“Chastity Bentley,” Hope says, and Caro snickers outright. Hope always uses a virtue name when she doesn’t want to give out her real one, and this is the one she’s selected for this trip. Neither Ash nor Caro can keep a straight face when she uses it.
Gareth hands Hope a metal stand affixed with a card bearing theirnumber,26. She turns around to take it over to one of the picnic tables and almost runs into two men standing behind her.
“Whoops,” Hope says, “sorry.”
“No worries,” says one. They’re around the same age as the women, and they look enough alike—trucker caps, similar builds—that Hope thinks they might be brothers.
“Hey,” the shorter of the two says, “you look a lot like…”
Without a word, as if they’ve coordinated it beforehand somehow, Ash and Caro move.
“I have a spot in mind already.” Ash links arms with Hope and begins pulling her toward one of the tables. “And I had thebestidea for tomorrow…”
“I heard the nachos are the way to go,” Caro says to the men with authority. She’s so striking—her dark hair, her tanned skin, her long, long legs and no-nonsense, straightforward way of speaking—that they’re distracted and Hope is away, tucked in at a table off by itself under a tree with Ash.
“Oh my word,” Hope says when Caro joins them. “You guys are better than any security detail. How did you know how to do that?”
“Instinct.” Caro’s running her hand through her hair, a gesture Hope has seen her do many times online. The sunset light illuminates Caro’s lovely face, the gentle crow’s feet developing around her eyes. She’s the middle of the three women in age—they stairstep two years apart, like sisters. Ash is thirty-eight, Caro is thirty-six, Hope is thirty-four. Ancient, in Hollywood years.But young enough that if I died it would still be referred to as a “tragedy,”Hope thinks. There would probably be a cover story or two.I might be remembered longer that way, on net.
“I learned it from watchingThe Bodyguard.” Ash starts humming “I Will Always Love You,” which makes Hope laugh.
“We’ve got you.” Caro gives Hope’s shoulder a playful nudge. Hope’s surprised by the contact—not many people feel like they can be soinformal with her these days. Plus, it feels so natural, like they’ve been friends forever—but they haven’t.
She has to keep reminding herself of that.
“You should get to have your dinner in peace,” Ash says as Gareth arrives with their nachos and salads and shakes.
They’re in a gorgeous place eating delicious food. They are the youngest they will ever be.Eat it all,Hope wants to tell her friends.Drink in everything with your wide-open eyes before the sun goes down.
In the dimming light, she feels herself relax. The darker it gets, the less likely she is to be recognized.
Even by the people who think they know her.
Even by herself.
4
ASH
“THE TENTS DON’T LOCK,”Ash tells her husband, Wade, on the phone.
“That doesn’t seem very safe,” he says.
“I know.” Of course, Ash is aware that the walls are canvas. So anyone could get in at any time, really. But do they have to make it soeasy? Couldn’t they put a padlock or something on the door to make everyone feel better?
“It seems strange that Hope would pick a place that’s so lax on security,” Wade says. “Isn’t that dangerous for her?”
“She researched the resort before we came here,” Ash says. “There’s a twenty-four-hour security patrol. They say they’ve never had a problem.”
“Of course that’s what they’re going to tell you,” Wade says. There’s a rustling sound, and she can picture him changing out of his work shirt and into a T-shirt, maybe the ancient one from their alma mater that makes his blue eyes seem very, very bright. Ash loves his eyes, and she loves his rolling, deep voice. She’s always been a sucker for someone who sounds like they could sing baritone in a choir. So what if Wade is going kind of bald. She’s going to have prematurely aging skin from her job even though she’s always wearing a straw hat and applying copious sunscreen.The point is to grow oldtogether. To know all the different incarnations of one person over and across decades.
“Hope’s actually staying in one of the Airstream trailers,” Ash says. “Whichdoeslock and has its own bathroom.” Hope is famous. She couldn’t allow herself to be swayed by the romantic feel of the tents the way Ash and Caro had been, and even though the community showers are fancy (subway tiles and brass fixtures and individual wooden chambers you can lock, plus the same thick towels and high-end toiletries that are in the tents), it’s ridiculous to think of Hope Hanover not having a private shower.
“Okay, then,” Wade says. “So youhada better option, and you chose not to take it?”
Ash feels a sting of embarrassment. He has a point. “I guess I didn’t fully think through the security aspect,” she says. “It seemed fun to be in a tent. They have skylights, so you can see the stars.” The interior is fancy—pillowy beds, cute little woodstoves, planked floors, leather butterfly chairs. It’s romantic, even. “I wish you were with me.”
Wade laughs. “Doyou, Ash?” There’s that edge to his voice, the one that’s been creeping in more and more over the past few years. “You haven’t even told me exactly where you are.”
