The Inn at Angel Island

Chapter Seven

“HOW are you doing?” Liza shouted to her brother.

When Peter briefly turned his head, his bike wobbled. He quickly looked straight ahead again before shouting back an answer. “That guy who said, ‘Once you learn how to ride a bike, you never forget’? He didn’t know what he was talking about.”

Liza laughed and glanced at her nephew, who rode just to her right. Will rolled his eyes. Of course, he was doing the best of all three of them and could have definitely raced ahead by about two miles by now.

“Hang in there, Peter. You’re doing fine,” Liza called.

“He’d better not fall off with his cameras; he’ll flip out,” Will told his aunt.

“Right after he strangles me for getting him out here in the first place,” Liza confided, making Will spare a smile. “Let’s think positively. I’m having fun so far. Aren’t you?”

“It beats raking leaves,” he said again.

After pumping up the bike tires, squirting the gears with three-in-one oil, and packing the food Claire assembled for their lunch-too much, Liza thought, for their modest trip-they finally mounted the bikes and headed down the main road toward the tiny island center.

They pedaled slowly at first, each getting accustomed to the various quirks of their machine, how the lower gears stuck on one and the seat twisted around on another. Luckily, Liza remembered to bring the little bag of bike tools, though she wasn’t really sure how to use most of them.

They made slow progress, the inn eventually falling out of view behind them as they worked their way around the first curve in the road, then up a long, low incline.

When you were driving along in a car, Liza realized, the scenery just flew by and you wouldn’t even notice a small bump in the road or a hole. Or even a hill like the one they were now riding on. But on a bike-especially having not ridden for years-the contours of the road registered on every part of your body.

The goat farm came into view, and Liza spotted Audrey Gilroy in the big meadow, wearing a field jacket and jeans. The flock of goats was clustered around, and she was checking the collars on the kids, petting them and giving them feed from the palm of her hand. She looked up at Liza and waved hello.

Liza waved back and slowed her bike. “There’s Audrey Gilroy. You know, the goat-farm lady.” She nearly said “my friend” but realized they weren’t quite friends, yet. “We ought to stop and say hello,” she told her brother. “It’s fun to look around there. The goats are adorable.”

Before her brother could answer, Will let out a loud groan. “Do we have to? What’s so great about a bunch of dumb goats?”

Peter scowled at his son. “If your aunt wants to stop, that’s what we’ll do, Will. You don’t have to argue with every little thing we say.”

“I wanted to buy more of their cheese,” Liza said, “but I guess it’s better if I get it later. It might spoil,” she told them, smoothing over the friction.

She waved back at Audrey one more time, then pushed hard on her pedals to make her way up another hill. An expansive ocean view on the left side of the road was distracting enough to take her mind off her aches.

Distracting and refreshing, she thought. The blue sky was crystal clear, the waves topped with white foam crashing at the bottom of the cliffs. She knew logically the waves must be making a sound, but they were so far up above the shoreline, she couldn’t hear a thing.

Even Will seemed mesmerized by the sight, his gaze fixed on the ocean, the expression on his young face eager and interested.

After a while, the road changed, and the ocean disappeared behind thick brush and trees. They glided down one long hill, which was totally exhilarating. Liza squeezed her brakes but still felt as if she were flying.

Of course, they had to pay for it at the bottom and work hard to get up the next rise. They rode on a few more minutes without anyone talking. Were Peter and Will getting tired already? Every once in a while, she would feel herself pedaling into a cool, salty breeze, but it never grew strong enough to really push them back.

The cycling had felt like hard work at first, but once she got her legs into the rhythm of pedaling and remembered how to use the gears again, a sudden wave of energy kicked in and she felt as if she could ride all day.

“Can we stop for lunch? I’m really hungry,” Will called out.

Liza had guessed that was coming. They had already been riding at least… fifteen minutes.

“I thought we could eat at the cliffs, and your dad could take some photos there,” Liza answered.

