Libby ended the call.
Goldie leaned back in her seat on the boat. She looked at Keith and Libby. They had gone to the end of the earth to protect her just now. While Hollis had sold her out for money, her old friends had done the opposite.
She also realized that not only had they diverted the press. They had done so to the detriment of their main goal, to get people to Irish Hills.
“Irish Hills was crawling with people, for a hot second. That was weird,” Keith commented, as though reading her thoughts.
“Yeah, there was almost a traffic jam,” Libby said.
“You could have capitalized on this,” Goldie said. “You could have called more press in. That would change the game for tourism. I’m more famous than Chef Ellston, if I do say so.”
“Damn straight you are, but you’re our friend. Not our meal ticket.”
“But, I mean, I just?—”
“—I promised you that you would be safe here, that you could rest here. I was serious about that.”
Goldie wanted to thank them. She wanted them to know how much of a revelation this was to her. Everyone in her life lived off of her or tried to sell a piece of her.
Keeping her secret was in direct opposition to what all of her old friends were trying to do. But they’d done it anyway.
Half a dozen people that she hadn’t seen in more than two dozen years had gone bananas to keep her hidden.
Goldie let that fact sink in. And she started to wonder, what could she do to show how much it meant to her?
Chapter Sixteen
Goldie
They enjoyed dinner at Nora House, Goldie in a borrowed sweatshirt from Libby and J.J. in the dress Goldie had lent her.
It was a mishmash of her old friends and her new handyman, and it was the most fun she’d had since she didn’t know when.
They talked about the old days, and Joe listened intently.
“I mean, this is the one you said peeled the leech off her backside without flinching?”
“She didn’t bat an eye. The raft, unbeknownst to us, had a little pocket of them. They decided to take up residence under the raft and wait. We’re laying there, baking ourselves like lasagna, a little red crispiness was the goal, and Goldie turned over, ya gotta have an even tan, you know, and there the sucker was. Right on her cheek,” J.J. recounted the scene to Joe.
“Literally,” Hope said.
“That was no big deal. The big deal was later that summer. I got knocked off the Hobie, clocked right in the head by the boom, and went intothe water.”
“Oh, that was scary, not funny,” Keith said.
“She was out cold, and Libby here dives in immediately, swims to her, puts her in the official lifeguard hold, and swims back to shore, Goldie in tow.”
Joe looked from Keith to Libby.
“Yeah, the boat was tipped at that point,” Libby explained.
“No life jackets back then, very dumb kids, obviously.”
“Yeah, it was the eighties, no helmets or life jackets, very dumb,” Goldie said. She reached out and squeezed Libby’s hand. A teenage Goldie had been unconscious in the water, and her friend had saved her.
Why had she never unpacked these memories? She had so many here, in Irish Hills. But it seemed like, from the moment she left, she used every cell of her brain toward becoming a star. She didn’t have room to think about nostalgia or the gang at the lake.
“We drank pop and ate pop rocks at the same time. It was madness,” Hope said.
