Better Than Chocolate. Sheila Roberts
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family’s lifeblood. Planning Waldo’s funeral had been torture. Walking past his desk and seeing all those bills had been terrifying. She had no head for money and math was a mystery, one she’d never needed to solve. After all, she’d had Stephen. When he died the only thing that kept her from throwing herself (or at least her checkbook) off Sleeping Lady Mountain had been the patient helpfulness of Arnie at Cascade Mutual.
She’d breathed a sigh of relief when Waldo rode into her life like a knight on a white horse, but he’d gone out like Don Quixote and here she was again, lost and adrift. Why Waldo, of all people? He’d been so sweet, and his laugh—everyone, including her, had loved to hear him laugh. Without him the house was a tomb and she felt numb. And the book she’d been working on was as dead as her husband.
Her editor had wanted Muriel to capitalize on her chocolate connection more than she had in her previous books and had urged her to do a cookbook featuring chocolate recipes. She’d resisted. She’d been so happy with Waldo she’d wanted to write about how to start over again. She couldn’t write about that now. She couldn’t write. Period.
She set the mug on the nightstand and slipped under the covers. Cocooned beneath her down comforter, she eventually drifted off to sleep and found Waldo.
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 dashing 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 whooshing 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 glass 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 fashionable in jeans, ankle boots and a faux-fur-trimmed jacket. She was holding what had to be the world’s largest wineglass 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 Cassandra 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 glass and handed Samantha a hot dog skewered on a stainless-steel toasting fork. “Welcome to the celebration. Have a dick-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, wishing 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,” Cass said, raising her glass 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,” Cass 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,” Cass said.
“Me, neither,” Charley’s sister threw in.
“Why didn’t you guys say something?” Charley demanded. “No, never mind,