LITMIR.BIZ

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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?”

      “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

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