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did the travel documents come yet?” She held her breath.
    Her mother blinked, as if trying to remember what a travel document was.
    “For whatever this surprise honeymoon is that you’ve been talking about.” Well, Mom mentioned it only once, but that was enough to get Hope’s hope up.
    “Documents! Yes!” Her mother jumped from the chair and hurried to the kitchen. “Came today!” She returned, clutching an envelope close to her heart, gazing at Hope with her head tilted to the side. She said nothing, just stared at Hope like she was a famous monument.
    A tinge of excitement rose up in Hope and she couldn’t help it: a grin hit her face like it was catapulted there. “So . . . are we going somewhere tropical?”
    Her mother smiled and handed her the envelope.
    Hope ripped it open, snatching up the folded contents. Tickets! Actual airline tickets! She turned them over to try to find the destination. A thrill rushed through her as she read the destination.
    Then read it again.
    Hope slowly lowered the tickets, placing them on the table.
    Idaho.
    The state.
    The place nobody would go to for an exotic honeymoon. Her grin was still slapped onto her expression, but it began to quiver. She was about to burst into tears, but she had to hold it in. Crying extracted the strangest of all her mother’s behaviors.
    “It’s a bed and breakfast!” her mother stated, her enthusiastic expression equivalent to Oprah’s when she gives away new cars. “That B and B harvests their own potatoes !”
    “We’re spending our honeymoon in potato country.”
    “I know how much you love your mashed potatoes.”
    “Is this refundable?”
    “Nope! Paid in full, my dear!” She smiled, missing the grave disappointment sinking into Hope’s expression. Her mother started messing with the ribbon again.
    What was there to say? She couldn’t be ungrateful. She was certain her mother saved for months for this. A sharp pain cramped her stomach. Her mother reached across the table, patted her hand, grinned widely enough for the two of them.
    “By the way, if your daddy shows up at the wedding, how about we both take an arm?”
    No. Not now. Not talk about Daddy. “Sure, Mom.”
    Then the dim mood of the room was undone by what could only be described as the spontaneous prayer version of Tourette’s syndrome. “Lord! Please hear this our prayer!” Her mother shouted, like there was some racket she needed to be heard over. She waved one hand in the air. “Bring Hope’s daddy back in time for her vows!”
    Her mother’s eyes were squeezed shut so Hope rose, went to the freezer, and grabbed a blue Popsicle. She’d gone through ten or twelve Popsicles a day when her dad left. Now she only needed them every once in a while . . . like now. They had a calming effect, maybe because they temporarily froze her brain.
    “Bring her daddy home, dear Lord!”
    Hope returned to the table, sat down, sucked on her Popsicle.
    “And please, please, please Lord, convince Hope and Sam they don’t need to move away.”
    Hope’s heart sank. Her mother was having a hard time with it, and it kind of broke her heart. But she needed to leave. She had to.
    “It’s going to be okay, Mom,” Hope said, patting her on the hand. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Good-night. I love you.”
    In her bedroom, against her will, she picked up the picture of her dad, the one where he grinned like he could see their whole future together and it was magnificent. It was winter and they were bundled tightly together. His mustache was thick enough that it seemed it could keep them both warm. She always wondered what he’d look like now, whether he’d still sport that mustache or not.
    “I’m not going to get any silly ideas about you coming to the wedding,” she said to the photograph. “There’s a new man in my life now. He is my family. He is the one that will be there tomorrow. Not you.” She tossed the frame aside and grabbed her cell phone, speed-dialing