Sweet Dreams on Center Street (3 page)

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

I
t 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.”