Hope felt something was happening. A shift. It was more than just Archie’s midlife crisis.
Several times in Hope’s life, she could clearly see the fork in the road. She could look at it in the moment and realize, oh, here’s where I change course.
Except the turns had always been left turns, unprotected, into oncoming traffic.
Maybe this time, it could be different.
Or she’d get hit by a bus.
Either way, she’d be done with Archie.
ChapterEight
Hope
“I would not have figured you as a Jeep person,” Hope said.
The ninety-minute drive from Detroit Metro Airport to Irish Hills gave Hope and Libby a chance to fill in some of the blanks of their lives.
It was decades of blanks. But Hope started to get a better picture.
She was feeling strange, untethered, and like a fool when it came to Archie. But Libby, who seemed so accomplished, so together, shared her own marital experience. It was a doozy.
It made Hope feel slightly less humiliated by the tumult she was in and less embarrassed that her old friend had reentered her life at this weird moment. If they were going to a planned reunion or something, Hope would have tried to present something better or shinier. She’d have painted a veneer on top of her real life to gloss it up for public consumption.
But her life was far from shiny right now. It was rusted and busted. Libby had witnessed it. There was no backpedaling. Libby saw Hope flip the bird to her husband and she’d spilled her guts about why.
“When Henry disappeared, he did so with just about every nickel I had. So, I sold the house, turned in the leased vehicles, all that. This Jeep was the kids’ car when they lived with us. We’d paid cash. It was like the only thing I didn’t owe on. I literally packed it with what I wanted to keep, drove here.”
Hope imagined the scene and wondered if she was in her own similar one right now.
“So, explain to me, you’re now the owner of Nora House, though? Your fortunes seemed to improve drastically. Not to be rude and talk money.”
“It’s okay, yeah, the house was a pre-inheritance. Aunt Emma can’t take care of it. So she claims—she’s healthy as a horse as far as I can see. Anyway, she also got us both into a real, uh, interesting position. Over the last year or so, she’s bailed out any business that was struggling in Irish Hills, from the main downtown drag to the old dance pavilion. She had a sizeable amount of money as the last living direct heir of my great grandfather, Albert Libby.”
“Ooh, the auto industry money, right? And wait how old IS Aunt Emma?”
“Born during the Depression, kind of amazing, right?”
“It’s mind-boggling, and she’s healthy?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Although, she’s buying and buying and buying in Irish Hills to stave off Stirling Stone so that was unbalanced.”
“Oh my, you mean the Stirling Stone of Stirling Grand?” Libby’s iciness to the hotel owner made more sense all of a sudden.
“Yeah, that one. Anyway, she got in his way. She gummed up the works for his plans. Well, we did, once she got me on board.”
“Now I know why you looked like you were smelling rotten eggs when Stone walked up.”
“Ha, yeah, he keeps following my every move. Granted, I was in his casino, but still, he’s the resources to spy on me.”
“So, you stopped them from steamrolling Irish Hills with imminent domain?”
“Yes, pretty much, they go before the city council again in the fall. But the picture has changed drastically. You’ll see. I can’t wait for you to see it. Irish Hills is set to thrive!”
“You’re going to make sure it does. I can see that.”
“Ha, Stirling Stone doesn’t like to lose. But I’ve learned that I love a challenge. And as you can see, this place is worth the fight.” Libby nodded out the window, and Hope switched her focus from her old friend to the beauty of Irish Hills.
