C.J. Carmichael - Together by Christmas

“Well, giving up one of those nights to play with your wife sounds reasonable. What’s the last thing?”

Chad turned back to the window, but not before she saw his neck and ears redden. She waited, but he didn’t say anything.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“Her third request is kind of…personal.”

No kidding. Wasn’t this entire conversation? But obviously some problems between a husband and wife you didn’t feel comfortable discussing even with your best friend.

“Not another woman?”

His back went rigid. “I already told you no.”

Yes, he had. But what else could be making him so embarrassed? Something about their sex life? Did Bernie want more? Or less?

Or better?

Hmm… Tempted to tease Chad a little, Miranda just kept her mouth shut. Chad had never liked being made fun of. And over the years Miranda had figured out if there was one subject men were especially sensitive about it was their technique in bed. Politics and religion were safer topics by far.

“I should be heading home. I’ve got the groceries for supper.” And her mother liked to have the meal on the table for six o’clock sharp. As did most of the families in Chatsworth. “Say, do they still ring the town bell at noon and six?”

Chad laughed. “Honey, you have been away for a long time, haven’t you?”

He walked back over to the sofa, slung an arm around her shoulders and led her to the front door. Miranda was pleased that his mood had lightened. Still, she hesitated to leave him.

“Are you okay out here on your own?”

“Thank you for being concerned. You may be the only person in town who doesn’t hate me right now. Even my mother wouldn’t let me move back in with her.”

“Yeah, I heard. What’s going on there?”

“She has this crazy idea that the split is all my fault. Anyway, it’s not that bad out here. Especially when I get pretty visitors. How did a hick town like Chatsworth ever produce a glamorous creature like you?” He stepped back and stared at her. Smiled and shook his head.

Her thoughts were still spinning with all he’d told her. “Chad, why didn’t you let me know sooner about all this?”

“I kept thinking Bernie would change her mind. I had no idea she could be this stubborn. Randy, I never pictured my life this way. I don’t want a divorce.”

“Bernie loves you, Chad. I’m sure that’s not what she wants, either.”

“Well, that’s not the way she’s acting.”

“Maybe not right now. But she’ll come round. You’ll see.” Miranda sought for something to say to cheer him up. “I’ll bet the two of you are together again by Christmas.”

“Christmas, huh? That’s less than two months away.”

“Bernie has always loved you. And people who love each other belong together at Christmas.”

“Can I hold you to that, Randy?”

“Money-back guarantee.”

BERNIE ENGLISH SAT IN the bow-window nook of her beautiful new kitchen, writing in her journal. She’d started it the day she kicked Chad out, and already had about a quarter of the pages filled. She’d hoped it would only take a few nights sleeping on the couch in his office for Chad to come to his senses and realize he couldn’t live without her.

But two weeks had passed and she was beginning to fear she’d totally miscalculated. Maybe even played into his hands.

Perhaps Chad had wanted out for a long time now but had been too afraid to tell her. He’d always hated unpleasant scenes. Telling your wife you no longer loved her would certainly count as unpleasant.

Especially if he never had loved her. She’d always wondered about that. If she hadn’t been pregnant, would he still have asked her to marry him? Probably not, at least not so young. But as naive as they’d been, they’d been terribly happy, too. At least, she had.

Vicky had been an angel of a baby, and Chad had adored her from the start, even before she had. The birth had been hard and long and she’d been so tired. When the nurse tried to put that wrinkled, red child on her chest, she’d said no, thanks. But Chad had held out his hands and cradled the wee thing. As she’d watched him, tenderness had bloomed in her, too.

Bernie grabbed another tissue as her eyes began to water again. Was she going crazy? Sometimes it felt like it. Two weeks ago she’d had everything. A beautiful daughter, a good job, this house, friends…and Chad. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he slept in her bed every night and that was something, wasn’t it? Even after twelve years, it was still something.

The front door slammed and Bernie jumped. Quickly she slipped her journal under the tea towels in a kitchen drawer, swept the pile of sodden tissues into the trash, then went to the sink to splash water over her face.

She needn’t have worried about her appearance. Vicky ignored her as she beelined for the fridge. “What’s to eat?”

“An apple? A cheese stick? I hope you remembered to put your boots away.”

“Great.” Vicky ignored the comment about her boots as she dug food from the clear plastic bin. “What else can I eat?”

Wasn’t that enough? Apparently not, when you were twelve and growing. “How about some crackers?” Bernie dug out a box of Wheat Thins, dumped them into a small bowl and put them on the table.

“Did you enjoy your sleepover?”

“Sure.”

“What time did the two of you fall asleep?”

Vicky shrugged. She was wearing a top Bernie recognized as belonging to Karen. Trading clothes again. The two girls had done makeovers on each other, as well. Vicky’s hair, almost white, the way Chad’s had been at that age, was pulled off her face with about a dozen pastel clips, and her nails were painted in matching shades of polish. Probably they’d done their faces, too, but Vicky had been smart enough to wash everything off before coming home.

“Say, Mom, guess who we saw at Lucky’s this afternoon.”

A blizzard had started late this morning, so not likely one of Vicky’s out-of-town classmates. Maybe Chad… Bernie picked up the dishcloth and cleaned the sink. “Who?”

“Her name’s Miranda James. She says she used to go to school with you and Dad.”

Bernie’s skin flamed as if it was being scrubbed instead of the stainless-steel faucet. “You were talking to Randy?”

“Yeah, she figured I was your daughter. Said I looked a lot like you.”

Here Vicky scowled, undoubtedly annoyed at the resemblance. After a moment she got over it, too impressed with Miranda James to stop talking about her.

“I’ve never seen anyone that pretty in real life. And she’s totally awesome to talk to. Was she that cool when you guys were in school?”

“At least,” Bernie said, trying not to sound as if she were choking on a mouthful of sour grapes.

“I love her hair. Should I cut mine short like that?”

She had no idea what Randy’s hair looked like, but still resented the idea that Vicky would want to imitate her. “You just finished growing out your bangs,” she reminded her.

Vicky pulled at a strand of hair that had escaped the row of clips. “How about if I just got some streaks put in? Miranda does that, even though her hair is naturally blond. It’s so funky, Mom, and you should see her clothes. Can I get a black vest? Miranda says they’re so versatile everyone should have one.”

Miranda says. Bernie bit back on the desire to ask if Randy had mentioned anything about Chad. Putting ideas in Vicky’s head wouldn’t do, although the kid wasn’t blind. If she ever saw Randy and her father together, she’d soon get enough ideas of her own.

“She lives in Toronto, Mom, and makes video biographies for a living. Right now she’s doing one on Warren Addison. Isn’t that awesome?”