“Good idea,” Peter said. “That’s a great spot. You can get a cold drink at the General Store if you like, Will, then we’ll go on to the cliffs. It’s not too far.”

Will scowled, looking like an angry bug for a moment under his bike helmet, but he didn’t argue with them this time. He rose up and pushed hard on his pedals, suddenly breaking away from the adults. Just to show he could, Liza thought.

Peter was riding alongside her now. “Let’s just let him go. He needs the exercise.”

“I couldn’t catch up to him now even if I wanted to,” she confessed.

“Oh, I could. But I’m going to give him some space,” he replied with a straight face.

“Right,” she said, grinning at him.

They soon came to the little square with the fountain and the handful of shops, foremost among them the General Store.

“Holy mackerel… I’d forgotten all about this place.” Peter parked his bike and swung off, gazing at the storefront wide-eyed. “I can’t believe it’s still here,” he said to Liza.

“It’s still here, still the same inside, too. Marion and Walter Doyle are still behind the counter.”

“Wow, I’ve got to say hello to them.” Peter turned to his son. “You’ve got to see this place, Will. It’s like something out of an old movie. I want to introduce you to the old couple who owns it. I wonder if they remember me,” he said vaguely, as he headed into the store. “Your aunt and I used to come here every day when we were kids.”

That was true, and Liza knew the Doyles would remember Peter, even more clearly than they had remembered her. Peter had always been in charge of their money when they were kids. As the older sibling, he was the one who did all of the buying of their treats.

Peter was so excited about showing Will the store, Liza decided to wait outside while her brother gave Will the grand tour. It seemed like a good opportunity for some father-son quality time. Besides, it felt so good to be outdoors in the clear spring light.

It was hard to face it, but after this visit to the island, it was unlikely that she would ever return here. She hoped Peter took a lot of photos today on their bike trip. She wanted some for herself, so she could always remember these special places.

She walked across the road to the tea shop, curious to see if anyone was there today. As Liza peered through the dusty windows, she suddenly remembered the poem Daisy had thrust into her hands the other day-and that she had never read it.

Liza stuck her hand in her jacket pocket and found the balled-up scrap of paper. It was still there. She pulled it out and opened it.

If the sun and moon should doubt,

They’ d immediately go out…

The bit of verse was not new to her. Her aunt and uncle had loved William Blake’s poetry, and as Liza had grown older, the long, beautiful poem, “Auguries of Innocence,” had grown on her. The verse was about faith. Mainly, faith in yourself, her aunt had once explained to her. “Sometimes you’ll face a world of naysayers who make you doubt what you know is true, deep inside. You have to bear down, ignore them all, and believe in yourself. Guard that special light inside you.”

Did she have that kind of faith in herself? Liza wondered. She wasn’t sure. Lately, it seemed that all her goals were driven by a need to win the approval of her boss or clients or even her ex-husband.

She smoothed the paper with her hand, stared at it a moment, and then stuck it back into her pocket. It was something to think about.

By the time Peter and Will emerged, she had downed a bottle of cold water and was sitting cross-legged on a bench, eyes closed and face turned up to the sun.

She blinked, then reached for her pack as they approached. “So, how did you like it, Will?”

“It’s okay,” Will conceded. “They have, like, everything in the world in there.” He took a big gulp from a bottle of blue sports drink.

“It’s still the same,” Peter reported. “So are Walter and Marion. And they did remember me. They gave me this for free, just to prove it.”

He held up a package of Wing Dings, the gooey little chocolate cakes that used to be his all-time-favorite snack.

“Wing Dings, wow. I haven’t seen those in a while. Can I have a bite?” she asked, just like when they were kids.

He held the package up above her head. “No, you can’t. I’m saving them for later.”

“I don’t believe you, Peter. We’re grown-ups now, remember? There are a ton of those things in the supermarket. You can at least give me a tiny bite!”

She started laughing-at him for regressing so totally and at herself for regressing just as much.

