Better Than Chocolate Part 2

But he wasn't the only one keeping her company in her dreams. Stephen showed up, too, and there they were, all at a dance at Festival Hall, dressed in German attire.

She had just danced with Stephen, who looked das.h.i.+ng in lederhosen, and now Waldo was sweeping her away in a polka. "Come on, Muriel, old girl, let's have fun. Life is short."

Suddenly the doors to the hall blew open and a swirling black tornado entered the room, whisking Muriel off her feet and separating her from him. Salted caramels swirled all around her and she kept grabbing for them, but she couldn't catch even one. And now the wind was whoos.h.i.+ng her out the door. "No, I'm not ready to leave!"

Muriel's eyes popped open. It took her a second to realize she was home in bed with late-afternoon shadows sprawled across the bedspread. She couldn't have slept the day away. She looked at the clock. It was going on four. She had.

And what had that strange dream been about? What was her subconscious trying to tell her? Maybe that she was going insane.

Bailey gave Samantha one more hug and then followed Cecily into Sea-Tac Airport to catch their late-afternoon flight to L.A.

Once through the sliding gla.s.s doors both sisters turned and waved a final goodbye. She waved back and swallowed a lump in her throat. Not for the first time she wished they lived closer, but a girl had to follow her dreams. It was too bad their dreams had led them all in different directions.

She heaved a sigh, then got in her trusty Toyota and began the two-hour drive back to the other side of the mountains. She'd barely get home in time to bake cookies before going to hang out with her other sisters, sisters of the heart. Monday wasn't normally a party night but tonight was an exception.

Back home, Samantha baked up the cookie dough Bailey had left in her freezer. Then she pulled on her down coat and her winter boots and walked the short distance from her condo to her friend Charley's snug little house, which overlooked Icicle Creek. A moonlit sky speckled with stars lit her way, but she could have found the house just as easily by following the noise. A soundtrack of Gloria Gaynor singing "I Will Survive" was blasting an accompaniment to raucous laughter. Obviously the party was in full swing.

She walked around to the back of the house. The deck was lit with several strings of pink flamingo party lights. Patio chairs sprawled every which way and a picnic table was laden with salads and desserts. But the action was taking place around the fire pit on the lawn, and in the center of it all stood Charlene Albach. Charley, a slender woman in her mid-thirties with dark hair cut in a messy bob, looked fas.h.i.+onable in jeans, ankle boots and a faux-fur-trimmed jacket. She was holding what had to be the world's largest winegla.s.s and dumping a handful of photos onto a roaring bonfire.

"Samantha, get yourself down here," she called. "We're burning weenies."

The symbolism wasn't lost on Samantha and she smiled as she put her cookies on the table. She plucked one off the plate and then walked down to join the group of women gathered around the fire. One she recognized as Charley's older sister, Amy, who had come up from Portland for the occasion. And there was Elena, Samantha's loyal secretary; Lauren, her teller from the bank; her pal Ca.s.sandra Wilkes from Gingerbread Haus; Heidi Schwartz, who worked part-time in the Sweet Dreams gift shop; and Rita Reyes and Maria Gomez, who worked for Charley at her restaurant, Zelda's-all present to help Charley celebrate her first official day of freedom. Earlier that morning Charley's divorce had become final.

She set aside her gla.s.s and handed Samantha a hot dog skewered on a stainless-steel toasting fork. "Welcome to the celebration. Have a d.i.c.k-on-a-stick."

From their side of the fire Rita and Maria laughed uproariously. "I need more wine," Rita said. "Can I get you some?" she asked Samantha.

Samantha didn't have much of a palate for wine. She shook her head. "Nah, I'm good."

"You have to drink something. We're going to be toasting my future, you know," Charley said. "Get her some of that ChocoVine. It tastes just like Baileys. You'll like it," she informed Samantha. "Trust me."

"'Trust me'-isn't that what worthless old Richard said to you?" quipped her sister.

Charley scowled. "Yes, he did." She picked up more pictures of her ex and sprinkled them over the fire. "Here, baby, make yourself useful."

All the women sent up a cheer, including Samantha. Even as she did, she thought of her mother, probably sitting home in that yellow leather chair of hers, wis.h.i.+ng Waldo was still alive. But there was leaving and there was leaving. Waldo hadn't left voluntarily. Richard had opted for a dishonorable discharge from marriage, taking off with the hostess from Zelda's.

Either way, though, both women had wound up on their own. When it came right down to it, Samantha concluded, the one person a girl could count on was herself.

"So," Ca.s.s said, raising her gla.s.s after Rita had returned to the fire. "To a new and better future for our girl here."

"To a new and better future," they all echoed and drank.

"And to never having to watch another football game," Ca.s.s added.

"I'll drink to that," said Maria. "My boyfriend." She rolled her eyes. "One of these days he's going to turn into a football."

"Better than turning into a cheater." Charley threw another pile of photos on the fire. "I am so glad I found out what kind of man Richard really was before I wasted another twelve years on him."

"Twelve years is a long time," Amy said.

