The lost idealism of my youth drifted back to me at the most unusual and inconvenient times, like the whiff of something sweet passing by. As I took in Amber's hometown, it left behind a vexing question—if Amber really was as innocent as her quiet little hometown appeared to be, then what did that say about those of us who were using her loss of innocence, the ultimate destruction of her dreams, to boost ratings?

If I was unsure where to stand on the issue of Amber Anderson, her hometown seemed to have no question. Hanging proudly over Main Street was a huge banner that said,

WELCOME!
DAILY REUNION DAYS FIRST WEEKEND IN APRIL

Below that, two workmen with ladders were tacking on a hand-lettered addition that read,

Birthplace of Amber Anderson,
American Megastar's Hometown Finalist

Vote for Amber!

A sick feeling gurgled in my throat and drained slowly to my stomach, producing the fleeting thought that I should have brought along the prescription ulcer medication Mother tried to give me before I left LA. She said I looked like I needed it, and now I knew I did. The Tex-Mex breakfast taco I'd eaten before taking an aerial tour of Daily in a network affiliate helicopter was rolling around in my stomach like hot lead.

My sixth sense, the one my best friend, Paula, jokingly called the Doom-o-meter, was in full emergency warning mode, which could only mean that disaster was headed my way like a freight train. I could feel it in some vague way I couldn't explain. If Paula had been standing there with me on the corner of Third and Main in Daily, Texas, she would have—after making some joke about the Doom-o-meter—filtered through her Buddhist-Kabala-New-Age spiritual philosophy and told me this place contained bad Karma. She would've dragged me off to her favorite soothsayer, Madame Murae, who told fortunes in her sandwich shop when she wasn't busy making roast beef on rye. Yesterday when Madame Murae gave me my sandwich, she turned over the love card.

"Ah, love awaits," she mused, squinting at the card as she grabbed a styro cup and put it under the Diet Coke spigot without looking.

"I'm engaged." I felt the giddy little tickle I always got when I said those words. I'm engaged. I'm engaged. Thirty-four years old, and finally I'm engaged. I'm going to be a June bride.

He's gorgeous, by the way.

Madame Murae turned over another card. "Ah, I see travel."

"We're going on a honeymoon right after the wedding. In a little less than three months"—After I wrap this season of American Megastar and the teasers for next season, hopefully with my job and my sanity intact—"I'll be sailing the California coast for nineteen days." Ah, heaven. Did I mention that he owns a boat?

Frowning at the card, Madame Murae halted the flow of Diet Coke at exactly the right moment, once again without looking.

Paula quirked a brow at me, as in, See, I told you she has special powers.