C.J. Carmichael - Together by Christmas

“Totally.” Bernie rinsed the soap from the dishcloth. She stared out the window into the bleak winter day. Snow continued to fall relentlessly. At least four inches sat on top of the railing that spanned the back deck.

Chad had built that deck three summers ago. When he’d finished, they’d had a barbecue to celebrate. They’d been happy then, hadn’t they? When had everything started falling apart?

“And you should see her car, Mom. It’s a yellow punch-buggy.”

“What?”

“You know, those cars like the old-fashioned Volkswagen bugs that Dad likes so much.”

Great. So the perfect girl with the perfect clothes and the perfect hair also had the perfect car. Judging from the expression on Vicky’s face and the excitement in her voice, Randy had won over Bernie’s daughter, as well as her husband.

In a moment of cold fear, Bernie realized that if Chad and Randy ended up together, Vicky would probably be thrilled. She might even choose to live with them rather than her. Just contemplating the possibility made Bernie’s stomach squeeze in on itself.

Oh, God, she was going to start crying again. But she couldn’t. Vicky still sat at the table, chowing down on the crackers. She’d already finished the apple and cheese. Vicky was so skinny in her jeans and tight top. Bernie had been that thin once, too. Was that why Chad’s interest in her had diminished over the years? Because she’d put on too many pounds?

“Is something wrong, Mom?”

Bernie stiffened. Had Vicky noticed the wetness in her eyes? She had to pull herself together. “I’m fine.” She dried her damp hands on a towel. “Why?”

Vicky shrugged. “Just wondering why you hadn’t started supper. Can we have pizza?”

“Sure. I have one in the freezer. I’ll just warm up the oven—”

Without another word, Vicky slipped out of the room.

Bernie set the dial on the stove, then retrieved her journal and sank back into her cushioned chair.

Talk in the staff room at school yesterday was that Miranda James is in town to do a video biography on Warren Addison.

Bull.

In her outrage, Bernie’s pen flew across the clean page she’d just turned to.

Miranda never paid a moment’s attention to Warren when we were kids. It was always Chad for her. They were best friends, but I knew she wanted more. It made me proud, knowing that the sexiest guy in the school preferred me to her. Blond, beautiful, perfect Miranda could have had any guy she wanted.

But not Chad.

Bernie paused to pull a pizza from her freezer. She removed the wrappings, then set it on the counter, waiting for the oven to reach four hundred degrees.

Back at her journal, the words continued to flow.

I’ve never dared think this before—writing down the words is even scarier. But is it possible Chad has secretly loved Miranda all along? Why else would he have stayed such close friends with her for so many years?

She knew they communicated regularly by e-mail. On the occasions when she dropped in at the golf course, she usually found an excuse to slip into Chad’s office and check his electronic in-box. Almost always she found something from Miranda in there. She’d never actually read the messages. Maybe she should have.

What is happening to me? I’m turning into one of those desperate women who would do anything to keep her man. What about my dignity? My self-respect?

Perhaps those qualities were overrated. They’d landed her in this mess in the first place. Spurred by comments from her friend Adrienne, when Chad had marched into the house, late as usual, demanding his supper.

“You shouldn’t let him treat you that way,” Adrienne had said. It was the first time she’d ever spoken the least bit negatively about Chad. Pressed, however, she’d spewed out more.

“Does he ever take you out, just the two of you? Between work and golf in the summer and work and curling in the winter, you never see him!”

True, and the trend had worsened over the years. Just this fall he’d opted out of the mixed curling league with her so he could play in Yorkton with another group of men.

Bernie loved her sports. Curling and cross-country skiing in the winter, golf in the summer. And she liked playing them with her husband. Having Chad withdraw from the mixed curling league had hurt.

“That man needs a wake-up call,” Adrienne had said.

Problem was, Bernie had called, but Chad hadn’t woken up.

And now Randy was in town. Bernie went on writing.

What can I do to protect my marriage? I know she’ll be full of sympathy for Chad—and I can guess where that will lead. Meanwhile, what about me? Am I supposed to sit back and let her move in on my husband?

No! Of course not. But what were her options? She was the one who’d kicked Chad out of the house. She’d listed three requirements before he could move back in. If she went back on her demands, she’d look like a fool.

She also had no illusions about how she would look next to Randy James. No ordinary woman could compete with her.

Of course, I haven’t seen Randy in years. Maybe she’s gained a pile of weight or aged prematurely.

Not likely when her mother, Annie James, in her late fifties, was still the most attractive woman in town.

I won’t allow myself to be dragged into a competition. It’s ridiculous. I’ll hold my head high and act like I couldn’t care less about Randy James. No one will guess my true feelings.

Bernie stared at the words on the page. At first reading they sounded good, but now… Well, holding her head high just seemed so awfully passive. She wasn’t the type to sit back and wait. Her marriage was in trouble and she had to do something.

Chad was her husband. That made Miranda James the enemy. This was a war.

And she needed a battle plan.

MIRANDA SHOULDN’T have felt nervous driving out to the Addison farm this second time. She’d convinced him, hadn’t she? The elusive, reclusive Warren Addison would be the subject of the next Miranda James video biography. And she hadn’t even needed to promise her firstborn for the privilege.

So why did she feel like a kid facing university finals—unable to recall a single fact she’d memorized the night before, stomach queasy, palms perspiring.

Everyone thought success came so easily to her. No one in her life had ever guessed just how untrue this was. The things she didn’t care about—yes, those came easily. Like those two men at the restaurant when she’d had lunch with Catherine. They’d practically drooled over their plates watching her. But they were strangers. She had no interest in them.

The men she’d really wanted in her life she’d never been able to keep.

And the work she truly loved—filming video biographies—scared her to death half the time. At the beginning of each project she was so afraid of failure. And this time the stakes were even higher than usual.

Everyone in Chatsworth knew what she’d come here to do. What if she did such a lousy job the CBC refused to air the finished project? She’d look like a fool. Everyone would consider her a fraud.

A pretty face and nothing more.

She’d feel more assured if she had more memories from her past to guide her. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t picture Warren playing with any of the other kids in their class when they were younger. In the high school years, he hadn’t attended any of the parties with her and her friends. As far as she knew, he hadn’t dated any of the girls.

Yet he’d never been teased or treated like an outcast. Warren had too much natural dignity about him. She cast her mind back and realized that while she’d never really known him, she’d always kind of admired him. He didn’t care what others thought. He spoke his mind without obsessing how people might react to what he said. He had a confidence most adults never attained.