The Inn at Angel Island

Chapter Eight

SUNDAY was a day of rest for most people, but not at the Angel Inn, Liza reminded herself. It was sunny and mild, and Peter and Will, who had run down to the beach to shoot some early morning photos, looked as if they wouldn’t have minded hanging out at the beach until sunset. Liza quickly dished out the day’s jobs along with the scrambled eggs and toast she had cooked for their breakfast.

“I’ve got a good one for you today, Peter. Take down the wallpaper in the bathroom on the second floor, the one next to your bedroom.”

“Take it down? It’s falling down.”

“See, I gave you the easy job. It’s half done already.” Liza gave her brother an encouraging smile. “There’s some solution to melt the glue somewhere. I found it in the basement with the painting supplies. You just rub it on, and the rest of the paper will peel right off. Then the walls need to be scraped and painted. Including the ceiling… mold spots,” she snuck in quickly.

“Those need to be washed with bleach.”

Liza was surprised. “So you do know what to do.”

He shrugged. “Close enough.”

She never thought of her brother as the handy type, but he did own a house and was economical. He must have learned a few home-repair tricks over the years.

“I’ll start on the half bath down here,” Liza told him. “It shouldn’t take long. Claire found a pair of perfectly good curtains for the windows. She even ran them through the washer.”

Peter glanced at Will, who had said hardly a word during breakfast. Liza could hear the hum of his iPod from across the table. The music volume and ear buds seemed to eliminate any possibility of conversation. Peter leaned over and gently tugged one from his ear.

Will looked startled. “Hey, what are you doing? You’re going to ruin my earphones.”

“You’re going to ruin your ears. That music is way too loud, Will. Turn it down or I’m taking that thing away.”

Will scowled but adjusted the volume. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. What about helping me paint the bathroom today?” Peter said.

“What about it?” Will echoed.

Liza saw Peter reach deeper for some patience. “I’d like you to help me. We were just talking about it, but I guess you missed the conversation.”

“I heard you,” Will cut in. “Take down the wallpaper. Mold spots on the ceiling.”

“Sounds like a band,” Liza said, trying to make a joke.

“Mold Spots on the Ceiling?” Will gave her a blank look. “Right,” he said kindly.

She couldn’t be faulted for trying. She did think that he secretly wanted to laugh but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He hadn’t argued about helping today, she realized. Maybe things were easing a bit between him and Peter. She hoped so. That would be one good thing coming out of this ordeal.

A short time later, the three-person crew was busy at work on their projects. Liza had found some perfectly good paint, robin’s-egg blue, down in the basement and decided to use it. She had begun to play a game with herself, a challenge to be resourceful and use up what was in the house.

By the time Fran came by late that afternoon with a fresh set of “lookers,” both Liza and Peter were too engrossed in their bathroom projects to be any bother. The real estate agent seemed very pleased with the progress.

“Kitchens and bathrooms make a big impression,” she told Liza privately. “Even if they plan to renovate, they want the rooms to look fresh until they get around to their own repairs.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Liza replied. Unfortunately, there were two more bathrooms besides the two they were working on today, and one of them had a Grand Canyon-sized crack down the middle of the ceiling.

Maybe she could get Daniel’s advice on that repair? It was definitely out of her league. He might help her fix it. Though the thought of working with him and a tub of spackle in such close quarters made her quickly nix the idea. It would definitely redefine the term sticky situation. She didn’t need to complicate her short stay here even more, did she?

The truth was, though, that Daniel was the very nicest of all the complications so far. She did miss seeing him today, which was a secret she wouldn’t have admitted to anyone.

Claire North didn’t work on Sundays, and Liza definitely missed her, too. Even more than Daniel in some ways, she realized. Claire’s presence balanced out the male energies in the house. But it was more than that. Claire was like the tiller on a sailboat, Liza decided. A solid, steadying force who helped Liza keep things on the right track. She was a good sounding board, even about small, silly questions-Which china cups should she keep or give away? What color should she paint the bathroom molding: stark white or cream?

Liza certainly didn’t begrudge Claire her day off. She and Peter both knew they were lucky to have the housekeeper’s indefatigable help these final weeks. It couldn’t be easy for her, taking this place apart, Liza reflected. But she seemed so accepting, even cheerful at her work.

