“It’s a good thing we aren’t lions,” she continues. “We would’ve had to reject you from the pride.”
“You are such a bitch,” I say without heat.
“Who cares about that,” Remy gushes. “Nash has been sending you postcards for eight years? That’s so romantic. He’s probably been waiting for you.”
I roll my eyes. Remy’s delusional. “I doubt that. And I’m marrying Jonathan, so too bad for him.”
“How about the fact Mom got knocked up and still managed to land a husband?” Reese quips. “That takes skill.”
“Reese Conway,” Mom snips. “Don’t you talk about your mother being knocked up.”
Reese laughs. “You’re the one who?—”
“I have a plan,” I cut in, making the line quiet. “We need money, I need a divorce, and Mom needs surgery.” Glug goes the wine.“And if Mom agrees to the surgery?—”
“I don’t need surgery,” Mom argues.
“—and you two can come home to help with Bee and the store and watching over Mom for a couple of weeks?—”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“—then I’ll go to Charleston.”
Mom’s tone flips from defensive to dubious. “You’ll go to Charleston?”
It’s a risky play, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I could use this whole situation to my advantage. She all but asked me to go meet my biological father, and she’s as delusional about Nash as Remy is. I’ll prove them wrong, fix our finances, and she’ll get the surgery. We all win.
I take another sip of my wine, unsure if there’s enough in all of Fontain to get the next words out of me. “I will. And I’m going to ask Rueben to tell me what he knows so I can find the missing gold to replace what we lost, and then I’ll get a divorce from Nash.”
Reese barks out a laugh. “Your plan of fixing a financial crisis is a treasure hunt? Tell me that’s a joke.”
“It isn’t a joke and it’s not a treasure hunt, it’s gold finding.”
She laughs. “Is Mom’s tumor contagious? Because that’s absurd. How do you even know it exists?”
“I did research.” I muster as much confidence as I can. “Everyone agrees the gold was stolen, the discrepancy comeswith what happened after. Rueben’s claims aren’t so far-fetched.”
“I can’t believe that you, Rue Conway,” Reese starts, “the same woman who has driven the same nerdy car for ten years becauseit runs good?—”
“Hey! I love that station wagon!”
“—and wears redneck overalls because there aremore pockets to keep you organized?—”
“What’s wrong with pockets?”
“—is rationalizing a treasure hunt.”
“You know what?” I slam my wine stein on the table. “Coming from the girl who poured water on a guy’s lap for twenty dollars while working at the diner, that’s real rich.”
Reese makes a disagreeing sound. “That guy had a harmless kink, and I needed gas money. And was seventeen.”
“So?”
“So? You’re forty-two and a treasure hunt isn’t how you save your livelihood.”
A noise from upstairs makes me pause. I look at the ceiling and call, “Bee,” but get no response. In a lower voice, I say, “I don’t care what you think. If Mom will get the surgery, I’m doing it.”
Reese and Remy stay quiet, but Mom says, “Fine.”
