Thomas Kinkade - The Inn at Angel Island

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.