Liza wondered what Claire was up to today in her cottage on the other side of the island. She tried to picture the place. It wasn’t like Daisy Winkler’s ornate Victorian confection, she decided. It would be an old structure but far simpler. Did Claire entertain? Go out to visit friends? Or remain home alone for the day? Although she seemed completely at ease in her own company, everyone around here seemed to know Claire and think very highly of her. She probably had lots of friends.

Liza knew that Claire attended the church on the green in Cape Light, Reverend Ben Lewis’s church. So she had probably gone there this morning. Liza recalled the church, the cool, dark interior and soft amber light from the stained-glass windows, the gentle music and quiet prayers. She pictured Claire sitting there, calmly taking in the sermon and service, and suddenly pictured herself there, too. Trying to absorb some of that soul-deep serenity. Perhaps church was the source of Claire’s infallible inner calm.

But it doesn’t work like that, Liza reminded herself. Going to church wasn’t like soaking in a tub of warm water, easing out your spiritual aches and pains. You had to have faith. You had to believe in… in something to get the benefit. Didn’t you? What was it that Reverend Ben had said about her aunt Elizabeth? That she was a woman of faith.

Distracted by her thoughts, Liza painted over the edge of the masking tape. “Oh… drat!” She quickly wiped the smear and stood back.

She had done enough for today, she decided. She was getting tired and messing up her work. It was time to make dinner anyway.

By the time Liza called Peter and Will to the dinner table, they both looked as if they might droop right into the dishes of pasta she had prepared. She had found a bottle of tomato sauce in the pantry, pepped it up with some sautéed mushrooms, and made a simple meal with bread and salad.

“This is pretty good,” Peter said between mouthfuls. “But you have to admit, Claire’s cooking is awesome.”

“No argument there,” Liza agreed. Claire was not a sophisticated cook, using the latest “hip” ingredients. Her dishes were comfort food, and yet too subtle and intricate to be called that either. Just like the woman herself, her cooking more or less defied definition.

“That may have been one of the reasons Aunt Elizabeth had so many return customers,” Liza added. “It certainly wasn’t the decor these last few years.”

“Speaking of return customers, what did Fran say about the couple who came today?” Peter asked. “Any interest?”

“She called while I was cooking. They liked the place but are worried about energy costs,” Liza reported. “Daniel already told me the building needs new windows and insulation. I guess that scared them off.”

“Aunt Elizabeth managed. She would close off the third floor in the winter. Didn’t Fran tell them that?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think it would have made much difference. If people don’t want the place, they don’t want it.”

Peter frowned at her a moment. “How about that couple who came yesterday while we were biking? The Hardys? Weren’t they due back today?”

“They’re coming back next week. They want to bring a friend, an architect.”

“An architect?” His glum expression brightened. “That’s a good sign. Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Oh… I don’t know.” She shrugged and looked down at her plate. “An architect might say the place is falling down and not to bother.”

“Always the positive view, Liza,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m just being realistic,” she defended herself. She didn’t mean to raise her voice but realized too late that she had.

“I know that’s what you think you’re doing. But sometimes I wonder if you really want to sell this place,” Peter retorted, his voice equally loud. “I’m starting to think that deep down inside, you don’t want anyone to buy it. I’m afraid that if someone actually makes an offer, you’ll point out reasons why they shouldn’t.”

Did she really sound like that? Liza rubbed the back of her neck, which was stiff from painting the bathroom ceiling. Peter’s words had hit a nerve.

“Well, I guess I do have mixed feelings,” she admitted. “The longer I stay here, the more I remember. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I have memories, Liza. That’s part of the territory. We both knew this wouldn’t be easy.” He wasn’t exactly shouting, but his tone was hard, drawing a line.

It made Liza angry that he couldn’t just step back a minute and look at the situation from another perspective.

“Of course, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. But I didn’t realize it would be so hard. You can’t honestly tell me this isn’t hard for you, can you?”

His expression darkened. “Are you getting cold feet on me? Is that it?”

Liza took a breath, then shook her head. “No… it’s not that at all. I know we have to sell it. That’s what we agreed.”

And her melancholy feelings were irrelevant, she added silently.

“Maybe I wouldn’t buy it myself because it’s so run-down,” she said finally. “So that’s where I’m coming from.”

“Maybe,” Peter said quietly. “I’m just tired tonight. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“I’m sorry I lost it, too. It’s okay.” Liza picked up some dirty dishes and patted her brother’s shoulder as she passed him on her way to the sink.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Then she said, “There is one way you can make it up to me.”

He turned and looked at her. “What?”

