C.J. Carmichael - Her Better Half

“A Little Secret Between Friends is a must read, full of romance, mystery and surprising revelations. Talented C.J. Carmichael has penned a wonderful book for you and all your friends. I am sure you will find a special place for it on your keeper shelf.”

—CataRomance

“From its roller-coaster beginning to its calm, smooth ending, C.J. Carmichael’s moving story highlights redefining life’s priorities and rediscovering love.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub on Small-Town Girl

“Ms. Carmichael carefully stitches together the viewpoints of her richly drawn characters until a full-bodied patchwork quilt of their lives and love is created.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub on The Fourth Child

“Ms. Carmichael writes powerful storylines that touch every reader’s heart, thanks to the emotional depth, rich characterizations, complex plots and appealing characters…. You really can’t go wrong when you read a book by C.J. Carmichael.”

—Diana Tidlund, Writers Unlimited, on

“Deal of a Lifetime”

A former chartered accountant turned fiction author, C.J. Carmichael has published twenty novels with Harlequin. Highlights include a RITA® Award nomination for her Harlequin Superromance novel, The Fourth Child (which was also a Romantic Times BOOKclub Top Pick); a romantic-suspense career achievement nomination from Romantic Times BOOKclub; and a nomination for her Harlequin Intrigue novel, Same Place, Same Time, as Romantic Times BOOKclub’s Reviewers’ Choice Best Harlequin Intrigue of 2000.

C.J. lives in Calgary, Alberta, with two teenage daughters, and a dog and a cat. Please visit her at www.cjcarmichael.com. Or send mail to the following Canadian address: #1754-246 Stewart Green S.W., Calgary, Alberta, T3H 3C8, Canada.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

While reading this book I’d like to ask you to think kindly of the semidetached, World War I-vintage, run-down, insulbrick-covered home that the heroine of this book, Lauren, shares with her next-door neighbor Erin.

Think kindly of this house, because it is modeled exactly on the first house my husband and I bought after we were married. We were living in Toronto (as are the characters in this book) and our house was on Thelma Avenue. It was the worst house in a good neighborhood. It was the worst house by quite a large margin. I still have nightmares about the basement.

But I have only good memories about the porch, where our daughter Lorelle practiced walking and climbing steps. I have good memories of the claw-footed tub we painted peach (it was the rage at the time). And I have good memories of the dining room where we enjoyed many happy meals with family and friends.

I hope you enjoy this story. I’ve been living with these characters for years…it’s hard to believe their story is finally on paper.

Sincerely,

C.J. Carmichael

This book is dedicated to my daughter Lorelle, as she takes her next big step in life to leave home and go to university.

To paraphrase Lyle Lovett, follow your heart, Lorelle—follow it with both your feet.

Big thanks to my former agent Linda Kruger, who thought this book would make a good fit with NEXT.

More big thanks for help with various research questions to Linda Prenioslo, Phil Daum and fellow Calgary RWA members Julie Rowe and Florence Cardinal.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

Rosedale, Toronto

O n the day my husband left me, we were in the middle of a wicked heat wave in Toronto. Inside the bedroom of our estate home, air-conditioning masked the high temperatures and humidity. I actually felt cool as I watched Gary stuff a select few of his belongings into a backpack.

I noticed that his pants were loose around his waist. He’d dropped a few pounds since he’d adopted the vegetarian diet.

That had been six months ago. It had not been my first clue that my life was going to take a dramatic and unexpected turn. There’d actually been many, but I hadn’t seen them at first. Or maybe I’d seen them but just refused to accept them for what they were: evidence that my husband was growing apart from me.

“I still think we ought to try counseling.” I was proud of how calm I sounded. I would not be one of those shrieking women who went crazy and broke things and swore they’d kill themselves, or him, if he didn’t stay.

“Counseling won’t change anything. This has been a long time coming.”

Too bad no one had told me.

But maybe I was letting myself off the hook too easily. I’d been the one to sign Gary up for the meditation course last winter. I’d seen his simmering anger, his mounting stress.

He’d been a man at the breaking point.

Until he’d found yoga. Or was it the yoga instructor? I still wasn’t sure.

“Losing my job was the best thing that could have happened to me.” He went to his sock drawer and picked through it, leaving all the fine wool dress socks behind. “It was a sign that I’m finally on the path to healing.”

Oh, for Pete’s sake! I was so sick of hearing about the “path to healing.” This path didn’t feel anything like healing to me. It felt like betrayal, and hurt and abandonment.

“Getting fired wasn’t a sign, Gary.” Who in their right mind considered losing a job a green light to desert your wife and children to go backpacking around the globe?

“How would you know, Lauren? Not to be cruel, but you’re not exactly in tune with your spiritual side.”

Despite the air-conditioning, my internal temperature jumped up a few degrees. “Oh, really?”

“You’ve never understood. Yoga isn’t about postures, or fitness, or even relaxing. It’s about spiritual growth. About achieving clarity and— Forget it. I can see you’re not listening.”

“I am listening. It’s just that I don’t happen to agree. Why can’t you study yoga and achieve enlightenment here in Canada?”

It was time for my trump card. “What about the twins?”

But even that argument didn’t move him.

“Jamie and Devin are almost grown up.”

“They’re fourteen.”

“Well, they’ve always been closer to you, anyway. They’ll be fine. They’re good kids.”

“Yes. Good kids who deserve more from their father.”

“What do you want me to do? Go out and get another job with another investment bank? Return to working twelve-hour days and six-day weeks? End up croaking from a heart attack at fifty like my old man?”

I couldn’t stand the way he was talking to me. Like he was the intelligent, rational adult while I was the mental equivalent of a temperamental toddler. He was treating me and our marriage like an encumbrance to be gotten rid of in the same way as a bothersome outstanding balance on a mortgage.

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

The question just came out. I hadn’t planned to ask it. As I stood there waiting for his answer, I found myself remembering the girls when they were little, scrambling out of the pool after a swimming lesson, wet and shivering, waiting for me to wrap them in a towel.

Now I was the vulnerable one, waiting for Gary to throw me something. If not a towel, then maybe a facecloth.

“Lauren.” He sighed. “I’ll always love you. But things are different now.”