Jordie's easy acquiescence to Elliot's demand stayed with her for weeks after her aborted lunch with Romana. However her children begged to return to the park and see Madeline and Troy again for another playdate, Jordie firmly declined. At their ages, her children were easily distracted with promises of ice skating on the lake and snow angels in the back garden. Jordie's conscience was not as easily assuaged.

Romana had known what Jordie would choose before Jordie chose it. How many fair-weather friends had abandoned her at the first sign of social rejection when news of the divorce made the rounds? Without Jordie or her soon-to-be former husband, who did Romana have?

When preparations for the coming winter holidays began in earnest and the children's relentless pleading began to grind terribly at Jordie's tender nerves, they returned to St. George Park. In the vane of Jordie's typical despicable luck Romana was there.

She sat in the center of their bench in a black sable coat and veiled velvet hat. Jordie set her children loose on the grounds but remained far from Romana. Save for a minute rouching of her shoulders, there was no indication Romana recognized the tow-headed twosome as they made for the slide and swings to join the other children weathering the fallen snow and Bristol frost for a bit more time in the daylight.

Madeline and Daniel soon recognized each other and took it upon themselves to devise a game all could play together. Troy came from his self-imposed isolation—not a military fort this time but an igloo—to join them. They were as happy as clams. Jordie swallowed her regret. They were happy, for what it was worth. She wanted her children happy.

Jordie and Romana avoided each other's eyes on the intermittent occasions when their lines of sight would cross. Jordie couldn't help but to look at her out of the corner of her eye. Romana had dried Jordie's tears, and no one had dried Romana's, that she knew of. She wouldn't have cried over me, she'd have been too angry. Romana had said she carried her grievances like badges of honor to her grave. She'd had to. Leaving Romana aggrieved was far from what Jordie had intended to do that day. Looking back, she didn't trust her own intentions. She had wanted Romana beyond reason. She wanted her now.

Jordie called the children in when the heavy clouds began to heave a thickening smattering of snow upon them all. It would be a blizzard soon, she was sure. They were due for a storm. She was.

Romana stood in her sensible heels and polka dotted day dress, as pretty as an impressionist painting Jordie was forbidden to admire. She admired her anyway.

Jordie swiftly ushered her children to their waiting taxi as fast her as feet would carry her. When her self-control faltered she chanced a parting glance over her shoulder...to find Romana boldly staring back.

That night, Jordie attended a holiday party for Society of Greater Bristol Surgical Consultants with Elliot. Their university chums and the children's godparents, Veronica and Geoffrey Nicholson, were hosting. Jordie wasn't a hobnobber by choice, despite coming from a prominent military family, she preferred leading from the rear from to rubbing elbows with the well-heeled elite. She would rather have been with Romana, splitting a broccoli and bean stew to guzzling sparkling champers that must have come out of someone's very private collection.

Christmas carols played on the record player. The Nicholsons' fir tree loomed above them in the foyer, grand as anything, tinkling with tinsel and tea lights. The smells of plum pudding and pine permeated the house. It was beautiful, if one preferred being surrounded by beautiful things over to beautiful people.

Jordie hummed her noncommittal opinion of the china pattern she was being shown for the second time in as many minutes. She appreciated a fine dinner set most days, she even had one at home, care of Elliot's overly generous and interfering mother; tonight, however, her focus was drawn inward and, alternately, toward the door. She was waiting for someone. She was waiting for Romana. The woman had an otherworldly propensity to show up when Jordie didn't realize she needed her.

Yet she never showed.

Feigning confusion, Jordie interrupted Veronica's recitation of the provenance of her porcelain china. She had more important matters to discuss.

"Sorry, Veronica, I assumed Romana Gentry would be here. She hasn't come already, has she?" And gone without speaking to me. Perish the thought.

"Oh, you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"She's divorcing her husband," murmured Veronica in scandalized tones. "The rumor is there's someone else on the horizon."

"For him or for her?" she asked on autopilot. She snapped her mouth shut before beginning again. "Never mind, it doesn't matter, and I'm not sure what that has to do with her being invited to tonight's festivities." Veronica looked at her pityingly, instantly raising Jordie's hackles. She glared. Veronica dropped the pity. She had always been more Elliot's friend than Jordie's, dating back to their acquaintance in university.

"It would be awkward, don't you think, her the only one unattached while all the rest of us have our husbands?" She looked adoringly at Geoffrey who was commiserating with Elliot over one thing or another Jordie had tuned out some time earlier in the evening.

"It isn't like she's going to try and steal one of them and take him home." Silence reigned. "Is that what you think? Is that what everyone thinks?" Jordie narrowed her eyes at one of her oldest comrades. Whilst they hadn't ever been close, they had once understood each other too well for Veronica to think Jodie would agree with her on this. "Romana isn't the villain of this piece, and you should know that. What happened to giving women the benefit of the doubt?"

"It isn't the done thing, Jordie, for any of us, especially after everything that's happened. We all have unpleasantness in our marriage, that doesn't justify breaking up a happy home. For what? Isn't it enough we have the vote? We work. We kept the home fires burning when the world went to hell. What's the point of that throwing all that away now?"

"The point is living. We lived and now we live." She wet her lips and finished off the drink she'd been nursing for the better part of the night. She only drank liberally when she felt safe and Jordie had found no safe haven here. "If living means being miserable to avoid a bit of social disapproval, I want no part of it."

Veronica was aghast. "Jordie!"

"Thank you for the invitation. I'm developing a headache, I think it's time I went home."