For a moment Charley's eyes glistened with tears but she lifted her chin and said, "Too long, and I'm not wasting so much as a minute missing that man. He can have his new woman and his new restaurant in the city. Seattle's loss is my gain. And I have the bed all to myself now."

"I'm jealous," her sister murmured.

"I can watch as many episodes of What Not to Wear as I want," Charlie continued, "leave the dishes in the sink and spend my money however I decide. And I bet I've lost more weight than anyone here."

"You do look great," Samantha agreed.

"You would, too, if you'd lost a hundred and fifty-five pounds of dead weight," Charley cracked, "and good riddance."

"You know, I never liked him," Ca.s.s said.

"Me, neither," Charley's sister threw in.

"Why didn't you guys say something?" Charley demanded. "No, never mind, don't answer that. I probably wouldn't have listened."

"Love is blind," Ca.s.s said. "And dumb."

As the night went on the women shared memories, collecting evidence that Richard the defector was indeed nothing but a rat. The wine flowed and the party got increasingly loud, especially when Charley cranked up the CD and the women started singing at the top of their lungs to "Before He Cheats," "Over It" and "I Can Do Better."

Finally a neighbor a couple of houses away hollered, "Shut up over there," and everyone giggled.

The food and drink was consumed and the fire had flickered down to embers and the women remembered they had to work the following day. Charley smiled around the circle at all of them. "Thanks for coming, you guys, and for helping me feel positive about the future."

"You're always positive about the future," Heidi said. "I'm not sure I could be if I was in your shoes."

Samantha doubted Heidi-with a husband who adored her and an adorable baby-would ever have to worry about that.

Charley managed a shrug. "There were a few times this past year when I didn't feel very positive at all. But you know what? I'm taking back my life. I've got a lot of years ahead of me and I intend to enjoy every one of them."

"You think you'll ever get married again?" Heidi asked.

Charley made a cross with her fingers as if warding off a vampire. "Bite your tongue."

"You might want somebody around to bite yours once in a while." Rita laughed. "Or other parts of you."

"Men are still good for some things," Elena put in. "In fact, they're good for a lot of things. You shouldn't give up on all of them just because you got a bad one."

"Yes," said Lauren, who was dating Joe Coyote, the nicest man in town.

"Well, when you find a good one, let me know and I'll take him-to the cleaner's." Charley's comment made everyone laugh. "Seriously," she added, "love's a gamble, and I'm done gambling."

"Heck, all of life's a gamble," Samantha said.

Charley gave her a one-armed hug. "You're right. But I'm going to make sure the deck's stacked in my favor, so from now on I'll just keep men as friends."

"Friends with benefits?" Rita teased as they tossed the last of the paper plates on the embers.

"Maybe." Charley shrugged. "Who knows what the future holds. I'm open to anything but marriage."

"But don't you want kids?" Heidi asked.

Samantha thought of Elena's handicapped daughter and the baby Rita had lost last year. Parenthood could be as risky as marriage.

"I don't need a man to have children," Charley said. "That's why there's adoption. Meanwhile, you'll share James, right? I'll be his Aunt Charley and spoil him rotten."

Baby-sharing. It saved a girl from those pesky little complications, like men. And childbirth. Still, it wasn't the same as having a child of your own.

As Samantha walked home she had plenty to think about. Did she ever want to try and have a serious relations.h.i.+p? Her parents had had a great marriage. It could be done. Every man out there wasn't a Waldo or a Richard. And just because she'd picked one Mr. Wrong didn't mean she couldn't find Mr. Right. Although she was beginning to wonder what the odds of that were. She hadn't dated anyone since college who even qualified as Mr. Maybe. Sheesh.

Look at it this way, she told herself. Your life has nowhere to go but up.

Or not. At the office the next morning Samantha ground her teeth as she sat at Waldo's old desk, which was now going to be hers, and sorted through a mountain of papers in preparation for meeting with Lizzy, who had, thank G.o.d, consented to return. There was the mock-up for their spring catalog that he'd insisted on looking at three weeks ago and then ignored. And what did he need with a week's worth of old newspapers? In another pile she found several threatening letters from suppliers who hadn't been paid. She'd have to start calling them this afternoon, explain about Waldo's death and beg for mercy. Oh, and here was a week-old invitation from Cascade Mutual to come to their open house and meet the new manager, Blake Preston, who, according to the invite, was anxious to a.s.sist her in any way he could.

Blake Preston? The former football hero of Icicle Falls High? He'd been four years ahead of her in school and she'd been too young for his crowd, but it was a small school and everyone knew everyone. He'd winked at her a few times when they'd pa.s.sed in the hall, like that was supposed to make her day. It had.

Yes, good old Blake had been a player both on and off the field. But how the heck had he wound up as a bank manager? Banking and football didn't exactly go hand in hand.

She frowned, remembering the jocks she'd shared cla.s.ses with as a college business major, not to mention the one she almost married. Guys like that spent more time studying their playbooks than listening to what the professor had to say in lecture hall. Some of those doofs should never have been given a business degree, but they'd gotten one, anyway. Her doof not only got a degree, he'd dumped her and gotten the richest girl in their graduating cla.s.s. (And a cushy job with Daddy, too.) Thank G.o.d she'd gone out of state for her college education. At least she'd never have to see him and Mrs. Doof again. Wherever he'd ended up, he was probably busy ignoring his company to play golf and lunch with his old frat buddies.

