She didn’t have furniture yet—of course, that was on her list of things to do—so she was sitting on a folding chair in the center of the empty restaurant space, looking at the list she’d taken to keeping on yellow notepads, when a little old lady walked in.
She probably wanted breakfast. It had happened twice already, people thinking they could come on in and have a meal when they saw the lights were now on inside.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re not open yet.”
“I know, Hope, I know. But I had to get my eyes on your face.”
“Oh, my gosh! Aunt Emma!”
Emma was Libby’s aunt, but they all claimed her.
Hope stood up, and the two embraced. She was so little, this woman, but a force of nature and a giant in Hope’s memory.
“You grew into a beautiful woman, as I knew you would. You and Libby with those long legs.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve pretty much given up on worrying about beauty. But thank you.”
“Nonsense, you’re in the prime of your life!”
Hope smiled and speculated at how old Aunt Emma must be to make that statement.
“Well, if I live to be one hundred.”
“I’m on my way, and I couldn’t be happier. And good for you; you’re right to keep that lock of gray. It’s striking.”
Aunt Emma’s hair was snow-white. It had been ever since Hope could remember. She was a silver sister before it was a fad.
“My dear niece said you had questions about connecting to some local vendors for this restaurant. What’s the place going to be called?”
“Not sure yet. My catering business was Venerable Catering, maybe something like that. I’m still noodling that one.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Emma wiggled her head back and forth as though she wasn’t quite sold on that name.
Hope forged ahead. “I’m looking for locally sourced, sustainable, in-season food.”
“Locally sourced, sustainable in-season food was just called food, in my day. All these words. You need farmers. That’s what you need. Like your grandparents, I sure do miss the Bentons.”
It was sweet to hear someone remember her grandparents, who’d been gone for decades now.
Hope was excited about the local produce, but the local protein was another issue entirely. She had no idea about where that would come from.
“Are there any commercial fishermen around here?”
“That’s tougher. Not sure about fish. But I’ll give you all the names I have. I can connect you with half a dozen farmers, two dairy outfits that do milks and cheese, and a pig farm. That’s Dean Tucker’s cousin who’s got the pig farm. Also, a hooch farm or two.”
“Hooch farm?”
“Winery in Lenawee County and a Distillery in Clinton, just east on Route Twelve.
“Perfect. I can’t thank you enough. This will eliminate hours and hours of leg work.”
Aunt Emma smiled and looked at her, really looked at her. “The five of you girls were something else. The Sandbar Sisters. You’ve taken care of your husband and children. It’s time you put yourself first, this dream first. You know, our dreams don’t come true without a little muscle to make them happen. Do you understand?”
Hope felt a catch in her throat. No one talked to her that way. The old woman was telling her to be who she wanted to be, not a version of what others thought she should be.
“I do, finally. And it appears they also need a push from you and Libby.”
“Well, yes, we’re pushy, but in a good way.” Aunt Emma smiled.