“I noticed that pack of Wing Dings the Doyles gave you just sitting in the refrigerator… and there’s nothing around for dessert.”

Peter laughed and shook his head. “Okay, I know when I’m beat. We’ll share it. You deserve it for putting up with me.”

Liza smiled in answer. She loved her brother, but she did deserve half of those Wing Dings. She knew it. And so did he.

ON Monday morning the inn was a beehive of activity. Peter, Will, and Liza continued their work on the bathrooms. Liza should have known they wouldn’t whip through the rooms in one day. It would take more like two or three. Painting always took longer than you expected. But the results were so obvious and transforming, it was satisfying work.

As opposed to cleaning out closets or even sorting china. She had left those chores to Claire today, who carried on without Liza in her typical orderly way.

Daniel had arrived early with several assistants and another large contraption that sprayed paint onto the outside of the house. He had told her they would have to apply a coat of primer before the house paint went on, and that she and Peter needed to choose the colors.

“White with black shutters. Simple and saleable,” Peter said at once. “Who could object to it?”

“I do,” Liza argued. “It’s so… boring.”

Some old houses looked very good with that classic combination. But the inn had a whimsical spirit. You couldn’t just smother the place with white paint and black shutters.

It would just seem so wrong.

After some discussion-and Peter realizing there was no extra charge for a real color-Liza won out with her choice, a soft, warm cream for the house, the same color the inn had been when they were growing up. She quickly ran to show Daniel the shade she had chosen on the paint sample wheel before Peter changed his mind.

“Good choice,” Daniel noted. “That’s just what I would have picked. We’re on the same wavelength.”

“About paint colors at least,” she said quietly, without looking at him.

He smiled. “What about the shutters?”

“I’m not sure. Any ideas?”

“I have a few… but I don’t want to rush you.”

She met his playful glance, and a spark raced through her veins. Was she imagining this? These clever, double-edged exchanges?

Sometimes a paint chip is just a paint chip, Liza. You’ve just got a silly crush on him.

But something in Daniel’s warm gaze belied that theory. There was definitely more than paint chips on his mind.

She smiled at him blandly and backed away, holding the color wheel. “I’ll just take this with me and get back to you about the shutters.”

“Take your time.” Daniel smiled and nodded. He knew he had rattled her and seemed pleased about it.

She stalked off in a mild tizzy.

Yes, she was officially divorced. But it still seemed way too soon for this. Way too soon for someone like Daniel. She needed to start with someone far more boring and tame, she reasoned, as she retreated to the first-floor bathroom and set up her paint supplies. She needed to wade in the kiddy pool awhile. Daniel was the deep end. A leap off the high diving board in fact-and no lifeguard on duty.

Liza decided her best course of action was to avoid him. She was working inside, and he was working out. It shouldn’t be too hard, she kept telling herself, though it was tempting to peek out the window every time she heard him pass by.

Somewhere around lunchtime, she realized she needed to go out to the shed to find some sandpaper. There had to be a scrap or two on the workbench, she thought.

She heard the dull drone of the paint sprayer on the other side of the house and the men shouting instructions to one another. The coast was clear. I’ ll just dash in and out of the shed without running into him, Liza figured.

Wrong, she discovered too late. Daniel was in the yard, touching up the back wall of the house while his crew continued spraying the far side of the building. She nearly walked right into him before she realized it.

He turned and smiled at her. “Hey, how’s it going? Doing some painting?”

“That’s right.” She nodded and lifted her chin. He seemed to find the idea of her painting amusing for some reason. “The half bath downstairs.”

“Get any on the walls yet?” he asked in a serious tone.

“Very funny.” She tried not to laugh, but she had practically coated herself with blue paint, shaking a can with a loose lid. “The lid on one of the cans wasn’t closed properly. I’m actually a very neat painter,” she defended herself. “I use lots of tape, and I hate a drippy job.”

“I’m impressed. Maybe you can work for me sometime.”

“Maybe,” she replied, playing along with him. “Are you a good boss? Or do you shout a lot?”

He laughed. “Hey, aren’t I supposed to be the one asking the questions?”

“I never said I was interested in the job,” she clarified. “I’m just curious.”

He smiled and held her gaze. “Good. Cause I’m curious about you, too.”

Liza felt her stomach drop and suddenly looked away.

