Better Than Chocolate
Bailey turned at the sound of the door and knocked the urn, making it wobble and their mother gasp. Fortunately, Cecily grabbed it before it could tip.
“Sorry,” Bailey said.
Mom shot a look heavenward. “Put him on the hearth, honey.”
Cecily nodded solemnly and moved Waldo to safety.
Samantha shed her coat and hung it in the closet, then forced herself to walk to the kitchen and ask her mother if she needed help.
Mom shook her head, her gaze riveted on the mugs lined up in front of her on the counter. “Would you like some tea?”
The offer came out stiffly. No surprise. The way they’d been not getting along lately, she could almost envision her mother lacing hers with arsenic. “No. Thanks.”
She suddenly longed for the comfort of her little one-bedroom condo at the edge of town, where she’d find no emotional undercurrents and the new man in her life would be waiting to welcome her—Nibs, her cat. Everyone would be fine here without her. Mom had Cecily and Bailey to keep her company and listen to her Waldo stories. And they could do it guilt-free.
“I think I’ll take off.”
“Stay for a little while,” Mom said.
Or not. Samantha nodded and went to slump on the couch.
“Tea is ready,” Mom announced. Cecily and Bailey both picked up their mugs and returned to join their sister, Cecily taking up a position on the couch next to Samantha and Bailey settling on the hearth beside Waldo.
Mom followed and sat on the yellow leather chair she always read in. She took a sip of her tea, then set the mug on the coffee table, laid back her head and sighed deeply. “I just want you girls to know how much I’ve appreciated the moral support. I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that Waldo is gone.”
“He’ll be missed,” Bailey said.
“Yes, he will,” Mom agreed, giving Samantha a look that dared her to say any different.
No way was she taking that dare. “I need a lemon bar,” she muttered.
“Never mind that. Let’s get the hard stuff,” Cecily said. “Break out the chocolate.”
But there wasn’t so much as a shaving of chocolate in the house. Mom had gone on a binge. So Bailey stayed with her while Samantha and Cecily made a run to the shop.
Sweet Dreams Chocolate Company occupied prime real estate a few streets back from Center Street on a block the locals nicknamed Foodie Paradise. Across from them was Gingerbread Haus, Cassandra Wilkes’s fantasy bakery, specializing in fanciful baked goods. At Christmas she was swamped with orders for her gingerbread houses and shipped them all over the world. Next to that was the Spice Rack, which carried every exotic spice known to man. Every time the door opened, the scent of lavender or sage drifted out to tickle noses and tempt shoppers inside, and whenever she was in town Bailey practically lived there. On the other side of Gingerbread Haus sat Bavarian Brews, where everyone went to chitchat and indulge in great coffee—very convenient when Samantha needed a quick pick-me-up. Down the street they could see Schwangan’s, a five-star restaurant and another popular destination. Its owner and head chef, Franz Reinholdt, made a mean schnitzel.
The Sterlings had the biggest piece of land, though—so far, anyway—and an inspiring view, with their second-story offices looking down on the town from one side and out over the Wenatchee River from the other. The factory and retail store occupied a full block. The warehouse, part of the company’s pre-Waldo expansion, occupied another. It should have been full of a lot more supplies and inventory than it currently was. Sigh.
Samantha unlocked the store, flipped on the light and turned off the alarm as Cecily strolled in.
“Sometimes I miss this place,” Cecily said, taking in the gift shop with its various shelves and display tables of treats. There was plenty to drool over—goodie bags of enrobed fruit, chocolate-dipped apples, potato chips and cookies, boxes of mixed chocolates, gift boxes of salted caramels, cognac truffles made from Great-grandma Rose’s secret recipe, fudge and hot fudge sauces (Mom’s contribution to the line) that ranged from spicy Mexican to chocolate mint. Over in the corner under the TV that played a video feed of the gang in the factory hard at work, shoppers could find all manner of nonedible goodies, including candy dishes, chocolate scented candles, little kitchen signs with chick-centric statements like “The Best Kisses Are Chocolate” and “I’d Give Up Chocolate but I’m No Quitter.”
“You can take the girl out of the chocolate company but you can’t take the chocolate out of the girl,” Samantha teased, snagging a box of truffles and walking over to the cash register. “Have you got any money? All I have on me is a five.” And she was lucky to have that.
Her sister looked at her in shock. “Since when do we have to pay?”
“Since we went broke.” Samantha held out a hand, palm up.
Cecily frowned and dug out her wallet. “I have to pay for chocolate from my own company? This sucks.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“Keep the change,” Cecily said, and handed over a twenty.
“Thanks. I will.”
“It really is bad, isn’t it?”
“No,” Samantha said firmly. Maybe if she said it enough she’d believe it.
As a little girl she’d loved hearing the stories of how Great-grandma Rose started the company in her kitchen, of the recipes that literally came to her in her dreams, how she and her husband, Dusty, used their life’s savings to buy this piece of land and build a modest shop back when Icicle Falls was nothing but a rough-and-tumble collection of mismatched buildings. Sweet Dreams wasn’t just a company. It was a family legend. It was also a source of income for thirty families and she was going to pull them out of this tailspin no matter what it took.
Cecily leaned on the counter and gave her an assessing stare. “Are you lying to me?”
“Yes, but things could be worse. We still have inventory.” Samantha stowed away the money, then opened the box, pulled out a truffle and popped it in her mouth. It hit her taste buds like a drug and she let the sweetness travel over her tongue. She could almost feel a troupe of endorphins doing a happy dance through her body. A girl could bite off even the biggest challenge if it was coated in chocolate.