“I’ll think about it,” Peter replied in a serious tone. Then he smiled as he put the snack cakes in his pack and also slipped in the cameras. “I took a lot of photos inside. Will took some, too,” he added, glancing at the boy. “I have this old digital for him to use. It’s not the latest technology, but it has a good lens. It’s a good camera to learn on.”

“Do you like taking photos, Will?” Liza asked curiously.

Will met her glance a second, then nodded his head. Something about the shy way he answered told her that he did share this interest with his father, and it wasn’t just foisted on him.

She wondered if he also shared his father’s talent for it.

Feeling refreshed, they rode on, heading for the cliffs on the north side of the island. They passed a few large old houses, built in a style similar to the inn, and a few that were more rustic.

The view opened up, and the ocean and a rocky beach were once again revealed. Liza could tell by the terrain that they had almost reached the island’s most famous landmark, and as they reached the top of the next hill, the cliffs came into view.

“Let’s stop here a minute. I want to take some pictures.”

They all parked their bikes on the side of the road. Peter took out the cameras, handing one to Will. Then the three of them hiked the short distance down a path that led to the beach below. They didn’t go too far, though. Just enough so that the famous bluffs were in clear view.

“See what I meant, Will? They’re shaped like two wings.”

“Yeah, I see,” Will replied, though he didn’t sound too impressed. He took a few shots of the bluffs, then turned his camera and took some photographs of the water below, where a flock of gulls were swooping down over large, glistening rocks.

“They must be feeding on something,” Liza remarked.

“It’s neat to watch them from up here, all swooping around in a bunch,” Will said, gazing through the viewfinder.

He’s really into it, Liza thought. Good for him.

When Peter finished with his photos, he snapped the lens cap back on his camera but kept it slung around his shoulder. “Should we try this path to the beach?” he asked Liza. “It looks a little steep.”

“They’re all steep now, Peter,” Liza teased him. “I think when we were younger we just didn’t notice it.”

Peter and Will started down the path, and Liza went back to the bikes a moment and retrieved the pack that held their lunch.

Will hadn’t complained again, but she was sure he was hungry by now. She was sure they all were.

They finally reached the beach. Will raced down the last few yards and ran at the water, shouting at the top of his lungs and waving his arms like a wild man.

“The ocean! The ocean! The big blue Atlantic Ocean!”

Peter watched him, his arm crossed over his chest. “I guess he likes it more than he let on.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Liza agreed with a smile. She felt like that about the ocean, too. Secretly, of course.

When Will was done venting his enthusiasm and his last bit of energy, he dragged himself back, panting, his head hanging to his chest. “Food, I need food,” he gasped dramatically.

“I’m handing it out right now. Take a seat.” She and Peter had already picked out boulders, and Peter sat on his, munching a sandwich.

Will took his sandwich and water bottle over to a rock nearby and began to eat. “So, we’re here. What’s the famous legend?” he asked his father. “Can you tell me now?”

Peter glanced at Liza. “Your aunt will tell you. She’s a much better storyteller than I am.”

Liza took a sip of water and settled herself. “Let’s see, where should I start? You know that the village of Cape Light was founded in the 1600s, during the colonial era, right?” she asked her nephew.

“I guess I know now,” he replied between huge bites of sandwich.

Liza ignored his snide tone and went on. “Well, during that time an illness spread among the colonists. They had no real medicine, of course, except for some herbal remedies. Nothing could cure the pox, and it was very contagious. So the sick and dying were separated from the rest of the colonists, and they were brought to this island.”

“That’s called a quarantine. Did you ever learn about that in school?” Peter asked him.

“I guess so. I don’t know.” Will made a face at his father, but he turned back to Liza with a curious expression and said, “So all the sick people were living here. I get it. Then what?”

“Well, it was very grim. There was little hope of them surviving out here, and very few people were brave enough or selfless enough to come out and help them. There would be weekly visits with food and water and other necessities but not much more than that. And if the land bridge was washed out, the help had to come by boat, and that was difficult, too-”

“Especially in the winter,” Peter cut in. “The winters were brutal, and the island was practically inaccessible.”