She had no idea what to say next and no idea what had gotten into her today. It had to be paint fumes making her light-headed. Staring off the end of the high diving board again…

Liza heard the BlackBerry in her sweatshirt pocket buzz, alerting her that a message had come in. She quickly reached for it. Daniel gave her a disapproving look, and for a moment she thought he might try to grab it away from her again. She quickly stepped out of his reach, just in case.

“I have to take a look at this. It’s my office… excuse me,” she said to Daniel.

“See you later.”

“See you,” she replied, her gaze lingering on him as he turned to join his crew.

Liza clicked open the e-mail. It was from her boss, Eve. She read it quickly, not liking what she saw.

Liza-

Harry Berlinger is being a total pain about those print ads, and now he’s complaining about everything under the sun. I’ve told Charlie to hold his hand until you get back. We have to keep Harry happy. We can’t afford to lose the account. I’m out of the office today at meetings. Talk to you soon.

– Eve

Great. Now Eve had just handed Charlie one of Liza’s juiciest plums on a silver platter. What if Harry Berlinger no longer wanted Liza to handle his account by the time she came back? Then what?

Liza was fuming. She went back inside and started to paint again, but her hand was shaking, making a zigzag line. She tossed the roller down, sloshing it in the tray.

Should she call? No, not now. She was too upset. Eve was out of the office all day anyway. She wouldn’t even reach her. Besides, what could she say? She could hardly tell Eve to yank Charlie from the account. Keeping clients happy was the priority, and she had to be a team player about this.

And what about the promotion now? Liza had thought she had it in the bag. Was Eve having second thoughts? If her boss was feeling even the slightest doubt, Liza was sure Charlie would fan that spark into a three-alarm blaze in no time.

And here she was, stuck on this island, unable to protect her own turf or defend herself.

Get a grip, Liza, she coached herself. You’re starting to get all crazy and paranoid. It’s probably just as Eve said. Harry Berlinger is throwing temper tantrums, and you don’t even have a fax machine out here. You’ll just have to wait and see how this all plays out.

Liza e-mailed a quick note back, saying she understood and that she would check in with Charlie to make sure things were going smoothly.

“I do have a few concerns however. Please give me a call when you get a chance,” she added at the bottom of the note.

Liza thought it was better to be up front about her fears, even if they sounded silly. What was that old saying? “Just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.” Maybe Eve trusted Charlie, but Liza knew better by now.

With that plan settled, Liza returned to her painting project. Painting might be messy, but it seemed gloriously simple and undemanding, especially when compared with the grueling emotional roller coaster of office politics.

I can always work for Daniel if the advertising career doesn’t work out, she consoled herself.

At the moment, it didn’t seem like such a bad alternative.

THE day passed quickly. Everyone reported in at dinner on their progress, tired but happy. Even Will seemed proud of his accomplishments. Peter had promoted him from a mere assistant to being in charge of his own job, the second-floor hallway.

“I didn’t realize how dingy the hall looked until Will started with the fresh paint,” Peter said, a touch of pride in his voice. “It really brightens up the space.”

“It makes a huge difference,” Liza agreed. She glanced at her nephew. “You’re doing a great job, Will. I thought we’d have to skip that area; the hall is so long.”

“He’s got the energy, and he’s stronger than he looks.” Peter smiled at his son. “I didn’t realize I’d be bringing so much extra man power.”

Will looked embarrassed by their praise. “No big deal. I’m just hanging out. What else am I going to do?”

Stay up in your room with the door locked? Like you did the first few days? Liza replied silently.

But of course, she didn’t say that. That phase seemed over with, thank goodness. And thank goodness Peter was starting to take a new tack and treat Will more like an adult. It was good for him to let go a little and see what Will could do on his own without grown-ups hovering over him.

Will did go up to his room right after dinner. Not pouting, though, as he sometimes did, but just because he was tired. Peter and Liza brought some coffee into the front parlor. Liza sat on the chintz love seat and worked on her to-do list.

Peter strolled over to the oak table that had become his work space. The photo albums were piled on one side, and he began rearranging several old shoe boxes he had labeled with white index cards.

“How are we doing?” Peter asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Hard to say. Seems every time I cross one thing off, I have to add two more.”

“There’s something wrong with that system,” he said. He walked over to the table, then handed her a book that looked much like the others, with a cracked binding and a dusty black leather cover. “Look what I found. One of your old sketchbooks… and look what was with it.”