“So what are we going to do besides eat the inventory?” Cecily asked.
Cecily had been the one dissenting voice way back when they’d talked about taking out a loan and expanding the company, ignoring both Samantha’s charts and Dad’s confidence. At the time Samantha had accused her of a lack of vision.
That was both ironic and stupid, she now had to admit, since Cecily had uncanny instincts. In high school she could always sense a surprise quiz lurking around the corner, and she knew when her sisters were going to break up with their boyfriends long before they ever had a clue. After Dad died, she’d predicted Mom would be remarried within the year. She’d only been off by a few months.
But when it came to business Samantha had prided herself on her expertise and bulldozed over all objections, dreaming big and ready to gamble big, and Dad had backed her. Now, between her ambition and the disaster that was Waldo, she was in danger of losing big. Her father’s confidence had been sadly misplaced. Suddenly the box of truffles was looking all wavy, like they were underwater. She blinked and a tear dropped on the counter.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay,” Cecily said. “You’ll sort things out. I know you will.”
Samantha rolled her eyes. “Do you really believe that or are you trying to make me feel good?”
“A little of both. Meanwhile, though, maybe you could talk to Arnie over at the bank, see what he can do?”
“Arnie’s on his way out.”
Cecily blinked. “What?”
“I heard Cascade Mutual is bringing in a new manager. I have no idea what that person will be like.” Maybe he’d turn out to be as nice as Arnie. She could hope. But realistically, she suspected that the good old days of having a community bank that cared were gone. Arnie had cared a little too much, which had a lot to do with why the bank was under new management.
Cecily twirled a lock of blond hair. “Maybe I could get a loan.”
“No,” Samantha said. “We could be on the Titanic here and if we are, I don’t want you going down with us.”
“We’re family and this is a family business. We stick together. Remember?”
“Thanks.” Her sister’s words were comforting, but when it came right down to it, Samantha was both captain and crew of this ship and steering clear of disaster was going to be her responsibility.
“I’m sure I could come up with something,” Cecily insisted.
L.A. was not a cheap place to live and do business, and Samantha had no intention of saddling her sister with a big chunk of debt. Anyway, Cecily would never be able to come up with the kind of money they needed. “I’ll manage.”
“You always do, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to do this alone. After all, I still owe you for stealing your diary,” Cecily said with a smile.
Samantha couldn’t help smiling, too, at the memory of finding her sister reading her deepest twelve-year-old thoughts to her friends. Pretty darned funny now. Not so much at the time. “You were lucky you lived to see middle school.”
Cecily sobered. “I want to do something to earn my share of the profits when they start coming in again.”
“If I think of something, I’ll let you know,” Samantha told her, but they both knew she didn’t really mean it. She’d already had one person—Waldo—“helping” and that was enough for a lifetime.
Cecily reopened the box and bit into a truffle, then offered another to Samantha. “I know things will turn around.”
“I hope you know as much as you think you know,” Samantha said. Otherwise… Oh, no. She wasn’t going down that rocky road. Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Three
Always stop and think before you act. This is the first rule of good relationships and good business.
—Muriel Sterling, Mixing Business with Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Business and Love
It was Monday, and all was quiet now that the girls were gone. In a way Muriel relished the solitude. It gave her a chance to grieve freely. But the house seemed so empty and she felt so alone. Her daughters had lives of their own to return to, though, and she couldn’t blame them for running off. It certainly wasn’t any fun being with her. She hadn’t even made them breakfast before Samantha took them to the airport.
Muriel poured herself a mug of tea and padded barefoot over to her picture window to gaze at the winter scene outside. Fir and pine trees shook off a thin blanket of snow too wet to stick. The houses on her block sat empty and unlit, waiting for their owners, who all had lives, to return. A truck sloshed down the street, making only a momentary dent in the smothering silence.
Okay, she’d seen enough. She got her tea and went back to bed, placing the mug on the nightstand for easy access. Even though she was wearing a sweater over her favorite silk pajamas the bed still felt cold. Both her husbands had been bed hogs, especially Waldo. He not only slept diagonally, every time he rolled over he pulled the covers with him like a giant ebb tide. It used to irritate her no end. No ebb tide now.
Hot tears pricked her eyes. Hard to believe she had any left after the past week. She wiped them away and took a determined sip of tea. “You can’t just stay in bed all day,” she told herself.
And then argued back. “Why not?” Who cared whether she stayed in bed or got up?
She was alone again.
Oh, stop, she scolded herself. Waldo’s sudden death was a blessing. Would you have wanted him to suffer?
The answer, of course, was no.
With that settled in her mind (for today, anyway), she drank some more tea and surveyed the room like a pioneer checking out new territory. What to do in this new territory? Where to start?
Normally by ten o’clock in the morning she’d already be hard at work on her next book for Mountain Crest Publications, a small Pacific Northwest publisher. She hadn’t made much money as a writer but she’d enjoyed the experience. It held no appeal for her now, though, not when she was back in this dark place.
Those months after Stephen died had been a nightmare, even worse than losing either of her parents—and she’d thought nothing could top that. Widowhood went beyond loneliness. It cut off half your soul.
Now, going through it again so soon was more than she could handle. All she could do was drift through the house like a wraith. With no one to cook for she had no interest in food, not even chocolate, the 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, don’t answer that. I probably wouldn’t have listened.”
“Love is blind,” Cass 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 relationship? 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 God, 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 assist her in any way he could.