“No, the speech pattern is all wrong for Yoda,” Kate said.
Inga flashed a look of impatience. “Can we get started before you’ve named every film from popular culture?”
Kate flipped her blond hair over her shoulder. “By all means. We’ll start with Libbie.”
Libbie’s hands flew to cover her face. “Do we have to?”
“Yes, because you hate it, which means you need more compliments.” Kate took a sip of her cocktail and assessed Libbie. “You are the best friend a woman could ask for.”
“You are a fantastic chef, and I would eat anything you make,” Julie said.
Rebecca smiled at her. “You’re trustworthy and responsible.”
Inga regarded her with pale green eyes. “You’re braver than you think and stronger than you know.”
“Isn’t that a quote from Winnie the Pooh?” Libbie asked. She was sure she recognized it from one of the books she used to read to her kids.
Inga shot her a warning glance. “You know the rules. There’s no follow-up to compliments. You can only respond with ‘thank you.’”
Kate leaned over and whispered, “It’s a variation. Not an exact quote.”
Kate would know. With three kids, she’d spent more time with Winnie the Pooh than Libbie had.
They finished going around the circle so that each woman received her share of compliments. Libbie had to admit, as much as she hated the experience when it was happening, she always felt better afterward.
Inga poured another round, and their conversation entered more serious territory, as it often did when the sky was a blanket of stars and a moon as round and bright as a silver coin shimmered overhead. Inga had just finished a story about the death of her second husband, the true love of her life. His death had wrecked her, and she’d been certain she wouldn’t last another year without him.
“How did you get through it?” Julie asked, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“I asked myself one simple question,” Inga said.
Libbie watched her closely, trying to anticipate the answer.
“What would Ruth Bader-Ginsburg do?” Kate chimed in.
Inga snorted. “No, but I think that’s a reasonable second choice.” She sipped her drink. “I forced myself out of bed, finally showered, and then asked myself how could I make that experience the best thing that ever happened to me?”
Libbie winced. How could the death of her true love possibly be the best thing that ever happened to her?
Kate covered Inga’s hand with her own. “You make the best of every situation. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
“Hey, no fair. Compliment time is over,” Rebecca said.
Julie downed the drink in her hand. “As much as I hate to break up the party, I need to call an Uber. My mom asked me to be home before ten tonight.” She groaned. “I never imagined I’d be fifty years old and still making that statement.”
“Why?” Kate asked. “She knows Friday nights are sacred.”
Julie met her gaze. “Because she knows Friday nights are sacred.”
Libbie sighed into her half-empty glass. It was hard enough that Julie had lost her husband two years ago, but to be caring for an ailing mother too...Libbie knew it wasn’t easy. Doris was a challenging woman with unreasonable demands, at least that was Libbie’s impression.
“I hope she appreciates what a wonderful daughter you are,” Kate said. “When I think of all you’ve sacrificed to be home and take care of her.” She shook her blond head, still perfectly styled and not a hair out of place after a long day.
“She’s my mother,” Julie said. “It isn’t a sacrifice.”
“You have a life to live as well,” Inga said. “Sitting vigil at your mother’s bedside is existing, not living.”
Julie shrugged. “Who else will do it? I can’t afford a full-time caregiver, not that anyone would want the job. The last part-time person I hired quit after three days.”
Libbie knew that story. Doris had cursed and spit and made a general nuisance of herself, until the person quit, and Julie agreed to do the job by herself. It was her mother’s way of continuing to control her, even though she was now confined to her bedroom. Greg had been the most understanding husband on the planet. He’d lived in that house with Julie and helped look after her mother until his own illness made that impossible. That was a horrible time for Julie, caring for both of them. Libbie didn’t know how Julie had managed to get through those dark days without having a complete breakdown. Libbie had helped out as much as she could with errands, grocery shopping, and, of course, cooking. No matter how much she did, though, it hadn’t felt like enough.
“I’ve offered my help before,” Inga said.
Julie smiled. “Thank you, but I don’t think a voodoo doll of my mother would solve the problem.”
“It might make you feel better though.” Inga walked over to the bar and set out five shot glasses. “Before you go, I’d like to make a toast.”
Libbie waved a hand in protest. “I don’t need a shot. The mojitarita is perfectly fine.”
“Nonsense,” Inga said. She poured the clear liquid into each glass. “One shot each, and I’ll let you off the hook.”
Reluctantly, Libbie removed the shot glass from the bar. She’d have to leave her car here tonight, but at least she could stumble home on foot. That was the beauty of a town like Lake Cloverleaf.
Inga raised her glass, and the other women followed suit. “In the immortal words of The Rolling Stones, you can’t always get what you want.”
“You get what you need,” Kate finished.
They tipped back their glasses in unison and drank. Libbie’s throat burned as the liquid passed over it. Although it wasn’t as smooth as she hoped, it wasn’t terrible. She was about to share those very thoughts with her friends when Inga’s hand shot out, and she clutched Libbie’s shoulder. Her empty glass fell to the deck. The older woman grimaced and doubled over in pain.
“Inga?” Libbie placed a hand on Inga’s back. “What’s wrong?”
“Is it another spasm?” Kate asked. The older woman sometimes complained of muscle spasms.
Inga slipped to the deck, moaning softly.
It was Kate who had the presence of mind to call an ambulance. In the meantime, Libbie kneeled beside the older woman and checked her breathing. The breaths were weak, but they were there.
“Hang in there, Inga,” Libbie said. “An ambulance is on the way.”
She hoped that the holiday traffic didn’t interfere with its timely arrival. The country mountain roads backed up easily.
Julie dropped down to Inga’s other side and held her hand. “Stay with us. We haven’t finished emptying your liquor cabinet yet.”
Libbie smiled at the comment, although she felt the pressure of tears building behind her eyes. They couldn’t lose Inga. Not now. Plenty of women lived to be one hundred these days, and Inga was someone with that kind of stamina. At least that was how she’d always seemed to Libbie. Larger than life, despite her five-foot-four frame.
Kate paced the deck as they awaited the ambulance. She reminded Libbie of a sea captain expecting help from shore for one of her sailors. “You can do this, Inga Paulsen,” Kate said. “Stay right here so we can drink together again next week. It’s my turn to choose the cocktail. I’ll make whatever you like.”