Liza’s breath caught as she took the book from him, then a slim wooden box with a hinged lid. She looked over the box first. Her initials were carved on top, E.G.M.-Elizabeth Grace Martin. She traced them with a fingertip. She had been named after her aunt, her mother’s sister, but everyone had always called her Liza while she was growing up. She rarely used her full name, except on legal documents.

“Uncle Clive made this for me, remember?”

Peter sat down at the table and nodded. “I remember. It was your birthday.”

“That’s right.” She opened the top of the box, wondering if there was anything still inside. Soft drawing pencils and pieces of charcoal sat there, patiently waiting for her. She fingered them gently. They looked old and crumbly but were usable. When was the last time she had taken them out?

She opened the book next and found some of her old sketches. She glanced at Peter, feeling slightly self-conscious, as if looking through the sketchbook were a private act of some kind. But he seemed to be concentrating on the photos, not even aware of her in the room right now.

She turned the pages slowly, examining each drawing. A star-burst lily cut from the garden and tilted in a cup. Aunt Elizabeth’s old gray cat, Cleopatra, sunning herself in the tall grass. A sketch of Liza’s own hand and also her foot. Uncle Clive reading the newspaper. Aunt Elizabeth sitting on the back-porch steps, shelling peas.

Several more. The last few rough and unfinished.

Then the book went blank.

The same way her art career had trickled off and ended.

Liza sat back, holding the book in her lap. It was hard to look at sketches like these, made at a time in her life when she was young and hopeful, fully believing that if she worked hard, her talent would prevail and she would succeed.

As if hard work and a little talent were all it took. But, of course, it was much harder than that, and most who tried would never make it.

Jeff had always known that. Aunt Elizabeth had liked Jeff well enough, but Liza knew that her aunt didn’t believe Jeff was a good match for her beloved niece.

Maybe she sensed that he wouldn’t value or encourage Liza’s career as an artist. That he would influence her to follow a different path, a safer, more conservative lifestyle. Was that how it had gone?

Looking back, Liza wasn’t even sure now. She believed she had made those choices totally on her own. Jeff had been proud of her success and recognition, but he had never pressured her to accept promotions and move up the corporate ladder.

A ladder that looked more like a food chain in a jungle full of carnivores right now, Liza thought.

What was the use of even thinking about any of this anymore? Mulling this stuff over made no difference now. But wouldn’t it be great to get up every day and know that all you had to do was draw or paint to make a living? Not face difficult clients, cutthroat colleagues, and a demanding boss all the time? What a fantasy…

It was too late now to go back and change anything in this picture. She had made her choices, and she was stuck with them.

Peter glanced up at her, then down at the sketchbook. “So, what do you think now?”

“Oh, they’re dreadful. Hard to look at right after dinner,” she said, trying to make a joke.

“Come on, Liza. They’re not bad at all. They’re very good, in fact.”

“You’ve already looked at them?” Her voice rose in outrage.

He nodded. “I couldn’t help it. I found the sketchbook, and before I knew it, I was flipping through the pages. I’d forgotten how good you were.”

“I was… okay.” Her brother was just being kind. But she was more realistic. “A marginal amount of talent. Certainly not enough to do more than grunt work at a drawing board in an art department somewhere.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Peter said. “I bet if you picked up a pencil again, it would all come back to you. All that and more.”

“Or all that and even less,” Liza replied.

The truth was, the pad and box of pencils had given her the notion to try her hand again. But she was afraid of what she would see. To find that she had lost her eye and touch entirely would be very depressing.

“What difference does it make?” she asked. “The memories are sweet, I guess, but they also make me sad. They make me remember that I was fooling myself to think I would ever make it as an artist.”

“That’s too bad.” Her brother cast her a sympathetic look. “The thing is, it’s not entirely about talent, Liza. It’s more about persistence and even faith,” he said quietly. “Faith in yourself. And how you define success, of course. I always thought Aunt Elizabeth was a great success because she hung in there and did her artwork and didn’t give a darn what anyone thought of her work, good or bad.”

Faith. There was that word again. Aunt Elizabeth had faith in herself. Liza couldn’t argue with that. But how many people could be as sure of themselves as Aunt Elizabeth?

As for Peter-even if he was having financial problems, he never seemed to question his own gifts as an artist. From the first time he had held a camera, he had known he was meant to be a photographer.

She, on the other hand, had lost her faith in her talent. She had gotten distracted by a life path with a faster, more certain payout.

“Well,” Liza said, “I think I’m going to turn in.” She didn’t want to take this conversation any further. “Are you going to stay up, sorting photos?”

