“Wait, I smell what she’s cooking,” J.J. said. She went to the files piled on Libby’s table. She handed Libby the copies of the million forms they’d submitted.
Libby scanned the fine print and then read it out loud: “The Small Business Downtown Revitalization Authority gives priority to grant applicants in communities that need the funds for vital structure and infrastructure improvements.”
“That doesn’t sound like flowers and benches and a public art installation.”
“No, and while that’s lovely, I’m sure our need in Irish Hills is greater than Covert Pier. Thanks to Stirling Stone’s medaling,” Libby said. And then she started to laugh.
“No offense, but that sounds like evil, super villain laughing,” Hope remarked.
“I think it is. Are you okay?” J.J. asked.
“Sorry, yes, I’m okay. I have a call to make. And if I’m right, Stirling Stone just overplayed his hand. He owns a casino. Get it? I have a call to make!”
Libby went in search of her phone.
J.J. sat down where Libby had been. Hope offered her a piece of pizza.
“She’s frightening,” Hope said.
“Yeah, she is. I’m glad she’s on our side.”
Hope and J.J. clinked wine glasses. They heard Libby on the phone, presumably talking to the grant committee.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Hope
Hope had done it.
Hope’s Table was a success. Well, successful in that it was open, people loved it, and she was learning something new every day.
They’d never filled even close to fifty people, but she had ideas on how to get people to the restaurant. Hope would pay Libby rent next season, if there was the next season, and she’d live in the cottage for now.
Those things felt right, and like she was taking big steps to make the rest of her life the way she wanted it to be.
The last bit of business, as her life shifted from Covington, Kentucky, to Irish Hills, Michigan, was her girls.
Finally, her oldest called her back. She didn’t want to fight, but she did wonder about where they were in terms of all the changes that had been visited upon their nuclear family.
“So, I know it was you who snitched on me to your dad.”
“He needed to apologize,” Julia said. “I thought there was a chance that you’d patch things up.”
“Well, he did show up. It was dramatic, to say the least.”
“I’m sorry, I just thought, maybe…”
Julia was sweet and had the classic older child proclivity to think it was her responsibility to fix things. To be in charge.
“Dad’s going to keep the house,” Hope told her, “And the divorce is settled. It’s final.”
“Oh, okay.” Her thirty-year-old sounded much younger at that moment.
She hadn’t trashed Archie to the girls. Maybe that was a mistake. They thought of Archie as the victim because she was the one who “ran off.” Even though he’d done the cheating, she’d done the leaving.
She didn’t tell them about the financial risk Archie had nearly taken with Hope’s money.
Should she warn them about Archie’s worst qualities, so they weren’t caught off guard? Was that protecting them, or was it vindictive?
