Thomas Kinkade - The Inn at Angel Island

“Hi, Liza, I’m glad I caught you,” Eve greeted her. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, not at all. Did you get my message about needing to stay here longer?” Liza asked.

“Yes, I did. Sorry about the roof. What a mess. You really didn’t need that on top of everything else, did you?”

“No, we didn’t. It’s almost fixed, but it’s slowed things down a lot.”

“I understand,” Eve said in a surprisingly patient tone. “It’s fine if you need to stay longer. But there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. It really can’t wait.”

“Is there some problem?” Liza asked, suddenly feeling anxious.

“Not at all. It’s about the promotion,” Eve replied.

Liza felt like a fly that was about to be hit by a giant swatter. She could barely focus on Eve’s words.

“I’d rather give you this news in person, but we’ve made a decision, and I need to talk to you about it. We’re promoting you to vice president, Liza. This will be effective on the first of the month. There’s a substantial raise in salary, of course”-Eve gave her a figure, which was even more than Liza had expected-“as well as more vacation time and additional benefits.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Liza said. She knew that sounded ridiculous, but it was all she could manage. “I-I thought Charlie was getting the promotion.”

“Charlie? What in the world made you think that? This was yours all along, Liza. I thought you knew that.”

“The last time we spoke, you said something about big changes and getting along with Charlie better. Letting go of my accounts?” Liza rambled, trying to explain. “I thought you were trying to tell me that he was going to be promoted, and I would be reporting to him,” she confessed.

“Oh, Liza. You had it all backward. Charlie will be reporting to you, along with some other account execs. You will need to trim your client list, however, so that’s what you should start thinking about. You’ll be managing a big staff now and playing a bigger role in decision making. That’s what I meant to say. I just wasn’t allowed to tell you yet,” Eve explained.

“I see.” Liza took a deep, steadying breath. She couldn’t get her mind around this. A few short days ago, this conversation would have sent her jumping and shouting with joy. But now she just felt stunned. And confused.

“I know this is a lot to spring on you,” Eve went on in her usual brisk tone. “Why don’t we talk on Monday, and I’ll give you more details, okay?”

“Um, sure. I-”

But Eve had already clicked off. She was probably speed-dialing her next power phone call.

Liza put her phone away and stood for a moment, staring at Cape Light’s quiet Main Street. People passed, making their way to the movie theater. She hardly noticed.

Had this really happened? Liza still couldn’t believe it. She had gotten the promotion after all. That should have smoothed out all the wrinkles in her life, untangled all the knots. She and Peter could sell the inn to anyone who offered, and she could return to Boston in triumph.

Was this the sign she had asked for-telling her to give up on the inn and return to the city?

Clearly, that’s what she should do. As Will would say, this was a total no-brainer. She had worked years for this promotion, sacrificed everything. How could she even consider giving it up? And for what? A broken-down house and a faded sketchbook? A fledgling relationship with a carpenter?

Eve hadn’t asked if Liza wanted the job. She assumed that Liza would take the promotion, that she would be back in Boston in a matter of weeks to become a vice president of Barkin & Carr, one of Boston’s most prestigious ad agencies. And why wouldn’t she?

Because something was stopping her. Something was holding her back.

All this rushing, she heard her aunt say. Everyone is rushing and rushing and not getting anywhere. Ever notice?

Eve would call back on Monday. The decision could wait until then, Liza decided.

This was too important a choice to be rushed. A life-altering fork in the road. Liza stared down both paths-and had no idea which way to go.

“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.”