“You did put me in charge of the photo archive,” he reminded her.

“Right, but your duties as a bathroom painter and head wallpaper remover do come first,” she joked.

“I won’t stay up too late, don’t worry,” he replied.

They said good night, and Liza headed to her room. What she told her brother had been honest. Looking at the sketches had stirred up something, regrets for the road not taken. But there was nothing to be done about it now. She had to focus on the road she had taken, her job at the agency.

Before she went to bed, she checked her messages for some further word from Eve, but there was none. There were also no e-mails or phone calls from Jeff. Had he finally gotten her message about letting go?

Liza felt a little stunned. She knew that would be a good thing, but if he was finally, really giving up, it was a kind of loss, too.

ON Tuesday the painting inside continued. Liza finished with the powder room and sized up another small bathroom on the third floor. The ceiling was slanted on the eave of the roof, and she needed a taller ladder and extension for her roller to get to it.

She considered taking a ride to the General Store or even to the village of Cape Light. Then she wondered if Daniel could lend her the equipment. He probably had everything she needed right in his truck.

All that and more, she taunted herself.

I know your tricks, Liza. You’re just looking for some excuse to talk to him.

Well, that might be true. She hadn’t seen him again yesterday after he had admitted he was curious about her.

And that was probably a good thing, Liza told herself. She didn’t want to think about him too much, but that tiny admission had stuck in her mind. Along with a vision of his exceptional smile.

She quickly checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror: her long hair pulled back in a ponytail and covered by a Boston Red Sox baseball cap, her face bare of makeup, and dark shadows under her eyes from working hard and worrying.

Great. He’ll think some sort of ghoul has come down from that attic.

Then she got annoyed at herself for even thinking about it. I need a ladder, not a date, she reminded herself. Let him think whatever he likes. This thing between us is just plain… silly.

Liza stomped down the stairs and was heading for the backyard when she heard voices in the second-floor bathroom. Peter and Daniel discussing some repair.

Liza poked her head in. The two men practically filled the space. “Hey,” she said, not attempting to enter the room. If she did, she would feel like an extra sardine in a can.

“Daniel was just telling me how to seal the moldy spots with some spray,” Peter explained. “He even gave me the right stuff.”

Daniel had the right stuff. No doubt about that.

“Terrific… now I have a question for you,” she told Daniel.

“Yes?” he asked with that curious, amused tone.

She tried to ignore the way he was looking at her-obviously happy to see her, as if he even liked the way she looked in her painting outfit.

“Can I borrow a ladder? The one I have isn’t tall enough, and I also need an extension for the paint roller,” she added.

“No problem. I thought you were going to ask me how to patch the crack in the ceiling up there.”

“That was my next question, actually. How did you guess? You’re going to have to charge a consulting fee.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said amiably. “Let me go down to the truck and get the ladder. I’ll bring it up to you.”

“That’s all right, I’ll carry it up.” He had his own work to do. She didn’t need him to wait on her.

She followed him down to the first floor, then they headed toward the back door in the kitchen. Claire stood by the stove, chopping an onion on a wooden board. She was putting up something for dinner in the slow cooker.

“Hello, Claire,” Daniel greeted her. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Short ribs,” Claire answered. “Your favorite. Would you like a dish to take home? There’ll be plenty.”

“Thanks but… that’s okay. Maybe next time.”

How did Claire know his favorite dinner? He must have been invited by Aunt Elizabeth to join them from time to time. Aunt Elizabeth was a generous person and made friends easily. Liza could see how she would have enjoyed Daniel’s easy company and his clever conversation.

Should she invite him to stay tonight for the short ribs? she wondered. Or was that crossing a line, sending some signal she wasn’t yet ready to send?

He glanced at her, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing-expecting her to pick up on this hint and extend an invitation.

Before she could figure out what to do, Claire’s voice caught her attention. “I finally finished sorting the china,” she said. “It’s all in the dining room on the table and in boxes against the wall. I’ve put labels on everything, as you asked me to.”

“Thanks, Claire. I’ll take a look in a few minutes.”

“What would you like me to start on next?” Claire asked.

“I’m not sure,” Liza said honestly. “I’ll check the list. But I need to run outside with Daniel for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“No hurry.” Claire looked at Liza and then at Daniel with a little smile that made Liza feel self-conscious. Then Claire turned back to the sauce she was making. “No hurry,” she said again. “Some fresh air will do you good.”

