Page 50 of Vodka and Chocolate Drops

Climbing into the golf cart, she turned the key. Nothing. Not even a click. It couldn’t be out of gas. It had to be the battery, or the starter. She jiggled the battery connection and tried again. Still nothing. Mandy’s fiancé, Frankie, had once said something about solenoid when Mandy’s 4x4 refused to start. Not that Amber had any clue what that meant. Only that something had to be tapped or replaced, or required some magical mumbo-jumbo that probably involved incantations chanted with one’s eyes crossed while waving a special wrench over the engine.

Which meant Amber was walking to town.

Actually, she should jog. She was rebuilding herself, right? She should exercise. Too much time in front of the keyboard wasn’t good for her butt. Back in the house she changed into her favorite pair of sneakers and tied them nice and tight. It was a gorgeous day, with the meadows and hills turning green, contrasting against the rocky cliffs, and looking like something from a magazine. The clouds seemed impossibly high in the sky as she jogged down the short gravel driveway, then skipped out on to the road that led to town. So far, so good. She felt springy and spry. It was easy. She could practically see a new Amber developing as she ran. Toned arms, slim waist, and a butt to die for.

A few feet down the road she developed a stitch in her side and her breathing became jagged. She glanced back at the distance she had come. The house still looked big, barely more than a stone’s throw away.

She continued along, trying to work out the cramp as her mind flitted over all the things in her life that weren’t lining up the way she wanted. A familiar panicky feeling made it harder to breathe, and she slowed to a walk before finally placing her hands on her knees and bending over, gasping.

This couldn’t be her life.

It couldn’t be.

She’d gone from a single child and girlfriend of a minor local celebrity to a spectacle with more family secrets than Blueberry Springs had rumors.

She began moving again at a slow trot, paying special attention to her breathing, trying to find balance. She could fix this. She could get the life she wanted. Delia had done it. So could Amber. It was within reach. Possible.

As she neared town, a vehicle pulled up alongside her. It was Mary Alice and a woman everyone knew as Gran.

“Need a ride?” Mary Alice asked, window down.

“Just walking, thanks,” Amber said, trying not to sound too out of breath while doing a half jog, half walk. She probably looked as though she was trying to hustle herself to a washroom before disaster struck.

“It seems like you’re in a hurry.”

“Just exercising.” She continued moving, attempting to seem relaxed as Mary Alice drove slowly alongside.

“I saw you on the news,” Gran said. “Everyone keeps saying the book’s not about you, although I found it strikingly similar. Well, except for you and Scott, of course.”

Amber stopped, hands on her hips, her lungs searing with pain. “Yeah?”

“You need to make a big scene like Mandy did. No man can say no to a grand declaration of love,” Gran advised, and Mary Alice nodded thoughtfully in agreement.

That could be true. The dress hadn’t worked, but Jen had admitted it hadn’t been a large part of her snagging Rob, either. But Mandy had engaged in a grand act that had definitely showed Frankie the depth of her intent.

Which meant Amber needed to talk to her friend.

“Who was that woman with you the other day?” Mary Alice asked. “She looks so much like your mother did at that age.”

“Long lost relative,” Amber said as she picked up her speed, hoping to leave the car behind. Instead, it sped up and kept pace.

She needed to get to Blueberry Springs. Needed to pick Mandy’s brain. Not get sucked into revealing gossip about herself, her mother, her life.

“Sister, perhaps?” Mary Alice asked with a pointed look.

“You should wear one of those special bras,” Gran suggested. “You know, the kind that give you one boob. What are they called? Sort of smashes it all so it doesn’t bounce up and give you a black eye.”

“It’s called a sports bra,” Amber said. She turned to the car. “Can I catch a ride?”

“Will you tell me who Delia is?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Mary Alice sighed and stopped to let her in. “No point wearing out the soles of a perfectly good pair of shoes. I’ll figure out who she is one way or another.”

That was what Amber feared--and that her mother wasn’t prepared for her secret to be exposed.

“Mary Alice, let it go. She’s just a distant relative.”

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