, “but I could easily loan you money for your business. Couldn’t you just give me a chance and see if I can make it work out? Maybe just a year or so? The inn might be worth more by then, too, if we still need to sell it.”

Peter looked about to answer, then just let out a long, exasperated breath. He rose and shook his head, pacing back and forth on the porch.

“Liza… please. Don’t press me for an answer on this right now. It’s a lot to think about, a lot to consider. And it’s definitely not a good moment to back me into a corner. Your timing is just terrible.”

Liza’s heart sank. “Why is it terrible? Has something happened that I don’t know about?”

“I had a call from Gail today-another big argument about Will. She won’t agree to the joint custody. We had a terrible fight, then Will got on the phone and told her that he doesn’t want to live with me half of the time. He has one more week off from school for the spring break, but he told his mother he wanted to go home tomorrow.”

“Oh, Peter… that is terrible. I thought you were making some progress with him. Except for the past day or so,” she added.

“I thought so, too. I know this place isn’t as exciting as a trek into the mountains, but I thought he was having some fun. And we were getting a bit closer again.”

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 on 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.”

Liza let out a long sigh. She had to tell him. She had to be honest. She had hoped they would have a chance to sort this out calmly and rationally, but that’s not how the pieces were falling.

“I have some news-if you could slow down long enough to listen,” she finally said.

“Okay, I’m listening.” He gave her a hard look.

“The Hardys made an offer.”

“An offer? That’s great! When did you hear?”

“A few hours ago. I guess it was around five.”

He looked surprised. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Oh, you were out on the boat. I didn’t think your phone would work. And I didn’t have the heart,” she admitted. “They want to knock the place down, Peter. That’s the deal. They just want the land so they can build a new house. That’s why they had the architect with them.”

Peter stared at her, and she wished she could read his thoughts. Did it bother him at all that the inn would be destroyed?

“What are they offering? Is it a good number?”

Liza told him the figure.

“Nice.” He nodded, looking pleased. “And that’s just a first offer. I expect we could get them to go higher.”

Fran had said the same thing, but Liza wasn’t about to mention that.

“Look, why don’t we go inside and talk this over a little?” she suggested. “Did you have anything to eat? I could heat up some of Claire’s soup. It’s really delicious.” She was hoping the good food would get him in a better mood, a more receptive mood.

“I’m not hungry, thanks.” He glanced at his watch. “I suppose it’s too late to call Fran back. I’m going up to bed. We’ll call her tomorrow, first thing.”

She didn’t answer. Peter brushed past her and headed up the stairs. “Good night, Liza. Tomorrow is a big day. You ought to get some sleep yourself.”

Liza didn’t answer. Tomorrow would be a big day. A sad day, she expected. She wished it would never come.