Thomas Kinkade: The Inn at Angel Island

“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.