out of the crowd.
When they finally stood across the street, clear of the gathering, Claire seemed a little breathless. She pushed a few stray strands of hair back into her bun. “Well, that was an experience. If I’d known this was going on today, I would have postponed our shopping.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s fun to be part of the excitement. Even for a few minutes. Even if we didn’t get to see Nick Dempsey.”
Liza and Claire found most of the stores they visited empty, which made it easy to fly through their list in nearly half the time. They carried everything to Liza’s SUV and headed back to Angel Island.
It had been fun to see the movie set but Liza was relieved to getback to the island, to the open vistas and serenity. No milling crowds or humming movie machinery. The island was a step beyond the movie madness, and she was sure it would stay that way.
With the tide low, she didn’t anticipate any problem crossing the long, thin land bridge that connected the mainland with the island. The road had been covered by water and was impassable several times over the summer, when heavy rains had combined with a high tide. It was one of the drawbacks of living on the island though, to her mind, there were so many wonderful aspects to living out there, she hardly noticed a washed-out road or two.
Liza reached the land bridge a short time later. The gate was up, signaling that it was safe to cross. The water on either side was dark blue, dotted with whitecaps. The sky was still hazy, promising more rain.
She steered her SUV onto the two-lane bridge, which had a rail and paved shoulder on each side, edged by large gray boulders. The road was newly paved but narrow, and she drove the black ribbon of highway carefully. From the middle of the bridge, she could see the coastline curving around to Cape Light’s harbor and the low mass of buildings on Main Street.
From time to time, building a real bridge to the island was proposed. When Liza had first returned to Angel Island, five months earlier, she would have been all for that idea. But now that she was an official year-round resident, she valued the island’s privacy and liked the idea that it was a bit challenging to reach.
The Inn at Angel Island was not far from the bridge, a short drive along one of the island’s two main roads, the one that followed the western coastline.
Suddenly on the right side of the road, the inn came into view. Liza stopped for a moment as she often did before pulling up thedrive. She liked to try to see the inn as if for the first time, as a stranger might see it. This was difficult, if not impossible, considering she had known the place since she was a little girl, coming here to spend summers with her aunt and uncle.
She had always loved this house, three stories high with matching bay windows on the first and second floors. The windows on the second floor were fronted by a balcony and there was even a turret on the right side of the building. When Liza was a little girl and had heard the extravagant Victorian referred to as Queen Anne style, she had instantly known the term was perfect for the house. It was definitely a place worthy of royalty, something right out of a fairy tale.
Set on a large piece of property that sloped toward the road, the house faced the bluffs and the expanse of ocean that stretched out below. The wraparound porch was filled with sitting chairs—Adirondack, wicker, and straight-back rockers—where guests sat and enjoyed the view, sipping glasses of homemade lemonade and iced tea. Just as it had been in her aunt’s day.
Liza had made many repairs and improvements since she’d taken over the place last spring, but she tried hard to maintain the integrity of the place so that guests who had visited years ago would still feel comfortable and familiar with the place—the same, only better.
A walkway bordered by summer flowers led up to the porch. A sign swung from a post along the way: A
When they finally stood across the street, clear of the gathering, Claire seemed a little breathless. She pushed a few stray strands of hair back into her bun. “Well, that was an experience. If I’d known this was going on today, I would have postponed our shopping.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s fun to be part of the excitement. Even for a few minutes. Even if we didn’t get to see Nick Dempsey.”
Liza and Claire found most of the stores they visited empty, which made it easy to fly through their list in nearly half the time. They carried everything to Liza’s SUV and headed back to Angel Island.
It had been fun to see the movie set but Liza was relieved to getback to the island, to the open vistas and serenity. No milling crowds or humming movie machinery. The island was a step beyond the movie madness, and she was sure it would stay that way.
With the tide low, she didn’t anticipate any problem crossing the long, thin land bridge that connected the mainland with the island. The road had been covered by water and was impassable several times over the summer, when heavy rains had combined with a high tide. It was one of the drawbacks of living on the island though, to her mind, there were so many wonderful aspects to living out there, she hardly noticed a washed-out road or two.
Liza reached the land bridge a short time later. The gate was up, signaling that it was safe to cross. The water on either side was dark blue, dotted with whitecaps. The sky was still hazy, promising more rain.
She steered her SUV onto the two-lane bridge, which had a rail and paved shoulder on each side, edged by large gray boulders. The road was newly paved but narrow, and she drove the black ribbon of highway carefully. From the middle of the bridge, she could see the coastline curving around to Cape Light’s harbor and the low mass of buildings on Main Street.
From time to time, building a real bridge to the island was proposed. When Liza had first returned to Angel Island, five months earlier, she would have been all for that idea. But now that she was an official year-round resident, she valued the island’s privacy and liked the idea that it was a bit challenging to reach.
The Inn at Angel Island was not far from the bridge, a short drive along one of the island’s two main roads, the one that followed the western coastline.
Suddenly on the right side of the road, the inn came into view. Liza stopped for a moment as she often did before pulling up thedrive. She liked to try to see the inn as if for the first time, as a stranger might see it. This was difficult, if not impossible, considering she had known the place since she was a little girl, coming here to spend summers with her aunt and uncle.
She had always loved this house, three stories high with matching bay windows on the first and second floors. The windows on the second floor were fronted by a balcony and there was even a turret on the right side of the building. When Liza was a little girl and had heard the extravagant Victorian referred to as Queen Anne style, she had instantly known the term was perfect for the house. It was definitely a place worthy of royalty, something right out of a fairy tale.
Set on a large piece of property that sloped toward the road, the house faced the bluffs and the expanse of ocean that stretched out below. The wraparound porch was filled with sitting chairs—Adirondack, wicker, and straight-back rockers—where guests sat and enjoyed the view, sipping glasses of homemade lemonade and iced tea. Just as it had been in her aunt’s day.
Liza had made many repairs and improvements since she’d taken over the place last spring, but she tried hard to maintain the integrity of the place so that guests who had visited years ago would still feel comfortable and familiar with the place—the same, only better.
A walkway bordered by summer flowers led up to the porch. A sign swung from a post along the way: A
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