“Hey, party foul, my daiquiri didn’t make itself,” J.J. said.
“Are you having a cardiac event?” Hope asked.
“Look, look!” Libby showed her phone to Hope, who read:
Upon further review, the committee has decided that the Irish Hills application more closely aligns with the mission of the Small Business Downtown Revitalization Authority. Irish Hills is awarded the full amount of the grant, and the funds will be deposited to your organization on the fifteenth of this month and the fifteenth of next month.
“WE GOT IT!” Hope exclaimed to J.J.
“Congratulations, Q!” Keith planted a kiss on Libby, who looked like she might pass out.
“Your phone’s ringing,” Hope said and handed it back to Libby.
“Well, hello, so you heard.” She mouthed “Stirling Stone” to the assemblage of pontoon boat revelers. “Thank you, no, I’m not worried, not in the slightest.” She ended the call.
“Well, what was that about?” J.J. asked warily.
“Stone called to threaten me. Well first he congratulated me, then he threatened me.”
“That guy is like the split end of billionaires, you trim it off, and it just splits again,” J.J. joked.
“Threatened you? What did he say?” Keith had always been their protector, and it was no different now that they were old ladies.
“He said infrastructure won’t do a darn bit of good if we don’t have customers.”
“Well, okay, so he didn’t say he’d burn your house down or destroy your family,” Hope said.
“No, not that dramatic, except he is right. We have the money, and we have your restaurant, but if we don’t start figuring out a way to get people to Downtown Irish Hills, no one’s going to eat at that restaurant, or shop at the theoretical shops or rent the hotel we still need to fix up.”
“Seriously, get her another drink,” J.J. said.
“Actually, the potato chips. I think I need carbs, like you said.”
“Well, one problem at a time. You ladies saved the town this week. Next week you’ll figure out how to throw a party. No worries,” Keith said.
“Keith’s right,” Hope agreed. “We’ll figure it out. One thing at a time, let us celebrate our win. I’m starving.”
Hope handed Libby the potato chips, and she ate them like she hadn’t eaten in a week. Maybe she hadn’t.
For the rest of the day, they stopped strategizing about the future of Irish Hills and just enjoyed the lake.
A day on the lake, with friends, in the summer season, with a little summer water, was all anyone really needed.
Keith turned on the Yacht Rock radio station as they floated the rest of the day away.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Libby
Libby was sunburned, but it was a good sunburn, just her shoulders, and just enough to know that even though she was working her butt off, she was also enjoying her life.
Thursday lunch at Hope’s Table with Aunt Emma had become her new tradition.
“I like not having too many choices. Have you ever been to Cracker Barrel? It’s pages and pages. I don’t want to readWar and Peace. I want an egg sandwich, you know?”
“I do.”
Libby had brought Aunt Emma up to speed on the grant.
