“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.
“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.
“Yes, we did. A very bad day. I’ve made up my mind about a few things, though. No more fooling around. Not with Gail or Will . . . or with you, Liza. I want to sell this house, as we agreed. I’m going to call Fran Tulley tonight. If the Hardys don’t want it, maybe she can set up an auction. There’s got to be a way to sell it faster.”
Liza let out a long sigh. She had to tell him. She had to be honest. She had hoped they would have a chance to sort this out calmly and rationally, but that’s not how the pieces were falling.
“I have some news—if you could slow down long enough to listen,” she finally said.
“Okay, I’m listening.” He gave her a hard look.
“The Hardys made an offer.”
“An offer? That’s great! When did you hear?”
“A few hours ago. I guess it was around five.”
He looked surprised. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Oh, you were out on the boat. I didn’t think your phone would work. And I didn’t have the heart,” she admitted. “They want to knock the place down, Peter. That’s the deal. They just want the land so they can build a new house. That’s why they had the architect with them.”
Peter stared at her, and she wished she could read his thoughts. Did it bother him at all that the inn would be destroyed?
“What are they offering? Is it a good number?”
Liza told him the figure.
“Nice.” He nodded, looking pleased. “And that’s just a first offer. I expect we could get them to go higher.”
Fran had said the same thing, but Liza wasn’t about to mention that.
“Look, why don’t we go inside and talk this over a little?” she suggested. “Did you have anything to eat? I could heat up some of Claire’s soup. It’s really delicious.” She was hoping the good food would get him in a better mood, a more receptive mood.
“I’m not hungry, thanks.” He glanced at his watch. “I suppose it’s too late to call Fran back. I’m going up to bed. We’ll call her tomorrow, first thing.”
She didn’t answer. Peter brushed past her and headed up the stairs. “Good night, Liza. Tomorrow is a big day. You ought to get some sleep yourself.”
Liza didn’t answer. Tomorrow would be a big day. A sad day, she expected. She wished it would never come.
Chapter Fourteen
L
IZA woke up slowly, a few minutes before her alarm clock sounded. She felt as if something had woken her, but as she opened her eyes, all she could see was early morning light sifting through the sheer curtains. The blue ceramic flower pot on the windowsill was just as she left it yesterday. The windows were open a little, and a cool ocean breeze filled the room.
She had slept well and felt full of energy, ready to tackle whatever dirty job the day tossed her way.
Then she remembered . . . The offer from the Hardys . . . Calling Fran Tulley to accept . . . Total strangers coming here to demolish the inn.
Was that really happening? As she rose from bed, she felt her heart sink. She dressed quickly, then went downstairs.
Crossing the foyer, she heard Peter’s and Claire’s familiar voices talking in the kitchen. Her brother had probably popped out of bed at the crack of dawn, wondering if it was too early to call Fran Tulley.