“I was about to get to that.” Liza gave her brother a look. “Do you want to tell the story?”

“No, you go on,” he said apologetically.

Liza turned back to Will. “The people in quarantine had very little help from the village-sometimes, none. And most of them were too weak to care for themselves. No one expected them to survive.”

“Whoa, that’s pretty nasty.” Will looked shocked. Which was saying something, Liza thought. “They brought all these sick people out to this island and just dumped them here to die?”

“More or less,” Liza said.

Will shook his head. “Then everybody was pretty horrible back then.”

“It was different times, Will. It was hard to survive even if you were healthy. They didn’t want to be uncaring, but they couldn’t risk everyone in the village getting sick,” Peter tried to explain.

Liza saw her nephew considering this idea. The story had finally captured his imagination.

“Well, the winter was long, and there were very few visits here,” she went on. “Then a series of storms came, and no one could come at all. Finally, well into spring, a group of villagers were able to return. They came out to the island, not knowing what they would find…”

She purposely paused to draw out the suspense.

“Yeah? So? What did they find-a pile of bones?” Will said bluntly.

Liza shook her head. “Not at all. They found that everyone here had not only survived… they’d fully recovered. They were cured and healthy again.”

“How?” Will made a disbelieving face at her. “You said they were dying and starving to death.”

“They were. But the sick people on the island claimed that help had come from some other town. That a group of very able, gentle people had come and nursed them. Though no one could say exactly where these helping hands were from.”

Will shrugged. “Some other town. You just said so yourself.”

“Yeah, that’s what they thought at first,” Peter replied quickly. “But after they all returned to the village of Cape Light, a few of the people who had survived traveled around, looking for the ones who had rescued them, who had answered their prayers. But they could never find a nearby town or anyone who knew about the quarantine. Or who would admit to having gone there to help.”

“That’s pretty weird,” Will said. He grinned at his father. “Maybe it was aliens or something.”

“Funny you should say that,” Liza answered. “Because many of the survivors said that the ones who had helped them were not people from another town. They claimed it was angels, who had come in human form, and that it was through their healing touch that the sick had been cured of the deadly disease.”

“Angels? I like my idea about aliens better. It’s more believable,” Will told her.

Liza laughed. “Some people agreed with you. They didn’t believe the healers were angels. But from that time on, the island was called Angel Island, and people would point to the cliffs that they say look like angel wings as proof that this bit of land was visited by the spiritual beings and that the island has certain… certain powers to heal people who are sick. Or even troubled,” she added.

Liza gazed over at the cliffs. Some days, like today, they did look like huge, feathery wings. Other days, she just couldn’t see it. Perhaps it was more a person’s state of mind than the actual topography.

“I think that angels could exist. Or something like them,” Peter said, turning to look at Liza and Will. “I mean, why not? We certainly don’t know everything there is to know about the universe. If there could be life on other planets, why not other dimensions? Or other types of beings right here?”

“Okay, Dad. If you say so.” Will tilted his head and took a last bite of his sandwich. “Let me know if you ever get a picture, though. Okay?”

“I will, my boy. That one would be worth a million,” Peter added with a laugh. “Right now, I’m going to take a walk down the beach and try for some pictures of seabirds. Want to come?”

Will nodded and hopped off the rock, camera in hand. Peter turned to Liza with a quizzical expression. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “You guys go ahead. I’m just going to hang out here awhile.”

She watched them walk away toward the shoreline. Will seemed a little easier to deal with this afternoon, she thought, despite his sarcastic barbs. Maybe he just needed more time with his dad and more one-on-one attention?

Claire had packed a bountiful lunch for them, chicken sandwiches, apples, and homemade chocolate-chip cookies. Liza ate every crumb, deciding it was okay to eat her cookie since she was getting so much exercise.

She gathered up the trash and stuffed it into a plastic bag, then put the bag in her pack along with the empty water bottles.

