Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Maybe Joy was right and there are more people on Team Hope than Team Roy? I never would’ve thought that’d be the case. I’ve always felt invisible, like the only reason anyone knows who I am is in relation to Roy. But the smiles I’m getting are for me: Hope.
So as the day goes on, I let my guard down, relaxing into the sunshine and having fun exploring Maple Creek like a tourist with Ben. We take an obscene number of pictures—most of them with goofy grins or our tongues sticking out—in front of a mural that the local high school’s art club painted about three or four years ago.
We stop at a folding table set up outside a store and get hustled into buying matching beaded bracelets. Actually, we get two each because they’re Buy Three, Get One Free. We laugh and tell the kid that she’ll be a great salesperson one day, and she proudly says she already is, which makes us laugh even harder because she’s absolutely right. She’s a hustler, that’s for sure.
We visit Frank at the Maple Creek Museum and listen to him wax poetic about the town. Ben puts a twenty-dollar bill in the donation box as a thank-you for the tour, and Frank remarks that he’ll see me next month for his twice-a-year cleaning.
It’s a reminder that my regular life is waiting just beyond the horizon.
Too soon, Ben will leave, I’ll return to work and my parents’ house, and I’ll have to figure out what’s next. Normally, a completely blank plan would freak me out, and I’d feel pressured to add bullet points, highlight deadlines, and color-code my life. That desire is gone. In fact, I kinda want to chuck the whole planner, every calendar I own, and all the Post-it note reminders I have tacked up and just . . . be.
Like I am today.
I take Ben to a lunch spot called Let’s F*rk. Literally, the sign out front has an asterisk to make it look like fuck, but they pronounce it fork. Inside, the old building is beautiful, with the original knotty-pine plank flooring that’s gone wavy, long plastic-tablecloth-covered tables providing family-style seating, and a display case at the counter that’s filled with fresh pies. “Despite the name, this place is known for its sandwiches, no forks required. You’ll need one for the pie, though.”
We order and take our sign—a laminated card stuck in curled fork tines—to a table. There are other people sitting at the communal tables, but we find two chairs together and sit down beside each other.
“Hi, Hope, Ben,” a woman greets us from a few seats away. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? Good to see folks out enjoying it.”
She knows me. She knows Ben’s name. She’s making easy, friendly small talk. But I have no idea who she is. “Uh, yeah. Great weather,” I agree as I rack my brain.
She’s in her fifties, with brown hair cut into a sleek bob and kind eyes. Her blouse is navy with pink flowers, and her nails are a matching shade of pink glitter that makes me think it’s her favorite color. I look up to her face again, and then it hits me. “Mrs. Abernathy?”
She smiles, laughing lightly. “In the flesh. Just a little more of it these days,” she says with a happiness-tinged shoulder shimmy. “Chasing after grandkids isn’t the same as being in the classroom all day.”
“Ben, Mrs. Abernathy was my third-grade teacher,” I explain, and he nods respectfully in greeting. “You here for the season?” If I remember correctly, her daughter and son-in-law moved several years back, and Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy followed, keeping their small house here to summer in.
“Yep, got in a couple of weeks back. Gail and her family will be here soon too. I can’t wait to take the babies to the lake. Maude is six and swimming like a fish, and Ezra will be able to float around a bit, too, this year. He’s almost two.” She shakes her head. “Time sure does fly. Why, a minute ago, you and Joy were this tall and running the classroom.” She holds her hand out about four feet high, chuckling.
“Think you mean Joy was running things. I was her shadow, following in her footsteps, whether they led me to fun, got me in trouble, or both,” I joke.
Mrs. Abernathy frowns. “No, you two were thick as thieves, but you egged each other on. Back then we would’ve said you were both a little bossy and sassy. Nowadays, we know better and would more accurately say you showed leadership qualities and had a strong sense of self.” Going serious, she pats her chest, right over her heart, and says, “I hear you still do. Good for you.”
We talk a little more, but what she says lingers with me. I always thought I was Joy’s coattail rider into the fray, her backup when things went sideways, and the voice of reason when she saw nothing but opportunity, regardless of the potential cost. But was I once equally daring? And if so, did I simply forget that? Or squash it down to play nice?