That was what she had said to all her friends. That was what had gotten him fired. Wooster was her town and he had some nerve showing his face and bringing that smell with him. To taunt her, to tease her, to remind her.

But that was all in the very, very distant past, and now she was Mrs. Charles Miller and she had a rock-solid toehold in the very firmament of Wooster, Ohio. And if Charles ever forgot that, if he ever took their marriage, their children, or their perfect life together for granted . . . if he ever decided to take a little wander, to test the waters in someone else’s swimming pool, like Farley Dean or any of the other ones . . . She looked again at the now-sleeping mound and was almost one hundred percent certain he wouldn’t.

But, if he did . . . she narrowed her eyes at her own reflection in the mirror, staring back at her like a sinister Japanese geisha girl from one of those god-awful movies they used to show at the, oh, what was the name of that theater? It wasn’t important. If Charles Miller ever did anything to embarrass the family, she would have her father on it faster than you could say “Daddy’s girl.”

It didn’t occur to Betty to wonder, How well did you ever really know your father?

Chapter 25

Charlotte Dalton had learned a little more than she cared to about her own father, and the Monday after the newspaper story was published, she refused to get out of bed, and who could blame her? Vivian had opened the door to her daughter’s room and had seen a lump under the floral-sprigged bedspread, which was pulled snugly over the lump’s head.

“Charlotte?” Vivian looked around the room at the disarray. Clothes thrown on the floor, over the chair, records out of their sleeves, books everywhere.

“Urmph.”

“You’re not going to school today? It’s Groundhog Day.” She made a halfhearted attempt at little animal squeaky noises she thought might’ve sounded like a groundhog, but there was no answer from the lump.

“Charlotte,” Vivian singsonged. “If you don’t come out, we’ll have six more weeks of winter.”

No response.

“Fine, then.” Vivian’s tone dropped back to normal, because it wasn’t her fault their family was in this mess, and she didn’t have time to go out of her way to entertain Charlotte. “I’ll telephone them and let them know you’re sick.”

Another grunt from under the covers.

“Since you’re staying home, I want you to clean up your room.”

Vivian’s rage had been personal and private, but now that the story was out in the open for all to see, the rage had melted and cooled a little into a hardened shell of shame and humiliation. She couldn’t let all of Wooster see her as the angry wife (newlywed!) because it would send the message that she hadn’t really known about the first marriage before everyone else did. She’d made sure Harry Sweeney made it damned clear in his article that she knew everything. I know people.