The beach was pristine, and she wanted to leave it that way. Of course, no one ever came down here. She wondered how this beach would be once the ferry service started and all the tourists arrived. She could hardly imagine it. She wondered now if Daniel was right. Maybe the island should be left as a wild, rough place and the recreation centers reserved for those areas where there was already development.

She saw Peter and Will heading her way and slipped off her perch again. “How was the walk? Did you take any interesting pictures?”

“Yeah, I think we got some good shots,” Peter said. He sounded a little winded but looked happy and relaxed.

“We found these amazing caves under the cliffs,” Will reported. “I took a ton of pictures in there.”

“Do you remember caves along this beach?” Peter asked. “They’re carved right out of the stone by the rushing water.”

“I’m not sure,” Liza said honestly. “But every part of the island is different. Maybe we just never stopped here with Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Clive. They used to take us to the beach near the inn mostly.”

“Yes, they did,” Peter agreed.

“Ready to head back?” she asked. She glanced at her watch. All clear, she thought. They had definitely missed Fran Tulley by now. One purpose of the outing had been accomplished.

“I’m ready. How about you, Will?”

Will nodded. He put the camera in his own pack this time instead of handing it back to his father.

“Don’t forget to put the lens cap on tight,” Peter told him. He glanced at Liza. “Will is going to keep that camera for himself. If he takes good care of it, maybe he’ll get a better one for Christmas.”

“Christmas?” Will sounded shocked. “How about waiting till I graduate from college, Dad? That’s not so far off either.”

Liza almost laughed but held it in.

“Your birthday is coming up in a few months. Let’s see if you’re still interested in photography by then,” Peter told him as he mounted his bike.

Liza knew what Peter was saying. But she had a feeling Will would still be interested. She was almost willing to bet on it.

THEY took a different route on the way back, the Ice House Road, which ran north to south. The road had taken its name from the old ice house that stood on the large summer estate of some wealthy family. The family was so rich they had the ice blocks brought over on a boat in the winter and so generous that they let anyone who pleased come and help themselves to the frozen bounty. Which must have been a great treat during the hot summer months, Liza thought, as well as a necessary ingredient for making ice cream before refrigerators were invented.

The road had been built especially for the ice house and was a shortcut from the beach below the cliffs back to the island center, where the General Store stood.

Liza knew that the road would take them past the old cemetery, where her aunt and uncle had been buried. She had meant to come out and visit their graves ever since she arrived on the island but, so far, hadn’t found the time. She considered asking Peter if he wanted to stop now, but then decided it was better to just keep going. She would return another time and bring flowers.

When they returned to the inn, Liza was surprised to see that Daniel’s truck was still there, though he and his helpers were nowhere in sight. He had definitely made progress. All the shutters and doors had been removed, and the window frames scraped and sanded. The building itself had been scraped down and some broken steps on the porch repaired.

Peter noticed, too, looking the building over. “It’s coming along. Daniel’s pretty good so far.”

“Yes, he is,” Liza agreed.

They put their bikes back in the shed and went into the house together. Claire greeted them as they walked into the kitchen. Once again, she was cooking something that smelled incredibly delicious.

“Did you have a good ride?” Claire lifted the lid on a pot and peered inside.

“Yes, we did,” Liza answered. “Better than I expected.”

“Except that I ache all over and will probably feel even worse tomorrow,” Peter predicted.

Claire shook her head. “A hot bath with some kelp crystals should help. Try the cabinet in the bathroom at the top of the stairs.”

“I might try some of that, too.” Liza sat down very carefully. She had been worried about good brakes initially but realized now she should have snatched the bike with the cushier seat.

“There’s a surprise for you, Liza,” Claire announced. “Just sit there, I’ll get it.”

A surprise, what could it be? Nothing from her office, Liza hoped. She’d had enough surprises from them this week.

Claire soon returned carrying a huge bouquet of roses in a tall clear vase.

Yellow roses, her favorite. There weren’t too many people who knew that either.

Liza picked up the little envelope nestled in the flowers and hesitated. Claire had turned away, giving her some privacy, but Peter lingered in the doorway, waiting to find out who had sent the bouquet.

