What a dutiful daughter, Carol thought. “Do you mind if we read it?”
Alice handed it to her. “That’s one of the reasons I came here, hoping I might bump into one of you. If there was any time you’d be here, I figured it would be today.”
Carol read out loud:
Dear Julia . . .
That’s how I will always think of you, as my Julia, though I’m sure your parents gave you a beautiful name and a beautiful life. I am eternally grateful to them for loving you so much that they welcomed you into their home and made you their daughter. Because, of course, you are their daughter.
Mine, too.
I never stopped loving you from the moment I found out I was pregnant until the night when they took you away. It’s an unpleasant story, and not worth repeating. The important thing is that you’re loved. And love, I’ve learned, is all that matters in this world.
Now, there’s so much I have to say and so little time left for me to say it. I’m very tired and very ill. My heart is weak but my spirit is strong. Therefore, I will leave the duty of our story to the women who brought you this letter—Mary Kay, Carol, and my dear sweet friend, Beth.
If you have not met them in person, I hope you will seek them out. They have been my closest friends and my confidantes. They are strong and wise women who will readily assume the mantle of motherhood, the flower of friendship to guide you down any path you seek. I hope you will turn to them as I have, in joy and sorrow. There are none better and they have quite a tale to tell.
So you see, Julia, you have not two mothers, but five.
Until we meet in a better place, all my love and blessings for your happiness . . .
Your mother, Lynne
Beth blinked away tears while Carol refreshed their martinis. “Well, ladies,” Mary Kay said. “Who wants to start?”
“I will,” Beth said. “It began with a PTA meeting one fall evening years ago. Today, actually. Your mother and I were new to the PTA and there’d been this stressful discussion that had me totally flipped out, so we decided to make martinis.”
“Don’t forget the cookbook,” Carol added. “We owe a lot to the Ladies Society for the Conservation of Marshfield.”
“Martinis,” Mary Kay said. “We changed it to the Ladies Society for the Conservation of Martinis.”
“That was later,” Carol said. “We should start with the original society, DeeDee Patterson’s group.”
“That’s old news, darling.” Mary Kay waved her away. “We’re gonna bore this child to bits if we go back, what, forty years?”
Beth said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you two, that’s not important. Can we get off the title? It’s the friendship that counts.”
“Not the drinking?” Carol teased.
“Please. Knock it off!” Beth shouted. “What must Alice think?”
Alice sat back and let them hash it out. How in the world did three so very different women remain friends for so long?
While they argued about how to start the tale, Alice sipped her martini and let her gaze meander past her mother’s grave to the woods beyond where she could have sworn she heard, in the waving pine boughs, a woman singing. Yes, dancing and singing a lilting, happy song.
Something about girls just wanting to have fun.
Acknowledgments
This book owes its appearance to three magical gifts: inspirational friends, a supportive family, and my fabulous editor at Dutton, Erika Imranyi, who expertly kept me on track and pushed me to produce my best possible work. Thank you, Erika, for your detailed critiques in an era when books are rushed to production. You are a rare gem.
Mostly, I am indebted to my neighbor and friend Trish McVeigh, who for years has not only valiantly battled cancer, but has done so with remarkable cheer and often sidesplitting humor—though that is where the similarities between her and Lynne Flannery end. I hope.
Trish is more than an inspiration for this story. She is also an inspiration for how to stare down fear with courage and a healthy shrug. I, like all who know her, am simply in awe.
Thanks, too, to Gail Sullivan, for her medical knowledge, Sara Travis, Caroline Scribner, Sarah Semler, Sarah Barrett, Amy Herrick, Kathy Sweeney, Nancy Martin, Harley Jane Kozak, Hank Ryan, Elaine Viets, Patty McCormick, and, of course, Lisa Sweterlitsch, for being my muses.
Heather Schroder at ICM, my agent for ten years, continues to be a wonder of strength and insight. I am forever grateful to Brian Tart at Dutton for his continued faith.
Finally, thank you to my husband, Charlie; son, Sam; and daughter, Anna, who tolerated my long days and nights behind closed doors rewriting again and again and again.
About the Author
Sarah Strohmeyer is the bestselling author of ten previous novels, including
The Cinderella Pact
and the popular Bubbles series. She lives with her family outside Montpelier, Vermont.
Also by Sarah Strohmeyer
The Penny Pinchers Club
Sweet Love
The Sleeping Beauty Proposal
The Cinderella Pact
The Secret Lives of Fortunate Wives
Bubbles Betrothed
Bubbles A Broad
Bubbles Ablaze
Bubbles in Trouble
Bubbles Unbound
Bubbles All the Way