Page 1 of Cakewalk

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Gigi

“Where in the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks am I?” Gigi Hawthorne muttered out loud, as if there were someone else in the car. All this time alone was starting to get to her.

Three days.

That's how long she’d been driving. That was how long it had been since she’d left her husband at the altar back in Atlanta. At least, she assumed he had made it to the altar. If there was one thing Bradley was a stickler for it was tradition. There was no way he would have tried to seek her out before the ceremony, even if it was a vow renewal rather than their actual wedding. Not that these vows would have been any less of a sham than their first set.

Gigi sighed heavily, trying to come to terms with the fact that she had no idea where she was or how she got so lost. Actually, that wasn’t true—she knew how she got lost. She'd taken a wrong turn somewhere around Philadelphia and then another just outside of New York City. Potentially one or two in Massachusetts. Which is what led her into Vermont. At least she was pretty sure that’s how she got here.

Jesus, now would be a really good time to take the wheel…

Figuring out where she was going had never been much of a problem, but then again, that fancy navigation system built into her BMW had been much easier to use than an app on her phone. Her BMW was also a lot more comfortable than the fifteen-year-old Jeep she’d bought from some random independent car lot on the outskirts of Atlanta. Gigi had said a silent prayer when she purchased it that it wasn’t stolen. The car salesman had been all too eager to accept her paying him in actual cash for her to not worry about such a thing. But she’d needed a car that couldn’t be traced back to her—and preferably one that would blend in with the surroundings—for her fresh start in the great white north.

The two-lane highway she was on was starting to seem like it would wind and stretch on forever though. Did Vermont not believe in road signs? How was a girl supposed to know where she was? The navigation app had alerted her that there was a big accident on the interstate and that the best route was to get off the highway and follow this road. Although now the GPS seemed to have cut out completely.

“You can do this. You can do this,” she repeated, again out loud, giving herself a little pep talk. You’ve got this. You're a new woman. A strong, independent woman.

“You’ve never done anything on your own, ever, Georgia. What makes you think you can start now?” Her husband’s voice rang out in her mind, in his usual condescending tone.

Late husband. Bradley is your late husband, she reminded herself, rehearsing those words again. His opinion didn’t matter anymore. Bradley was the past.

Glancing back at the phone to check the GPS, Gigi was more than a little frustrated to find nothing but a large gray rectangle. The little blue dot was drifting all over the screen, almost like it was possessed. She sighed again, trying not to let the frustration get to her. The last thing she needed was to get all worked up on top of being lost. A quick look around her revealed nothing but more wooded area, same as it had been since she’d gotten off the interstate, other than a break for a few homes or farms. At least she thought it was farms that she passed. What do farms look like in New England? Do they look the same as they do in Georgia? Gigi gripped the steering wheel harder, trying to channel her frustration. There had to be a road sign somewhere, right? She figured it’d be asking way too much for some kind of sign pointing her back to the highway, but maybe, just maybe, there would be a gas station up ahead where she could get directions.

Suddenly, the steering wheel jerked underneath her hands, and the Jeep’s back end started to fishtail. Oh shiitake, do I turn in or out of the skid? Why don’t I remember this? Slamming on the brakes, jerking the wheel to the right, Gigi prayed she was doing the right thing. The front end seemed to have a mind of its own now, as it stopped on a dime, but her back end was still in motion, sending her into a spin. Gigi could only see the blur of trees and overcast skies surrounding her as if she were in some kind of vortex. She could feel her heart pounding so hard that it felt like it could burst through her chest as she slammed her eyes shut and let out a little shriek.

A moment later—one that had simultaneously felt like forever and an instant all at once—the Jeep stopped moving. Gigi placed her hand over her heart, feeling its rapid movement under her breastplate as she tried to catch her breath. A quick glance over at the passenger seat revealed that the contents of her purse were now in a pile on the floor, but that seemed to be the only harm done. At least inside the vehicle. Once her heart had calmed a bit, she glanced outside to see if there was any oncoming traffic before opening the door and hopping out. Sliding her eyes along the vehicle, she quickly found the culprit.

Her rear tire was flat.

“Okay, Gigi, time to learn how to change a tire!” she said, looking up and down the road again. She hadn’t seen another car for miles, but a girl could hope in a moment like this. Just one question…where was the spare tire?

Grabbing her phone from the car, Gigi closed the navigation app. Stupid thing wasn’t doing anything but eating battery at this point anyway. Typing into Google, “where is a spare tire on a Jeep?”, her heart sank when the screen immediately flipped to a message telling her that there wasn’t service and it would save her search for when there was.

Oh for heaven’s sake! What good is that going to do? What would Scarlett O'Hara do? she thought, taking in a long, deep breath. She wouldn’t have been stupid enough to get herself into this kind of mess…

Feeling the sting of tears start to prick at the corner of her eyes, Gigi surveyed the scene some more. She couldn’t let herself cry. She hadn’t cried once since leaving Bradley, and she wasn’t going to let something as stupid as a flat tire be what got to her. She was a strong, independent woman. Not that that reminder meant a whole lot right now as she stood on the side of the road, stranded in the middle of nowhere Vermont. If anything, all it was doing was increasing the volume of the little voice in the back of her mind telling her that she was as useless as Bradley used to say.

“Georgia,” his deep southern accent would drawl. “You’re a pretty face and a great hostess. You can organize a luncheon like none other. But when it comes to practical things, maybe it’s best you left that to others more capable.”

“I am perfectly capable of figuring things out!” she’d retorted more times than she could count. But it didn’t matter—he wasn’t listening. He’d made up his mind long ago that she wasn’t good at any number of things, and his mind was not about to be changed. So what if she wasn’t a natural at cooking or cleaning or any of those things normal people did. She’d gone from her parents’ house—that had a staff taking care of all of that—to her husband’s house. The fact that he was more than happy to hire a staff rather than give her a chance to prove herself was not something she could really control. He’d kept such a tight grip on everything that even if she had tried, all she would have been met with was his fist.

Bradley was dead though. At least dead to her. Without him, she was finally going to figure out who GeorgiaGrace Elyse Hawthorne, née Shaw, really was. Maybe not the fun college co-ed version she had been when they’d first got together, but a more mature, grown-up version. She was going to be the sweet, southern widow getting back on her feet after the sudden loss of her husband. While part of her was going to miss being a “lady who lunched,” a bigger part was looking forward to this new adventure. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but that didn’t matter. She had something to prove, even if it was just to herself.

The sound of gravel crunching and the hue of flashing blue lights brought Gigi's thoughts back to the present and the still very flat tire in front of her. Swiping away the tears that seemed to have escaped, she turned to see a police cruiser pulling up behind her Jeep. A tall, well-built officer stepped out from the car and made his way over, surveying the flat tire.

“Ma’am,” he said, a slightly southern accent poking through. His accent had been diluted, probably from years living up here, but it was there. A little wave of relief rushed through her at the sound.

“Officer,” she returned.

“Looks like you got yourself a flat tire, Miss…” he replied, drawing out the end of his sentence, looking for an answer on how to finish it.

“Hawthorne. Gigi Hawthorne,” she said, letting her own drawl shine through.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Hawthorne. I’m Officer Nelligan. Would you like some help?”

“I…um…well. This isn’t my usual vehicle, and I’m just a tad unsure where the spare is exactly,” she admitted, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more questions.