“Jeff,” she said, without even opening the envelope. “Who else? He always goes for the grand gesture; I’ll give him that.”

“Read it,” Peter said gently. “At least see what he says.”

Liza pulled the card from the envelope and read. “He’s been thinking about me, quote unquote, and hopes everything is going well out here.” She looked at her brother. “He’s left phone messages and e-mails every day since I got here, but I’ve hardly answered. I guess he’s just trying to get my attention.”

“Guess so. Though it might have been cheaper to hire a sky writer,” Peter added. “Is that two dozen roses or three?”

Liza sighed and finally gave the abundant arrangement a careful look. “It’s three. He likes to make a big impression.”

“I remember.” Peter gave her a thoughtful look. “You two have some unfinished business, Liza. That’s all I have to say.”

Liza let herself touch one of the velvety petals. The roses suddenly seemed to embody the very best days of her marriage, the bright, sunny, golden times when she felt close to Jeff and really loved him. Could she ever feel that way again? Roses on a bush fade and die, then new ones bloom to take their place. Maybe that’s what marriage is about, having patience in the face of disappointment, waiting for loving feelings to bloom again.

But it was hard to let Jeff close again, close enough to start over. He had hurt her, and she didn’t trust him. A houseful of yellow roses couldn’t make her forget what he had done.

“I’m going to put the vase in the foyer,” Liza announced, as she stood up from the table. “They’ll brighten up the entrance. A nice touch for our prospective buyers?”

Peter nodded. “Fran will approve.”

Liza stretched and rubbed her lower back. “Let me know when you’re done with those bath salts, brother dear. I could use a dose.”

She carried the roses out of the room, setting the vase on the small Eastlake-style table in the foyer. They looked perfect there, she thought. It was a beautiful, sweet-smelling bouquet, and she could hardly blame the flowers for her own muddled feelings toward the sender.

If only she could travel around the world on a bike from now on. She had been so focused on keeping her balance and pumping the pedals, there had been no space in her head to think about anything disturbing.

EVERYONE was very quiet during dinner, too tired to talk. Claire had cooked pot roast with noodles and a green salad on the side. Just like the night before, after she served them all dinner, she left the inn for her home.

All the exercise made Will even more ravenous than usual. He ate quickly, wolfing down his food, then pushed himself back from the table, looking sleepy.

“I think I’m done. Can I go back up, Dad?”

Peter looked surprised and about to say no, then took a better look at his son and almost laughed. “You need to lie down before you fall down. Don’t fall asleep here. You’re way too big for me to carry you anymore.”

The words brought a sweet image to Liza’s mind. Will had been that small once. It was hard to believe now.

Will rose and carried his dish to the sink. “See you tomorrow,” he mumbled over his shoulder.

“See you, Will,” Liza said.

Peter waited until they heard Will’s footsteps climb all the way up to the second floor. “He got some good shots out on the beach,” Peter said quietly. “I might go into town tomorrow and print out a few.”

“That’s a great idea. I think he’d like that. By the way, Fran Tulley called. She said the people she brought by this afternoon had some interest.”

“They do? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, for one thing you were taking a bath… and then a nap before dinner I think,” Liza teased him.

“That’s great news. We might unload this place pretty quickly after all.”

“Yes, we might.” Liza sat back and tilted her head to one side. “I have to admit, it does make me feel a little sad sometimes to give it up so quickly. When I was out in the shed this morning, just the way the light was slanting through the window, I could practically see Uncle Clive standing there, working on a fishing fly or fixing a broken chair.”

“I know what you mean,” Peter said. “This place is filled with memories. It’s a memory museum, Liza. But what choice do we have? We have to sell it, and this is the perfect time.”

“Yes, I know.” She took a breath. “But not everyone around here agrees with that logic.”

Peter looked confused. “Who do you mean?”

“Claire North. She doesn’t say much, but I have a feeling she disapproves of us getting rid of the place like this.”

“Has she told you that?”

