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He motions for Lettie and Brooke but says to me as he slides me down his back, “Keep your foot up so sand doesn’t get into the cut.” He turns to face me. “You know, your stubbornness is holding you back from being happy.”

His eyes search mine. For what? I’m not sure.

But the girls grab me and sling my arms over their shoulders, taking me to the beach chairs. John rejoins his girlfriend. Why do I feel sick looking at them together? They’re a stunning couple.

“Lettie, grab a bottle of water and rinse it off. I’m going to get my first aid kit,” Harper instructs.

Oakley looks down at me with her hands on her hips. “Why did he bring her?”

“Who?” I ask, playing dumb.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know who… Stelllllaaa,” she whispers through gritted teeth.

“They’re in a relationship. Why wouldn’t he bring her?”

“Because I remember who comforted you when Mamaw died and who—never mind, you won’t listen anyway.”

“We’ve all been friends since college, and we need to make her feel comfortable. Right now, she’s the only person here who didn’t go to college with us.” I can’t believe my own lies. I want her to leave. I don’t like seeing her with John, but it’s my nature to make everyone feel comfortable.

Oakley does her over exaggerated eye roll. “I didn’t go to college with ya’ll either. Whatever.”

“Well, you’re different. You’re one of us.”

Then Oakley makes a beeline straight to John and Stella.

My stomach rolls. What will she say? There’s no telling with Oakley. It could be anything from John’s great at ping pong to do you plan on getting married?

She sits next to them, and John laughs as Stella sits stoically in her barely there, pink bikini. The triangles barely cover her nipples, and the meaty part of her breasts swell as she breathes.

Thankfully, Harper returns with her medical bag and pulls on a rubber glove.

“Do you think I have a disease?” I ask, laughing but curious.

“Sorry, it’s a habit.” She dabs an antiseptic wipe on my leg. My leg jerks at the sting, but then she places a large square Band-Aid on it and wraps it with tape. “This tape is waterproof, so you can still get it wet, but we’ll need to change the dressing once we leave the beach to keep it clean.”

“Thanks, Harper.”

“No need. You helped Logan and me so many times, making kids’ wishes come true. We appreciated you and Madison visiting the sick children in the hospital.”

“Are you happy you went into pediatric cancer? Isn’t it depressing?”

“Most days are filled with laughter. I love kids. Obviously, I have three.”

“Evy, Slade, and…” I can’t recall the newest child’s name.

“Greer. He’s the youngest, and he looks exactly like his dad.”

She pulls out her phone and shows us the most recent photos. Greer has blond hair and blue eyes with a football in his hand. Lettie and I fawn all over the picture. “He’s adorable.”

I just realized I’m the only female here without kids, except Stella. “Speak of the… ”

Stella stands beside Oakley and Oakley says, “Stella is going to hang out with us while John snorkels with the guys.”

I smile.

Stella smiles.

They’re both as fake as a three-dollar bill as Mamaw used to say.

Luckily, the beachfront waiter appears with drinks on a tray.

“It’s vacay. Who wants margaritas?” Oakley asks.

“Me! I prefer daiquiris, but don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

The waiter hands out our drinks. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Would you ladies like any food?”

“No food. It’s party time,” Lettie says before she gulps her drink. “We’re kid free and need to let loose.”

For the next hour, we drink margaritas, and the sun makes it feel like I’ve had five drinks when I’ve only had three.

Stella has barely said a word even when someone asks her a question. Brooke asks, “How did you meet “The Godfather?”

“Who’s the Godfather?”

Even Oakley knows about the team calling him the Godfather. She snickers, but Brooke answers, “John. They called him the Godfather in college because he made the guys kiss his dad’s Frozen Four rings.”

“And they thought his dad was in the mob.” Lettie adds her two slurring cents.

Stella’s brows furrow toward the center. She ignores the last statement and says, “His dad introduced us several years ago and his dad is not in the mob.”

Then of course, Lettie, who has no filter, adds, “Didn’t I see you being photographed with Sean Suarez, the professional baseball player.”

“John and I were on a break.”

Our heads bob up and down in understanding. Stella doesn’t offer anything else. She’s stiffer than the life-sized cardboard movie displays .

“Oh, John’s coming back.” She prances in his direction, with her long, golden hair catching in the breeze.

Stella stops, handing him her phone, and sinks to her knees on the pristine white sand, instructing him on where to stand to take pictures of her.

I don’t know exactly how old she is, but most of us are in our thirties, except for Oakley, who just turned twenty-two.

Not meaning to say it where anyone can hear, I mumble, “Grow up.”

Oakley shakes her head, looking at me. “They’ll never work. I know I’ve only known John about a year, but he’s a Fireball shot, and she’s a glass of chardonnay—boring.”