Liza ignored her, but she still felt… silly. Exactly like she did in sixth grade when a friend told the whole class that Liza had a crush on the most popular boy in the school.

Daniel could have been that boy, she thought, glancing at him. He would have certainly caught the eye of the girls in middle school.

Daniel politely pulled the door open for her. Liza was forced to endure another knowing glance from Claire as she brushed past him and stepped outside.

They walked over to his truck parked back near the shed. Bright green weeds were sprouting through the pebbles on the drive, Liza noticed. Another sign of spring and another job for the list. One for the new owner, she decided.

Daniel opened the gate on the truck and reached inside, moving things around.

“So, short ribs are your favorite dinner,” she said, just to make some conversation.

“Yes, ma’am. One of my favorites. But only the way Claire makes them.”

“Claire’s such an amazing cook, everything she makes tastes the best,” she agreed. “Did you come for dinner often when my aunt was alive?”

She wasn’t sure that was a polite or appropriate question. But once again, she was curious.

“Fairly often. Your aunt was a great lady, and I enjoyed her company. I considered her a good friend.”

Liza was silent for a moment. Daniel jumped down from the truck and faced her.

“She was a great lady,” Liza agreed. “I miss her.”

“I miss her, too.” He looked down and met her gaze. “I’m sorry for your loss, Liza. I don’t think I ever got to tell you that.”

“Thanks for telling me now,” she said quietly.

He nodded but didn’t say more. He lightly touched her shoulder, and Liza looked up at him. But before she could say anything, her BlackBerry went off.

He smiled briefly at her, his hand dropping away.

She turned and fished in her back pocket for the phone, then checked the message. It was a call from Eve. Liza nearly groaned out loud.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” she told him. She stepped away while Daniel turned his attention back to the ladder, wrestling it out of the truck bed.

Liza took a breath and answered the call.

“Hello, Liza. I’m glad I was able to reach you,” Eve said. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all. I’ve been wanting to speak with you,” Liza said honestly.

“Good. I’d like to talk with you, too. Oh… can you hold on a minute, I just want to shut the door.”

She was shutting the door? This was serious.

Daniel caught her eye. He had the ladder out and the roller extension. “I’ll bring this inside for you,” he soundlessly mouthed the words.

Liza nodded at him in a distracted way, her attention totally focused on the call. She couldn’t tell yet from the tone of Eve’s voice if the message was going to be good news or bad.

“So, Liza… your e-mail said you have some concerns about Charlie babysitting Berlinger. I think I can guess what they might be. You’re afraid he’ll steal the account from you?”

“Yes, to be perfectly honest, that’s it exactly.” Maybe Eve wasn’t blind to Charlie’s underhanded ways after all.

“I suppose that’s possible,” Eve conceded. “But you know, Liza, that wouldn’t be the end of the world. It might not even matter that much who handles Berlinger in the big picture.”

Liza didn’t like that answer. And she didn’t entirely understand what Eve was driving at. “In the big picture? You mean in regard to the agency as a whole?”

“That’s right,” Eve said quickly. “I’d like you to think of the big picture more often, Liza. There are going to be changes around here. Some big changes, very soon.”

Sure that Eve was talking about the promotion now, Liza’s pulse quickened. So they had made a decision. Or were about to.

“It’s hard for me to say this, Liza, but… I’ll just be honest with you. You need to be less possessive about your accounts, less territorial. And you need to work out a better relationship with Charlie. You two will be working together more closely than ever. I know he came in as your assistant, but you need to turn that page,” Eve warned her. “He’s come a long way, and the new department structure won’t work out if you can’t recognize and respect his worth.”

Liza’s heart was beating wildly. Crucial that she get along with Charlie? What did this all mean?

“This is about the promotion, right?” Liza managed to ask.

Eve didn’t answer right away, and Liza was sure her boss could hear her heart thudding through the phone line. “I’m not really at liberty to say. I’m sorry, Liza. I just want to give you a heads up. Things are going to change, and I hope you’ll consider my advice. We’ll talk when you get back. Listen, I’ve got a meeting. I have to run now.”

“Okay. Thanks, Eve,” Liza said, though she had no idea what she was thanking her for. She said good-bye and realized Eve had already hung up.

Liza felt stunned. Had Eve just told her, in a very cryptic way, that she was not getting the promotion? That it was going to Charlie, so she’d better be nicer to him? Was that what all the double-talk really meant?

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.