Liza shrugged. “Not in so many words. But she doesn’t have to say it. I can just tell. Besides, Claire’s not the type to be so blunt. I just get this feeling from her sometimes that she doesn’t think we should sell the inn so quickly. And”-Liza winced-“that she thinks I should have come out more often to see Aunt Elizabeth. Especially at the end.”

There, she had said it. It had been hard to get the words out, but if anybody would understand, it would be Peter. Maybe he also had regrets at the way his relationship with Aunt Elizabeth had faded over the years.

He bowed his head a moment, then looked up at her. “That might be what Claire’s thinking,” he said finally. “But maybe that’s what you really feel, and you’re projecting those opinions on her. Did you ever think of that?”

“That’s possible,” Liza conceded. “It’s complicated.”

She glanced at her brother but didn’t say more. She wasn’t sure he would understand. As much as she wanted to sell the inn and get back to Boston, there was a part of her that clung to this place. A part that couldn’t accept or believe she’d never be able to come back here, to sit in this kitchen or lounge on the porch, gazing at the wide blue sky and endless sea.

Liza was just starting to see how this place was part of her, and giving it up was like slicing off a little piece of her soul.

Peter spoke about memories. But this was deeper. Did he feel that way at all?

She was about to ask him when he leaned over and patted her hand. “This is a difficult time for us, Liza. You’re in a very emotional state.”

“I can’t argue with that,” she admitted ruefully. “And I do like Claire. I don’t know how I would have managed here an hour without her.”

“She’s been great. We’ll have to do something special for her when we go.”

Liza nodded. She knew he meant a gift of money, though with Peter’s parsimonious streak, they would probably wind up arguing about the sum. She doubted Claire expected any sort of gift, money or anything else. She wasn’t that kind of person. Liza wanted to give her something from the house that would have meaning to her. She just wasn’t sure what that could be.

“I’ll finish up here. Why don’t you go up?” Peter got to his feet and picked up a few dirty cups and dishes from the table. “I think you could use some sleep. It’s been a big day.”

“They’ve all been big days lately. Is it just me, or have you noticed that, too?”

“Even more reason to get a good night’s rest. We might get an offer on the inn tomorrow,” he said optimistically. “That would be a big day.”

“Yes, it would,” Liza agreed. She might be able to leave here by Monday if that scenario played out.

Wouldn’t Charlie Reiger be surprised to see her back? For some reason, the image didn’t cheer her as much as it should have.

Liza said good night to her brother and went upstairs. As she entered her room, her laptop, sitting on the small table by the window, caught her eye. She really ought to thank Jeff for the flowers.

It wasn’t late. But calling him seemed risky. She wasn’t sure what to say if he picked up. She doubted she could maintain a calm, friendly distance. A safe distance. She had been touched by the gesture and felt confused about her feelings for him now. All things considered, it was probably best to send a note. A carefully worded e-mail that would express her gratitude for his thoughtful gesture yet leave no room for him to interpret that she had second thoughts about their divorce.

She didn’t… did she? Liza sighed. She had acted pretty cool about the roses, but the gesture had gotten to her more than she wanted to admit. Maybe there was still unfinished business between her and Jeff.

Well, if there is, she told herself, I’m going to finish it. She thought for a moment, then typed out a quick e-mail:

Jeff,

Just wanted you to know I received the roses. It was thoughtful of you but very unnecessary. Peter is here, and everything is going well with selling the inn.

I know you mean well, but I’ d appreciate it if you would stop calling and sending e-mails. I don’t feel we have much to talk about, unless you have some issue with our divorce agreement. If so, please let my attorney know.

I’m sure we can work things out and move on with our lives. That is my sincere hope. Take care of yourself. I wish you happiness.

Fondly,

Liza

Feeling satisfied with her message, Liza sent it off.

She turned off her laptop, climbed into bed, and shut off the light. It had been a long day, and she was very tired. By this time tomorrow, they might have an offer, and this entire ordeal might be over, she reminded herself. For better or for worse.