Thomas Kinkade: The Inn at Angel Island

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.