So what old frat buddy had given Blake Preston entree into the world of banking? Whoever it was, he hadn't done Icicle Falls any favor. She tossed the invite in the wastebasket and kept digging.

One more layer of paper down she found a ticking time bomb-another piece of correspondence from the bank, this one not so nice. Her heart s.h.i.+fted into overdrive and she fell back against Waldo's big leather chair, sure she was going to have a heart attack. There, under the Cascade Mutual letterhead, was a cold but polite missive informing her stepfather that Sweet Dreams was behind on its loan payment. "As you are aware"-were they?-"Cascade Mutual Bank has a strict ninety-day grace period regarding overdue installment payments. This grace period has expired on your note in the amount of..."

Ooooh. The numbers danced in front of her eyes like tiny demons. No, this couldn't be happening! She read on.

"Because Sweet Dreams Chocolates and Cascade Mutual Bank have a long-standing relations.h.i.+p, we are extending the grace period until February 28, at which time the aforementioned amount is due in full. It is hoped this matter can be resolved as soon as possible."

Only if she started printing money in the bas.e.m.e.nt. What in the name of G.o.diva was she going to do?

Hyperventilate! A bag, where was a bag? She couldn't breathe. She was going to be sick. She needed chocolate! Her cell phone rang. The ring tone-Gwen Stefani's "Sweet Escape"-told her it was Cecily and she grabbed it like a lifeline. "Cec, we... Oh, I'm going to pa.s.s out. Where's a bag?" She rifled through desk drawers, but came up all she came up with was an old cigar, paper clips, rubber bands and-what was this? A stress ball. She scooped it up and strangled it.

"What's wrong?"

"We- The bank. Oh, my G.o.d, I can't believe this!" Samantha wailed, and burst into tears.

Now she'd made so much noise that Elena had rushed into the office. "What's going on?" One look at Samantha and the blood drained from her face. "Madre de Dios."

"Get me chocolate," Samantha panted, and squeezed the stress ball again. These things were useless. She threw it across the room and grabbed a fistful of hair as Elena rushed off to find a dose of restorative chocolate.

"Sam, tell me what's going on," Cecily demanded.

"The bank is calling in their note. As if everything wasn't already enough of a mess. As if we didn't already owe the whole friggin' world! My G.o.d, what did I ever do to deserve this? Is it because I bossed you guys around when we were little? I'm sorry. And I shouldn't have stood up Tony Barrone for homecoming. No, that's not it. It's because I yelled at Waldo."

"Sam, please," Cecily pleaded. "You're scaring me."

Be afraid. Be very afraid. What old movie was that from? Probably one where everybody died.

Samantha laid her head on the desk and pulled a newspaper over her. Now she understood why the groundhog went back underground when it saw its shadow. She wished she could dig a hole and pull it in after herself and never come out.

From a distance her sister called, "Sam? Sam!"

"I give up," she moaned, pulling the phone under her paper tent and back to her ear. "I surrender. Match me up with a millionaire. I just want to lie around on a yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean and drink ChocoVine."

"No, you don't," Cecily said firmly. "You're not wired that way and you'd be bored out of your mind in a week."

"I'm not wired for this," Samantha whimpered.

"It's going to be okay."

Elena was back now, slipping an open box of truffles under the newspaper.

"Thank you," Samantha said. She shoved a handful in her mouth.

Elena lifted a corner of the paper and peered under it. "What else do you need?"

"A new life." Samantha pulled the newspaper off her head and forced herself to sit up and push her hair out of her eyes. "I'm fine," she told both Elena and herself. "Just a temporary meltdown."

Her secretary hovered, looking doubtful.

"Really. It's okay." What a big, fat liar she was.

Elena still looked dubious, but she got the hint and left, shutting the door behind her.

Samantha picked up her phone. "Okay. I'm okay now." No, she wasn't. Who was she kidding? Where were they going to get that kind of money?

"Maybe you could go over to the bank and charm the new guy in charge into giving you a little more time," Cecily suggested.

They'd given her a little more time. Very little. "This is business. Charm doesn't enter into it." d.a.m.n.

"Charm enters into business more than you realize," Cecily said.

Samantha sighed. "You're right. I'll have to go over there and talk to the new manager. Sweet Dreams is a vital part of the town's economy. It's in everyone's interest for the bank to work with us and help us get through this rough patch." That was exactly what she'd say to him. Rules could be bent if everyone benefited in the long run.

She took a deep cleansing breath and told herself she felt better already. Big, fat liar.

"There you go," Cecily said encouragingly.

"And I'll take him some of our wares," Samantha decided. "Who doesn't like chocolate?"

"Charm and bribery, a businesswoman's best friends."

Samantha sure hoped so. She thanked her sister for the shrink session, then buzzed Elena on the office phone.