“Medical stuff, you know I can’t?—”
“—Whatever.”
“I’m sorry, I know I should have, but I think we need to end this.”
“I think so, too. Just make sure you take all your stuff. I don’t want the clutter.”
“I owe you so much. You really helped me navigate the?—”
“—Let’s not, okay? Goodbye.”
You can’t make a person into someone else. Drake wanted her to take care of him, and he had no capacity to give that back to her. He did owe her so much. But she didn’t even have the energy to collect.
And she reminded him that he was old. Maybe that was her worst quality.
Eventually, she took a shower. Eventually, her current assistant arrived and helped her hire a nurse.
But for six weeks, she hid.
Her only comfort was from calls with Siena. Siena and her mom called, sent flowers, sent candy, and Face Timed her. They were there, even though they weren’t. Goldie assured them that it was okay, that the surgery was no big deal.
In a lot of ways, she was right. It was no big deal. Goldie healed fast. She felt pretty good after two weeks and just about normal after two months.
But the idea that she’d gone through it alone was in the back of her mind. She’d sacrificed a lot for this life.
And it was coming home to roost.
Chapter Seventeen
Goldie, Present Day
Goldie spent the morning on the computer. She’d sent invites and personal notes. Left messages on private lines and slid in the DMs of a few of the country music stars on the schedule for North of Nash. All but one. She wanted to help Irish Hills, but she had her limits.
By then, she was pleased with herself. If she couldn’t be the draw for Irish Hills, maybe she could lean on a few other big names to add some sparkle in the form of rhinestones to the local scene.
She didn’t tell a soul about what she was doing. She just reached out with invitations.
Up next on her list of things to do, was a meeting with Joe Cassidy about working for her instead of Libby.
Joe arrived early. He was always early. This was opposite of a Hollywood power play.
Goldie was out on the back lawn, looking at the mess that was the reedy overgrowth.
“This feels like an issue. Back in the day, guests could hang out back here, there was the dock and a huge slide, and there was a shuffleboard area somewhere around here. Right now, it’s not great for swimming.”
“Hi, Joe, how are you?”
“Well, you are ten minutes early, always on Lombardi Time.”
“Whoa, you know what that is?”
“My dad swore by it. If you’re on time, you’re late.”
“Exactly, good man.”
“Anyway, I was going to head in to talk to you. But this vegetation situation distracted me. I need to hire someone.”
“My son could do it. If you want. Red charges reasonable rates.”
