Libby grabbed Hope’s hands in hers. “There’s no option. We have to have that restaurant open on Fourth of July weekend. Wehaveto,” Libby said.
“I know you are trying to give me a pep talk, but I don’t think it’s going to be possible.”
“I want you to do this. In fact, I know you can. That’s why we came to you. But the grant committee is coming to Irish Hills on July 5thto see our progress, to compare us to Chef Ellston’s restaurant in Covert Pier.”
“What?” This was new information. July Fourth was a dream, a target, an optimistic goal. What Libby was outlining now was a do-or-die pressure cooker!
“We have to give her space,” J.J. said to Libby.
Libby took a breath. She seemed to soften. “I should have told you why I was pushing so hard. I just can’t wait a year or a month. Something has to be working there, now.” Libby looked contrite.
But Hope wasn’t mad at her. She’d handed an opportunity to Hope on a silver platter. Hope just couldn’t deliver; not yet, not now.
“Here’s what I know. I know you’ll make it happen. I know you get things done in a way that’s almost superhuman. I know I’m an impediment with all this Archie stuff.”
“Look, no matter what, you’re our friend. I understand if you need to back away. You have to do what’s right for you. I should have been transparent. But, well, I didn’t want to scare you.”
“It’s the truth,” J.J. added. “What we’re trying here, it’s uh, well, it’s not for everyone. I’m a townie who loves this place, and I think it’s impossible half the time.”
Hope walked over to the kitchen table. She’d had this feeling before. She’d watched her visions evaporate. But there was nothing she could do to stop it. And if it really was that critical to the entire town, she didn’t want everything to hinge on her screwed-up relationship with Archie. That wasn’t fair to anyone.
She thought of the staff she’d assembled, the menu she had begun to craft, and even the vendors she’d met so far. All of it was slipping through her fingers.
“We shouldn’t have put this all on you. I feel like I’m no better than Aunt Emma. She snookered me into this entire mission,” Libby said.
All three ladies were now sitting at the table, trying to piece together what was next.
“Oh, Aunt Emma, she’s an evil mastermind,” J.J. said.
That put a smile on Libby’s face.
“Remember the save the Dance Pavilion thing you did, with the roller skating?” Hope said. This situation was the same but on steroids.
“Yeah, funny story that. I own that too and have to figure out what to do with it.” Libby put her head in her hands.
“You’re not alone. Me, Dean, Keith, we got ya,” J.J. said to Libby.
“I know, thank you. I’m just sorry that I railroaded you, Hope.”
Hope didn’t feel railroaded by her friends. What she felt was saved. She’d had nothing but joy since they stepped back into her life.
Her life. Her dream.
She’d let those things be diverted, changed, muted for thirty years. Over and over again.
She sat up straighter in her chair. An idea came into her head. But she had no idea if it was legal or possible.
The people at this table were her future, a new kind of family. Sure, she loved her girls. They had a place here, too, if they wanted it. But Archie, not so much.
He shouldn’t be the one to decide what came next in her life.
“Who’s that attorney your aunt uses, the one that seems like he’s in love with her?”
“Patrick Tate,” Libby said.
“Yeah, do you have a lawyer? If not, he’d be good at looking over this stuff Archie handed you,” J.J. said.
“No, I don’t have a lawyer, but I do have an idea.”
