Page 133 of The Comeback Summer

I risked our relationship, in the name of protecting her.

“In my experience,” Lou goes on, “this is a journey we all have to go on in our lives, as we grow out of the roles we’ve always played and come into our own. But I have to admit, I’m worried. Can you finish these challenges in the right spirit?”

I take a deep breath, determined to stay strong, to be brave. “I don’t want you to worry, Lou. We’re committed to seeing this challenge through. The last thing we want to do is disappoint anyone. Not you, and not...”

My eyes well with tears. I can’t bring myself to say my grandmother’s name. I think back to all our post-therapy Italian dinners, how I promised I’d protect Hannah and be a good example for her.

“Your grandmother?” Lou says.

I look down, unable to meet Lou’s eyes. Next to me, Hannah sniffles.

“I don’t know if anything I can say will help,” Lou says, her voice gentler, “but I’d like to share some words with you both. Words that have been like a North Star since I was young.”

She reaches into her bag to pull out a tattered envelope.

“I haven’t told you much about myself,” she says.

This gets my attention. The haziness of Lou’s past is part of her mystique. It’s like she didn’t exist until she came bursting on the scene with her TED talk.

“You know that Lou is short for Louise,” she says.

“Not Loser,” Hannah says, and I fight a smile.

“But you may not know my last name is Horwitz.”

Goose bumps run up and down my arms. It’s a last nameI’m very familiar with—a name that has always been linked to our grandmother’s earliest success.

“As in Horwitz Hotels?” I ask.

Lou nods. “My father was Abe Horwitz, one of the Freedman Group’s first clients. As a little girl, I was in awe of your grandmother. I wanted to grow up to be just like her.”

My eyes sting with fresh tears as I nod, missing GiGi fiercely.

“She gave me this card for my bat mitzvah,” Lou says, setting it on my desk. “Her words were a gift to me then, and I hope they can be a gift to you both now.”

And with that, she walks out of the room, leaving my sister and me speechless.

Forty-Six

HANNAH

Libby thrusts the envelope toward me. “You open it.”

Hands shaking, I do. Inside is a greeting card, yellowed and softened with age.Mazel Tov on Your Bat Mitzvah, it reads on the front.

Intrigued, I open the card. And when I see what’s inside, my eyes flood with tears.

“What is it?” Libby says.

Wordlessly, I show her.

“GiGi’s handwriting,” she whispers.

My mind fills with an image of a twelve-year-old Lou in a fancy pink dress at her bat mitzvah party, and a younger version of GiGi there to support her.

Together, Libby and I read the words written more than forty years ago.

Dear LuLu,

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