Together by Christmas. C.J. Carmichael

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      “Mom, this video isn’t something I can accomplish in a couple of short interviews. I need to hang around him, see how he lives, how he works.”

      Discovering what made Warren Addison tick would take time. But she had two months, and she’d succeed. The completed video would be her Christmas present to herself.

      Vegetables were silently passed back and forth; Miranda topped up her mother’s wine from one of the bottles she’d stashed in the trunk of her Volkswagen.

      “The Brownings had a baby boy last year,” Annie said finally. “Did I tell you?”

      “Yes.” Miranda was glad for Gibson and Libby. They both had daughters from previous relationships. According to Chad, they wouldn’t necessarily stop at three, either.

      “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about poor Chad and Bernie English.”

      The piece of cauliflower in her mouth suddenly felt like a cork stuck in her throat. Miranda coughed, reached for her wineglass.

      “Are you okay?”

      Miranda waved a hand dismissively. “What about Chad and Bernie?”

      “Oh, it’s just terrible. His poor mother is so upset. You know Dorothy belongs to my bridge group.”

      “Mother. What happened?”

      “Why, Bernie booted Chad out of the house.” Annie James looked as if Miranda was a little slow not to have figured this out on her own. “After Dorothy left last Wednesday, one of the ladies said she’d heard Chad had been cheating on Bernie.”

      “Cheating?”

      “No one knows who the woman is. At least not yet. I’m sure the truth will come out eventually.”

      Miranda set down her fork, trying to absorb this news. Something major must have happened for Bernie to have kicked out Chad. But an affair? The very idea made Miranda sick. She could only imagine how much worse Bernie would feel.

      And how could any of this be true? She’d e-mailed Chad the night before she’d left Toronto and had had a reply from him the following morning.

      He hadn’t mentioned a word about any troubles with Bernie. Her mother had to have gotten this wrong. The bridge ladies must have been doing too much raising and doubling—and not with cards, either.

      “That’s very hard to believe, Mom. Bernie and Chad have been married for years.”

      “You think that’s any guarantee?” Her mother’s tone was sharp as she glanced at the sideboard, where they’d once kept their only family photograph.

      “I suppose not. But—” Bernie and Chad? “Where’s he staying, then?”

      “Chad? Not at his mother’s—you can be sure of that. Dorothy is furious with him.”

      “But Chad is her son.” And she’d always doted on him over his two older sisters.

      “Dorothy’s granddaughter’s well-being is at stake here, too,” Annie reminded her.

      “Yes, of course. But if Chad isn’t staying with his mother…”

      “He’s shacked up at the clubhouse on his golf course. According to Dorothy, he was spending most of his time there, anyway. Probably that’s where he and this other woman have their rendezvous….”

      Miranda held back the temptation to roll her eyes at her mother’s leap in logic.

      “He’s a grown man, Mom. Besides, do you have any proof that he’s been unfaithful?”

      “Proof? This isn’t a court case, Miranda.”

      Just as she’d thought. The rumors were baseless. If anything untoward was going on, Miranda would have picked it up in her regular e-mails with Chad, or heard something different in his voice during their more occasional phone calls.

      Her mother raised her wineglass with a flourish. “My dear, you’ve been doing biographies long enough now. You should have a better grasp of human nature. When marriages break up for no apparent reason, you can be sure one of the parties has a replacement waiting in the wings.”

      For a moment Miranda felt a flicker of doubt. But this was Chad they were talking about. “Yes, often… But I’m sure there are times when a couple realize their marriage was just not meant to be.”

      “Meant to be? Dear, I had no idea you were so romantic. Perhaps that’s why you’re still single. If you’re waiting for Mr. Perfect—”

      Miranda began to clear the dishes from the table. “Your idea of my perfect match would be a movie director. He’d cast me in his next film and we’d move to Los Angeles and I’d buy you a big house with a pool and a maid.”

      “Please don’t tease, Miranda. It isn’t very funny.”

      Annie was right on that score. Miranda let the topic drop. “Why don’t we get the dishes done, then have your brownies in the living room.”

      “Would you prefer tea or coffee, dear?”

      Knowing how weak Annie made her coffee, Miranda chose tea. What she really wanted, of course, was to find Chad and ask him about the rumors from her mother’s bridge club. That Chad’s own mother had been present should have been validation enough, she supposed.

      But she wouldn’t believe a word of it until she’d heard the news directly from Chad.

      CHAPTER TWO

      WITH TEMPERATURES SETTLED well below zero and a hazy light reflecting off the sprinkling of snow that dusted the harvested fields, Miranda set out for the Addison farm the next morning, following the directions her mother had written out for her over breakfast.

      Already the air between the two of them was a little clouded. And they hadn’t been under the same roof for twenty-four hours yet. Maybe staying at home wasn’t such a good idea after all, but she couldn’t see any choice. Annie would be mortified if she moved to a friend’s, or the local hotel.

      Miranda turned her car onto the graveled road leading north of Chatsworth. Her cute yellow Volkswagen Beetle jostled on the dried ruts, and the tires crunched over the exposed gravel. So far, not much snow had fallen, and the roads were dry. Miranda dreaded dealing with this route after a heavy snowfall. Especially in her little car. Something with all-wheel drive would definitely be better.

      But for now—once she got used to the bouncing—she had to admit that driving here was certainly less stressful than negotiating Toronto’s freeways. She turned on the radio, but paid no attention to the Bach cello concerto playing.

      She was thinking of Chad. So far she hadn’t managed to get in touch with him. She’d tried calling the golf course this morning, but no one had answered. She hadn’t left a message, since she couldn’t be sure who would retrieve it and she didn’t want anyone drawing the wrong conclusion from her call. As her mother would say, people would talk. And for once, Miranda saw the benefits of being circumspect.

      That СКАЧАТЬ