Chapter 12 #2
“I wanted to mention,” she said in a low voice, “that most of us remember how Thomas was after Sarah passed away. He withdrew from everything except for work and taking care of Emma. It’s been fifteen years, and this is the first time any of us has seen him show interest in somebody.
So whatever may or may not be developing between you two, it’s a good thing.
Don’t let Vivian’s pettiness suggest otherwise. ”
Touched by the unexpected support, Isabella thanked her.
As she drove from the club toward the inn, she found herself thinking about the complex social dynamics of Wexley Island.
What initially seemed like a unified wall of resistance had gradually revealed itself to be a tapestry of individuals with nuance, each holding varying perspectives, allegiances, and values.
At the inn, Isabella found Daphne Chen reviewing fabric samples with a local upholsterer in what would eventually become the main sitting room.
The space was looking more beautiful by the day, with the original moldings restored and hardwood floors refinished to a warm glow that complemented the beautiful afternoon light streaming through the tall windows.
“Oh, Isabella, perfect timing,” Daphne called, waving her over. “We’re trying to finalize these upholstery selections for the custom pieces. I’ve narrowed it down to these three options for the main seating grouping.”
Grateful for the distraction from her luncheon, Isabella looked at the design decisions for the next hour. The work was progressing very well, with many of the upstairs guest rooms nearing completion and the main public spaces starting to reveal their restored grandeur.
As the afternoon progressed, Isabella found herself constantly aware of Thomas’s absence.
He’d mentioned that he would be sourcing reclaimed heart pine for the dining room floor today, a quest that took him to a salvage yard in Savannah.
She found herself missing his steady presence, his thoughtful insights, a realization that both pleased and unsettled her at the same time.
Around four o’clock, she was surprised to see Emma enter the inn, looking professional in her tailored slacks and silk blouse, with a portfolio tucked under her arm.
“Emma, I didn’t know you were still on the island,” Isabella said.
“I extended my stay through tomorrow,” she said. “I wanted to follow up on our marketing discussion, if you have some time. I wrote some preliminary concepts for the inn’s brand identity, and I even sketched some things.”
“Oh, I’d love to see them,” Isabella said. “Let’s go to the library. It’s the quietest space right now.”
They settled in a partially restored library, where built-in bookshelves lined the walls and comfortable reading chairs had been positioned near the windows. Emma spread her sketches across the table, showing the visual identity she’d developed for the inn that honored its historical character.
“Wow, these are remarkable,” Isabella said, genuinely impressed with her ideas. “You’ve really captured the balance I’ve been trying to articulate - respecting the tradition without feeling stuffy or outdated.”
“That’s exactly what I was aiming for,” Emma nodded. “The inn has such a rich history, but it needs to feel welcoming to guests of today, not like a museum where they can’t touch anything.”
They talked about concepts in detail, with Isabella offering insights while Emma explained her design choices from a marketing perspective.
“You have an extraordinary talent for this,” Isabella said. “Have you considered focusing your career more specifically on historical properties and their branding needs?”
A flicker of something - maybe surprise or recognition - crossed Emma’s face. “It’s funny you should ask that. I’ve actually been considering a career shift in that direction. There’s something particularly satisfying about helping historical places find their voice in the modern world.”
“Well, you would excel at it,” Isabella said. “Your understanding of how to honor history is exactly what these properties need.”
“Thank you. That means a lot, especially coming from someone with your experience.” She hesitated for a moment and then added, “I mentioned the idea to Dad this weekend. He was supportive of me potentially leaving the agency to start my own consultancy.”
“Why is that a surprise?” Isabella asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve always thought he took pride in my corporate success, you know, my steady climb up the ladder and being in the security of an established firm.
” She shrugged her shoulders. “But he said he’s proud of me regardless of where I work or what title I hold - that what matters are my skills and character, not my employment status. ”
“That certainly sounds like Thomas,” Isabella said, nodding. “He’s never been impressed by titles or status, only integrity and craftsmanship.”
“He hasn’t changed in that way, has he?” Emma said. “Even after all these years.”
