The Inn at Angel Island (31 page)

There was a movie playing that Will wanted to see—a sci-fi plot about a deadly virus sent by aliens who wanted to take over Earth and a small band of survivors who fight off the space creatures and find a cure.

Liza was sure most of the movie would have her either cringing or snoozing, but she happily agreed to her nephew’s choice.
Who knows, I might learn something . . . about aliens.

There was time before the movie, so they bought ice-cream cones and walked down Main Street. “Look, there’s that antique store Claire keeps mentioning, the Bramble. Let’s look in the window, okay?”

Peter agreed, and Will followed without comment. The store was on the first floor of a Victorian house, painted pale yellow with white trim and dark purple shutters. Liza could see that in the warmer months there was a garden in front. She stepped up on the porch and peeked through the windows. The shop was crammed with antiques, from furniture and quilts to china teacups.

“Wow, this place is stocked,” Peter said. “Claire’s right. They’ll probably take some stuff we want to sell. Maybe we don’t need an estate sale after all.”

That
he
wanted to sell, Liza nearly corrected him.

But she stopped herself. No need to get into all that tonight. She turned away from the window and headed back down the steps. “I’ll call them tomorrow. Maybe someone will come out and take a look at what we’ve got. I want to keep a few pieces from the inn for my new apartment. I’m tired of all the modern stuff I picked out with Jeff. I’d really love to redecorate with antiques.”

Peter glanced at her. “That’s fine with me. I guess there are one or two things I’d like to take back to Arizona.”

Liza stood at the end of the walk and looked back at the Bramble. “I love the way this place is painted. Maybe we should try a different paint scheme. Wouldn’t the shutters on the inn look great with that color?”

“It’s not just the paint,” Peter pointed out. He gestured at the rest of the street, at the row of beautifully kept nineteenth-century buildings. “It’s the way all these Victorians have been maintained.”

“The inn could look like that again, given half a chance,” Liza argued.

“And half a million dollars,” Peter added.

“Oh, not that much.” Liza started walking down the street and took a lick of her ice-cream cone. Will ran up ahead, taking photos of the old-fashioned streetlamps.

When Peter didn’t answer, she said, “Daniel says the building is pretty sound—the electricity and plumbing and all that. A lot of the work is just cosmetic.”

“You were talking to Daniel about this?” Peter’s tone sharpened.

Liza took a breath. She hadn’t meant for that to slip out, but now that it had, she wasn’t sorry. “I did talk to him a little. It just . . . came up.”

“I thought we were in this together, not pulling in different directions. Of course Daniel is going to tell you there are no big problems. That inn has been a gravy train for him. It probably supplies most of his income. Of course, he doesn’t want to see a stranger take it over, someone who might not hire him.”

Liza didn’t think that was true. She doubted Daniel would lie to her for that reason. Or any reason, for that matter.

But she did understand why her brother was upset.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t mean to go behind your back. I just wanted his opinion. He knows the building inside and out. It doesn’t hurt to ask, does it?”

“It does if you think it will change my mind about selling the place,” Peter said bluntly.

He had her there. Liza felt a lump of the cold ice cream stick in her throat. She swallowed it down, telling herself to remain calm.

“I’m trying to figure out the very best thing for us to do,” she explained. “I know you’re concerned about money, but the inn could make money for us. In the long run. Much more than we would get from selling it now, especially when it’s such a mess.”

Peter took one last lick of his ice cream and dumped the rest in a trash can. “Liza, what you’re saying might be true. The problem is, I need money now. Not five or even ten years from now. And even if we did keep the place and make a big investment, fixing it up enough to bring in guests again, we just come back to the same questions. How would we run it long distance? Who would manage the place for us?”

Liza had been thinking about this, too. More than she wanted to admit. “I think Claire North could do it. She would probably be happy to stay. And I know we can trust her.”

And I could help run it,
she added silently.
I could take the summers off. Or even quit my job and work as a freelance graphic artist and designer again.

Peter stared at her, his mouth twisted to one side. “Liza, I know you’re still upset about your job. You definitely deserved better. But don’t toss the baby out with the bathwater.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I think you’re fantasizing about quitting your job, some showdown scene with your boss that will give you a lot of satisfaction—for the moment, anyway.”

Liza glanced at him, then looked away. Well, that much was true. She did have a fantasy of returning to the office just to quit and tell Eve what she really thought of her.

“Of course you want to escape from your life. To run away and try something completely different. Anybody would,” he added in a kinder tone. “But a week or two more on that island and you’ll be dying to get back to work. I know you. You should use your extra time off to look for a new job, and then you’ll really show them.”

“I already thought of that. I don’t want a new job. It will just be more of the same. I’ll be working my tail off and dealing with the same old office politics. Another Charlie Reiger—or Charlene—will be out to get me.”

All she wanted to think about now was the inn, how she could improve it and open it again.

Peter sighed and put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you’re going through a lot right now, and I want to help you. I really do,” he insisted. “But I just don’t think you’re being realistic.”

“Hey, I think it’s time for the movie,” Will called out to them, as he ran back up the street. “I heard the opening is totally awesome. The aliens, like, land on the Pentagon in these huge pods.”

“That does sound awesome,” Liza said. “I definitely don’t want to miss that.”

Just as they reached the theater, she felt her BlackBerry vibrating in her pocket. She pulled it out and checked the caller ID.

“Fran Tulley?” Peter asked eagerly.

“No, it’s Eve, my boss. I’d better take this. You guys go ahead.”

“Okay, we’ll save you a seat.” Peter and Will went into the theater, and Liza took a few steps away from the entrance for some privacy.

“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.

Chapter Thirteen

“
T
HAT 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?