by Sharon Struth
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GENRE: Women's Fiction
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BLURB:
Mamie Weber doesn’t know why she survived that terrible
car accident five years ago. Physically, she has only a slight reminder—but
emotionally, the pain is still fresh. Deep down she knows her husband would
have wanted her to embrace life again. Now she has an opportunity to do just
that, spending two weeks in Tuscany reviewing a tour company for her employer’s
popular travel guide series. The warmth of the sun, the centuries-old art, a
villa on the Umbrian border—it could be just the adventure she needs.
But with adventure comes the unexpected . . . like discovering that her entire tour group is made up of aging ex-hippies reminiscing about their Woodstock days. Or finding herself drawn to the guide, Julian, who is secretly haunted by a tragedy of his own, and seems to disapprove any time she tries something remotely risky—like an impromptu scooter ride with a local man.
As they explore the hilltop towns of Tuscany, Mamie knows that when this blissful excursion is over, she’ll have to return to reality. But when you let yourself wander, life can take some interesting detours . . .
But with adventure comes the unexpected . . . like discovering that her entire tour group is made up of aging ex-hippies reminiscing about their Woodstock days. Or finding herself drawn to the guide, Julian, who is secretly haunted by a tragedy of his own, and seems to disapprove any time she tries something remotely risky—like an impromptu scooter ride with a local man.
As they explore the hilltop towns of Tuscany, Mamie knows that when this blissful excursion is over, she’ll have to return to reality. But when you let yourself wander, life can take some interesting detours . . .
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EXCERPT
In the
driver’s seat sat a square-faced man with a full Romanesque nose and short,
dark hair. He greeted her with a wide smile. “Ciao, bella.”
She climbed
the steps and smiled back. “Hello. I mean, Ciao. Sorry I’m late.”
Before the
nice man in the driver’s seat could respond, a man standing about halfway down
the aisle said, “I’m sorry, miss. You’ve got the wrong bus.”
Whoever he
was, his cargo shorts and faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt didn’t carry any
authority. But he held a clipboard, and his tone suggested he meant business.
His Gaelic-looking face carried a slight boyish quality, hardened into a manly
appearance due to his trimly cut mustache and beard. Wavy hair the color of
cognac peeked out from beneath a gold cap with orange and blue lettering
reading Wanderlust Excursions.
“I’m sure
the hotel front desk can help you find the right tour.” He gave her a
now-hurry-along smile and turned back to the man he’d been talking to.
“Did I just
talk to you on the phone?”
He lifted
his chin and raised a brow. “We’re waiting for Felix.” His gaze traveled her
from top to bottom then he looked her in the eyes. “I’m pretty sure you’re not
Felix?”
“No,
but...” Mamie became aware of the silence and scanned the passengers.
Everyone in
the full bus stared back. Quiet. Curious. She squirmed and her gaze drifted
back to the man who seemed to be in charge.
“No. I’m
not Felix, but if this is Wanderlust Excursions, it’s where I’m supposed to
be.”
He
squinted. “Wait. Are you the woman who answered Felix’s phone?”
“Yes. I’m
taking his place on the tour.”
He snorted.
A short, patronizing laugh. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because
you’re clearly not Felix.”
“But he
transferred his vouchers to me.”
“Nobody
told me. Our company rules state that purchased seats are not transferrable
without prior home office approval.” He frowned and studied her again.
“Besides, this is a specialized tour and you’re not a member of this group.
Felix is.”
“How do you
know I’m not?”
His lip
curled into a little smirk. “Did you attend Woodstock?”
“The
concert?”
“Is there
another one?”
“Well, no,
but...” Mamie scanned the other passengers more carefully. Other than the
guide—everyone else was probably over fifty-five. Maybe even over sixty. “What
group are they part of?”
“They
are”—the guide, whose company sponsored tag read Julian, glanced at his
clipboard—“the Woodstock Wanderers.”
“Felix may
not have been part of it either.” Mamie never heard him mention them before.
“Are you
kidding? Felix was one of our founder members.” A man with thinning white hair,
dark-rimmed glasses, and a full white beard sitting in the front seat winked at
Mamie. “Bernie” in capital letters sat square in the center of a nametag with a
tie-dyed background. Beneath his name it said, “Favorite Woodstock Song: ‘Let’s
Go Get Stoned,’ Joe Cocker.”
Mamie
would’ve never put Bernie together with that song, but... The bus’s silence and
everyone watching her jarred her back to the problem at hand. “Felix never
mentioned your group to me.”
Guess she
knew Felix but didn’t know him. The truth about how she and Felix knew each
other, though, wasn’t something she could share.