They both understood the fundamental character traits that defined Thomas Langley, regardless of the decades that had passed or the circumstances that had shaped his life.
Before Isabella could say anything, her phone chimed with a text message.
“Speaking of your father,” she said, “he’s on his way back from Savannah with the reclaimed flooring. Apparently, it’s even better quality than he had hoped to find.”
“Oh, I’m sure that made his day,” Emma said, smiling. “He gets so excited about materials in a way most people would reserve for sports victories or lottery wins.”
Isabella laughed. “I’ve noticed. The day he found those original doorknobs in the attic, you would have thought he’d discovered buried treasure.”
“Oh, in his mind, he had,” Emma said. “That’s what makes him so good at what he does. He sees the value in things that others might discard or overlook.”
They shifted their conversation back to marketing materials, but Isabella kept thinking about Emma’s words. Thomas had a gift for recognizing the value beneath surface imperfections. It was one of the qualities she had always admired about him.
As they wrapped up their meeting, Emma picked up her sketches. “Well, I should head back to Dad’s place. I promised I would make dinner tonight since he cooked yesterday.”
“It was wonderful seeing your ideas,” Isabella said. “I’d be delighted to work with you on the inn’s marketing strategy, whether through your current agency or other arrangements.”
Emma’s eyes lit up. “I would love that. The inn is exactly the kind of project I want to focus on. Something with authentic history and soul, not just commercial appeal.”
They walked together to the inn’s entrance, where they found Luella seated on the porch, watching the late afternoon light filter through the oak trees.
“Emma Langley,” Luella greeted her with obvious affection. “Twice in one weekend. Your daddy must be pleased to have you home so often these days.”
“Hey, Miss Luella,” Emma said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Dad’s always happy to have me visit, although I think he appreciates his peace and quiet when I leave, too.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Luella hummed. “That man’s had enough peace and quiet to last three lifetimes. He needs a little commotion now and then to keep his blood flowing.”
She looked at Emma and Isabella. “You two been plotting something? Got that look about you.”
“Just discussing marketing for the inn,” Isabella said, amused.
“Marketing, is it?” Luella raised an eyebrow. “Fancy word for telling stories about a place so folks want to visit. This inn’s got stories enough for three hundred marketing campaigns if you know where to look for them.”
“That’s exactly what makes it so special,” Emma said, “and why I’m so excited to help develop its brand identity.”
Luella nodded. “Well, good to see young people appreciating history instead of just tearing it down to build something shiny and new. Your daddy raised you right.”
After Emma left, Isabella settled into the rocking chair beside Luella, content to share a few moments of quiet observation as the day transitioned into evening. Deer had emerged from behind the inn, grazing peacefully on the overgrown lawn that would eventually become a formal garden.
“Heard you had quite a time at the ladies’ club luncheon today,” Luella said after a while. “Vivian Pierce making trouble as usual.”
Isabella sighed. “News gets around really quickly here.”
“Like a wildfire in August,” Luella said. “But don’t let it bother you. Island gossip is like the tide. Comes in, goes out, regular as clockwork. What seems important today will be forgotten by next week when somebody else does something worth talking about.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Isabella said. “I didn’t come here looking for personal complications or drama. I want to restore the inn and create something meaningful. I want to enjoy my life.”
Luella studied her thoughtfully. "Life's funny that way, sugar. You come lookin' for one thing, and it hands you somethin' else entirely. Question is whether you're smart enough to recognize what you need when it shows up, even if it ain't what you were expectin’.”
The cryptic observation hung in the air between them as the deer continued grazing, untroubled by any human concerns.
“Luella,” Isabella began hesitantly. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“You can ask,” the older woman said. “Might even answer, depending on what it is.”
“Are you sure you don’t know why Thomas ended our relationship in college?
I’m talking about the real reason, not the one he told me at the time.
I've spent thirty years telling myself it doesn't matter anymore, that I've moved on.
But being here with him, working together, feeling.
.." She stopped, unsure how to finish. "I need to know if what he told me was the truth, or if there's something more. "
Luella’s expression, as always, remained impassive, but something flickered in her eyes.
“What did he tell you back then?”