Given that Tamara already had her master’s degree in sociology, Imogen was eager to listen to any advice she could give. “I guess that was my intent originally, but I’m no longer certain how to do that.”

Tamara sipped her margarita. “You interview as many driver’s wives as you can. If you interview fifty wives, you can ask pointed questions that determine if their path to marriage even remotely resembled the rules in that book. If you develop questions regarding their previous knowledge of stock car racing, whether their meeting was accidental or intentional, their first date, how long they dated before getting engaged, etc., you can classify them as having followed the rules or not. Check your percentages of rule followers versus non-rule followers and call it good.”

There was some merit to Tamara’s suggestion. It was certainly more logical than running around trying to flirt with men she wasn’t interested in. “Except how can I argue that the book works or doesn’t work when none of the subjects were aware of its rules to follow them or not follow them?”

“Toss out the concept of whether or not the book itself works. The myth you are busting, or potentially proving, is that, in the subculture of stock car racing, there is a discernible pattern to dating and subsequent marriage. That is the basis to the theory of the book. If there is no pattern, how can the book work for the majority of readers? I would assume your conclusion would be that given the uniqueness of individuals and their courtships, there is no way to follow rules and guarantee marriage.”

This was sounding more and more appealing to Imogen. “This just might work.”

“Good, because I’m glazing over from this conversation,” Suzanne said.

“Sorry,” Imogen said, frowning at her enchiladas. “This is just so much more stressful than I expected.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I wish I could help,” Suzanne said, looking a little contrite for her remark. “And I’m sure tossing mattress play with Ty onto all of this isn’t helping your peace of mind.” Then Suzanne grinned. “But I bet it’s helping other things, if not your mind.”

True enough. “So what on earth do I pack to go camping?”

“Jeans. T-shirts. Boots. It’s going to be hot again this week, in the eighties, so pack a bathing suit,” Tamara said.

“And your tiniest, sexiest underwear,” Suzanne added.

Imogen tried to picture feeling sexy on the damp ground in a tent and could only feel a serious amount of trepidation. “Are there bugs camping?”

Tamara and Suzanne exchanged a look. “Probably,” Tamara said.

“Animals?” Were there bears in North Carolina? Imogen didn’t even know.

“Maybe,” Suzanne said. “But they shy away from humans. Except for raccoons and skunks. They’ll come right on up if you have food or garbage lying around.”