“I’d say it’s the perfect time. You have a big fat check and a clear indication of who not to spend it on,” Libby said and nodded toward the iPad and Archie.
“Again, I have to pass, but you know. Come with me to the reception. I have an extra ticket, and no family came with me. We can have a drink or two. And you can tell me about your life, Henry, kids? All of it.”
“How about I tell you that I just kissed Keith Brady? The last time I did that, I think Wham was at the top of the charts.”
“Oh my gosh! He’s still there?”
“Still there, and still a super fox.”
Hope laughed, and another face from the past flashed in front of her eyes. “Wow, good for you. Give me twenty minutes. We’ll go over to the reception together if you have the time. It’s at the Stirling Grand. We can have a glass of wine, catch up?”
“Stirling Grand, ugh, but sure, that’s perfect.”
“Why the ugh?”
“Oh, nothing, just let’s focus on you.”
“Awesome, I can drown my sorrows and celebrate, depending on how the wind blows.”
Hope’s answer to Libby’s fanciful offer was decidedly no. But that didn’t mean the two of them couldn’t enjoy a few hours together.
In a few hours, Hope would have to get on a plane home and deal with the Archie Situation. A glass of wine with an old friend before the dreaded confrontation might be the best thing for her.
And maybe this Archie Situation was a two or three glass of wine situation or three or four shots.
ChapterSix
Hope, 1989
Hope squished her beach chair down in the sand and angled herself toward the sun. The sky was pure blue. They’d taken the pontoon boat out to the sandbar. Hope looked up through one squinted eye.
Any cloud that had tried to form was quickly incinerated by the sun.
“Am I good?” she asked Goldie, who was squirting her already blond hair with a yellow spray bottle of Sun In.
Goldie assessed Hope’s positioning.
“Yep, no shadows.”
God forbid there’d be a shadow anywhere on her entire body. What a waste of baby oil that would be!
Hope had learned her lesson about Sun In two summers ago. Sun In turned blonde hair blonder, dishwater blonde hair vibrant. But it had turned Hope’s brown hair orange. Her grandpa said he’d never seen that color in nature before. Luckily, grandma didn’t give a care as long as she got rid of it before her mother saw it.
While Libby, J.J., Viv and Goldie had almost zero supervision during the summer, Hope had to deal with periodic marshal law. Her grandparents owned the little farmhouse in Irish Hills. They let her stay all summer and work at the farmstand, which she loved. Her grandparents were okay with her coming and going as long as she did her chores.
But every few weekends, her parents would show up, and it was constant questions.
“Where are you going? When will you be back? How many people are going to be there? Are the parents home?”
Ugh. Constant.
Libby’s Aunt Emma stepped in and assured Hope’s mother that she was always present at Nora House. Hope’s mother said Libby and Emma were “Old Money.” She said it with a reverence that was grody. But, because Aunt Emma seemed fancy to Hope’s mom, that worked to loosen Hope’s leash a bit when they were in Irish Hills. If she said she was going to Libby’s, or hanging out on the sandbar with Libby, or at Nora House, her mom shut up.
Most of the time, that was true, but Hope also sneaked to summer concerts and dates under the banner of going to Libby’s. Libby was good cover.
Genius really. And it was the only way to deal with her mom’s annoying questions.
Hope’s mom was her obstacle. Hope had plans, a lot of them, and her mom was one hundred percent against anything Hope wanted to do.
