Thomas Kinkade: The Inn at Angel Island

Will nodded. “I feel pretty tired. Like I’m going to nod off into my soup.”

“That would be… messy,” Liza said with a smile.

“Why don’t you finish your supper and take a hot shower?” Claire suggested. “I bet you fall asleep tonight before your head even hits the pillow.”

“I bet we all do,” Peter said. He looked over at Liza and sighed.

She wondered how he felt now about Will, and even about selling the inn. But she didn’t want to press him. Not tonight.

WHEN Liza got up the next morning, she thought she would be the first one downstairs, so she was surprised to find her brother in the front parlor. He sat at the oak table with the photo albums and a mug of coffee.

“Did you recover from the search and rescue mission?” he asked, as she took a seat at the table.

“I think I recovered when we first spotted Will down in that cave. It was brilliant of you to think of that, Peter.”

He shrugged and smiled. “And of Daniel to suggest going back there a second time. I’d say we were lucky. But I did get to thinking about that last night and realized that it was almost as if my happy memories of this place led us to him in some strange way. If I hadn’t been sitting here, reminiscing about my own adventures, I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

Liza smiled, charmed by the idea. “That might be true.”

“I feel it is true, Liza,” Peter said, with more emotion that he usually showed. “I do feel differently here, just like Will said. Maybe getting back in touch with a happier time in your life does that. I can see it’s happened for you,” he added.

“Yes, something has happened to me here. Something… important,” she said quietly. “You know, when I first came and started cleaning out the closets with Claire, I was surprised at how hard it was. I don’t mean physically. Emotionally,” she explained. “And Claire said, ‘Of course it’s hard. This is your past. It’s your family. It’s part of you.’ ” She looked up at her brother. “It’s part of you, too, Peter.”

He sipped at his coffee and nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I can see that now.”

“This old, broken-down house is the only link left to our past, our family,” Liza continued. “For me, it put me back in touch with some part of myself that I lost along the way. Maybe that’s why I feel so strongly about staying here, staying connected to that more hopeful, optimistic version of myself. It gives me a way to go back and start over,” she tried to explain.

“I understand,” he said quietly. “I mean, I really didn’t before, but I get it now, Liza.” He sighed. “I’ve been feeling the same thing but fighting it,” he admitted. “It’s definitely more than nostalgia. I got in touch with some buried part of myself, too. Some better version of me. Isn’t that what Will was trying to say last night?” Without waiting for her answer, he continued, “This place is a touchstone-all we have left of our folks, and of Elizabeth and Clive. I was wrong to think we could let someone come here and knock it down. Or even sell it,” he said finally. “The inn and the island are important to both of us. To all of us. I want Will to know this place and share it, too.”

Liza stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious? You really mean that?”

“I do,” he said quickly. “You should stay here. You need this chance to start over, more than I need the money. We can figure that out. I want you to have a chance to center yourself and figure things out. I can see you’ve gotten in touch with something out here that’s been dormant a long time. I couldn’t take that from you now, Liza. What kind of a brother would I be to do that to you?”

Liza felt so overwhelmed with relief and gratitude that for a moment she couldn’t speak at all. “Thank you, Peter,” she said at last. “Thank you for understanding and for changing your mind.”

“Will likes it here, more than he ever thought. He doesn’t want us to sell it either. He wants to be able to come back here. He told me last night before he went to sleep. I think he really meant it, too.”

“I think he did,” Liza agreed, sending up a silent prayer of thanks for Will’s influence over his father and for Peter’s amazing change of heart.

“Someone is going to have to tell Fran Tulley,” Liza said quietly, trying to hide the grin that threatened to break out across her face, ear to ear.

“Yes… someone is. Someone named Peter Martin, I think,” her brother said with a resigned sigh. “Poor Fran. She worked so hard the last two weeks and finally reeled in a big fish for us. We’ll have to make it up to her somehow. Send her some flowers or something.”

“A free weekend at the Inn at Angel Island, our deluxe suite.”

“Our deluxe suite?” Peter gave her a look. “You have big plans, don’t you?”

“I do,” Liza said in a soft but firm voice. “I definitely do.”

For the first time in a long time, she felt very sure of things, what she wanted and where her life was going.

CLAIRE had arrived while they were talking in the parlor. Liza hadn’t even heard her come in but realized she was there when the warm, delicious smell of something baking beckoned.

“Something smells good.” Peter sniffed the air. “Shall we go investigate?”

Liza followed her brother to the kitchen. Claire stood by the open oven, checking a pan of dark brown muffins that smelled incredibly good.

“What are those made of? Nectar of the gods?” Peter asked, teasing her.

Claire laughed. “Not quite. It’s a lot of good things, though, in the recipe. They’re called Morning Glory Muffins. Just let them cool a minute and you can try one.”

“I can’t wait,” Peter admitted, taking a seat at the table.

Liza glanced at him, and he seemed to read her mind. “We have some good news, Claire,” he began. “We’ve decided to keep the inn.”

Claire turned and looked at them each in turn, casting them a warm smile. “That is good news. Wonderful news. I’m very happy to hear it.”

“I’m going to stay here and run it,” Liza added. “I hope you’ll stay and help me, Claire. I don’t think I could do it without you.”

Claire met her glance. “Of course I’ll stay. I don’t think you could get rid of me now… short of knocking the place down.”

Liza laughed. She’d never heard Claire make a joke before-and actually, from the sparkle in the housekeeper’s blue eyes, Liza wasn’t entirely sure that Claire was joking.

Liza watched Claire beat some eggs in a bowl, working in her steady, competent way, and felt so utterly grateful for her friendship and loyalty. It felt like a gift. And maybe it was, she realized. A final gift from her dear aunt, who was always looking out for her, trying to guide her and help her grow.

Liza impulsively leaned over and gave the housekeeper a quick, fierce hug. “Thank you, Claire. Thank you for everything.”

Claire stepped back from the stove and hugged Liza back, then patted her arm. “I had a feeling it would all work out. I had a feeling your prayers would be answered,” she added.

Liza had never told Claire that she had prayed about the inn. But she didn’t question that Claire had guessed this and somehow knew.

Will appeared in the doorway, his thick dark hair tousled and his eyes still puffy from sleep.

“Hey, Will, what’s up?” his father said cheerfully, for once beating his son to the famous question.

Liza walked over to her nephew and slung her arm around his shoulder. “Going for any big bike rides today?” she teased.

He gave her a sheepish grin and shook his head. “I don’t think so… My butt is pretty sore. I can barely sit down.”

They all laughed. Even Claire, who tried not to but couldn’t help it.