time to change her clothes, she had fifteen minutes to meet Ginny at Sam’s Sugar Shack.
After hurriedly changing into tan capris and a casual blouse, she rode the elevator down to the “beach and pool level” below the lobby, hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone. Something was clearly bothering Ginny and they didn’t need old classmates inviting themselves along. After all these years and having seen each other only twice, Jessica was glad her old friend felt she could confide in her.
The second before she hit the beach, she kicked off her sandals. Feeling the warmth of the sand and the cooling breeze made it a whole lot easier to shift gears now that everyone would be calling her Cricket. She’d laughed when she picked up her nametag earlier. It had been a hard transition in college becoming Jessica, but since she’d decided early that she wanted to study law, she needed a serious name. But nobody here knew her as an attorney. Even her dad called her Cricket occasionally, but mostly he called her Baby Girl.
After a ten-minute walk, Sam’s came into view. Shading her face from the bright sunlight, she saw Ginny standing at one of the tall umbrella tables outside, wearing a green sundress, which showed off her stupidly perfect arms and the legs that had made half the boys in school walk around with books in front of their jeans. When a couple leaving the bar caught Ginny’s eye, she waved and disappeared inside. The place was probably as packed as the resort bars. Cricket quickened her pace. Hopefully Ginny was able to grab a table. It would be more private and comfortable talking inside.
Removing her sunglasses, she hesitated at the door, letting her eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting.
“Over here.”
She followed the voice and saw Ginny sitting at a small table for two in the corner. It was slightly out of the way and couldn’t be more perfect. All except for the donkey piñata hanging over the wicker chair Cricket sank onto. No, not wicker, more like straw, firm enough to poke her behind. She doubted investing in a few cushions would’ve broken the new owner.
When she saw the pink-and-green Hula-Hoops hanging on the back wall, she grinned. “Oh, my God. This place hasn’t changed one bit. I wonder if they still have Hula-Hoop contests for free drinks.”
Ginny glanced up at the large piñata over Cricket’s head. “I don’t know if I trust that thing.”
“So, you left this chair for me?”
“Well, yeah. I have a kid, you don’t. And you’re an attorney. You can sue without it costing you.” Ginny barely got it all out without laughing.
They were both cracking up and pointing out the strange assortment of hanging decorations. Aside from piñatas of all types, there were also dangling skateboards, a couple of bikini tops, several license plates and a group of visors with dumb sayings. And then Ginny looked at the hula girl bobblehead sitting in the middle of their table. With a flick of her long elegant fingers she set it in motion and they laughed until they both had to wipe away tears.
Sniffling, Cricket moved in for a closer look at the hula girl. “Is that thing glued to the table?”
“I think so.”
“For God’s sake, who would steal that?”
“Oh yeah, you’ve definitely been away too long.”
Cricket glanced around, saw the coast was clear and bowed her head to use the hem of her shirt to dab at her nose and eyes. “Do not make me laugh like that again.”
“It felt good, didn’t it?” The trace of wistfulness in Ginny’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Look, I’m sorry for pulling you away from everyone,” she said. “It isn’t fair, I know, but I figured it would be harder to find time toward the end of the weekend.”
“Oh, please. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Cricket did a quick survey of the place and thought she recognized a woman in an absurdly short skirt downing shots at the bar. “Could just be me, but I have a feeling we’re going to be pretty sick of some of these people by Sunday.”
“It’s not just you.” Ginny’s smile softened the worry lines between her brows. “Does everyone drink so much at reunions?”
“Beats me. I’ve never been... You must’ve come to the ten-year. It was at the hotel, wasn’t it?”
“I’d planned on it but Tilda was sick and I didn’t want to leave her alone.”
“Isn’t your dad—?”
“Tilda and I are living in the family home. He’s still in his apartment in Providence.” Ginny shrugged. “It’s for the best. He’ll never accept Tilda or forgive me for not wanting to spend my life playing a piano.”
“It must hurt, though.”
“No, actually, I’ve let it go. I don’t think he ever recovered from my mom’s death, and he never will. It’s sad, and if I thought I could help him I would. But honestly, I think there’s a part of him that blames me. After all, she died giving me life.”
“Of course he doesn’t blame you.” Cricket knew Ginny’s dad. Robert Landry was a well-known attorney, and not just in Rhode Island. “That’s completely irrational.”
“Oh, and you have two perfectly rational parents?”
Cricket let out a strangled laugh. “Good point.” She reached for a glass that wasn’t there. “Did anyone ask if you wanted a drink yet?”
“They probably figured we’ve had our limit.”
“Probably.” She leaned to the side, scanning the room for a waitress. And found someone so much better. “Oh, hello. Did you see the bartender? Nice. Despite the fact he looks as if he just rolled out of bed.”
Ginny looked over her shoulder. “Despite? I think he looks yummy just as he is. I wonder if he’s the owner.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m guessing he’s midthirties? Most of the employees are barely legal drinking age.”
“True. He’s not messing around, either. He’s really whipping out those drinks.” She liked his lean, athletic build, the broad shoulders that filled out his wrinkled T-shirt. Even from clear across the room she could see the play of muscles across his back as he turned and grabbed a bottle off the shelf.
He startled her by swinging a sudden look in her direction. “Sorry,” he called out. “Be right with you.”
Cricket felt the heat surge up her throat to her face. How had he known she was—?
“Was he talking to you?” Ginny asked, turning her head for another peek at him.
“I guess so. Was I that obvious?”
“He probably thinks you’re impatient for a drink.”
Cricket could only hope. “Tell me what you wanted to talk about,” she said, giving her complete attention to her friend.
“Actually, I need your advice on something.”
“As an attorney or a friend?”
Ginny looked surprised, and Cricket couldn’t explain what prompted her to make the distinction. “Both I hope.”
“Okay, I’ll be happy to do what I can.”
“It’s about Tilda. Or more to the point, about her father.”
“Wait. Is this a custody issue?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” Ginny sighed. “I really don’t know.”
Cricket drew in a deep breath and leaned forward. “First off,” she said, “you should know that family law isn’t in my wheelhouse. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help in some way. Even if it turns out I recommend someone good for you to contact.”
Ginny nodded. “I understand.”
“Has