So she did
the only thing she could do. Staring Julian square in the eye, she said, “Uncle
Felix wanted me to take this trip. I’m his niece. He insisted I go in his
place.”
“His niece,
huh?” The tour director rubbed the back of his neck and considered her again.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry he’s decided not to come, but on the transfer, I
can’t budge. Rules are rules.”
A thin
gentleman sitting a couple rows behind Bernie, with salt-and-pepper patches of
hair above his ears, piped in. “Julian. Dude. Can’t you just go with the flow?
She looks harmless. Let her come.”
Mamie
squinted. His tag read Bob, but before she could read more, the others joined
in with choruses of “yeahs,” and she looked away.
“You know
what they say, Julian.” A woman with curly brown hair, peace sign earnings, and
a pretty smile said, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.”
Mamie noted
her nametag read Martha and her favorite Woodstock song was “Suite Judy Blue
Eyes” by Crosby, Still, and Nash.
Julian
pursed his lips. “All due respect Martha, me losing my job isn’t exactly small
stuff.”
Martha
grinned slyly and winked. “We promise to keep it a secret from the boss.” She glanced
around. “Right everybody?”
Another
chorus of loud “yeahs” filled the bus.
One slim
man with thinning hair who sat in the last row fist bumped the air. “We aren’t
afraid of the man.”
The
passengers murmured and nodded, complete agreement on that one. Mamie loved
this solidarity. Though she’d never considered herself a hippie—more like a
loner—she had an incredible urge to be part of this group.
Julian
watched them, frowning. He refocused his attention on Mamie. “Sorry. I’m going
to have to ask you to step out so we can start. We’re already running late.”
Normally,
Mamie respected timeliness, schedules, and rules. But she had a job to do. A
mission to accomplish.
“Please. My
uncle, he really wanted me to go and—”
Julian took
several swift steps to the front of the bus and stopped close to her. He
dropped his voice. “Listen, this isn’t personal. The last thing I need is to
lose this job. Do me a solid and go see if you can get any of your money back.”
She quietly
replied, “You don’t understand. I need to go on this tour.”
He narrowed
his hard green eyes, but before he could say a thing, a chant filled the air.
“Let her
stay. Let her stay. Let her stay.”
A
blond-haired woman with a cherub face who sat at Bernie’s side spoke up over
the chant. “Doesn’t she remind you of Tracy, Bern?” Her nametag read Sandra and
her favorite Woodstock song was “Amazing Grace” by Arlo Guthrie. She patted
Julian’s arm in a very maternal way. “Tracy’s our daughter. We’d love having
some young energy around. Tracy’s just too busy working to spend any time with
us.”
Julian’s
lower lip dropped. He drew in a deep breath, looked at Mamie, and motioned to
the door. “Let’s talk outside.”
She turned
and headed off the bus. Little did he know, she wasn’t about to back down. Nothing
would stop her from getting on this bus or making the most of this adventure.
Two very good reasons existed for fighting the good fight.
The memory
of her husband and daughter.
Buy
Links: $.99 during the tour (please check price before purchasing)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and
Links:
When she’s not working, she and her husband happily sip their
way through the scenic towns of the Connecticut Wine Trail, travel the world,
and enjoy spending time with their precious pets and two grown daughters. She
writes from the friendliest place she’s ever lived, Bethel, Connecticut. For
more information, including where to find her published essays, please
visit her website or visit her blog,
Musings from the Middle Ages & More
Find
Sharon on Social Media at:
Twitter:
@sharonstruth
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GIVEAWAY
The tour dates can be found
here
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My review:
3.75 out of 5 stars
The Sweet Life by Sharon Struth is a gentle woman’s
fiction story that addresses survivor’s guilt and learning to live again
instead of exist. The author provides a delicious trip through parts of Italy
under the guise of a tour mostly populated by a group of former Woodstock fans
with the last-minute addition of a woman conducting a covert evaluation of the
tour—provided she can get past the by-the-book guide.
I enjoyed the slow burn and gradual acceptance that marks
the relationship between the hero and heroine against the beautiful backdrop of
Tuscany. The tasty dishes described and the picturesque landmarks visited by
the group make me want to see the country and experience these things for
myself. I ached for the tragedies that have shaped both main characters and
rooted for them to find a way to enjoy life again but the ethical struggles
were a bit frustrating to me and I wasn’t thrilled by the abrupt and open-ended
resolution of the story. It also would have been nice if some of the secondary
characters were developed a little more, but I enjoyed the glimpses of them I
did get.
This was an enjoyable way to armchair travel and gain an
appreciation of both the food and people of Italy while accompanying a couple
of people on their own emotional journey.
A copy of this title was provided to me for review
