Stay Tuned by Lauren Clark Page A

not off the mark.” I ruefully ran a hand over my ponytail. “My hair could use some updating,” I admitted.
    We grinned at each other.
    “I believe this. If you make change for the right reasons, everything else will fall into place,” Cher added. “It did for me.”
    Believe. Was it that simple? And what were the right reasons? Because it was a challenge? Did I have something to prove to Chris? Did I think my mother might be impressed?
    “Thank you,” I said sincerely, thinking that this was turning out to be one of the strangest and most expensive shopping trips I’d ever had, and Chris would ever pay for.
    Cher stretched out her arm and handed me the receipt and a pen. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes before looking at the total.
    She giggled and slapped her hands together. “It’s not that bad. I promise.”
    How could she promise? She wasn’t paying for it. I opened one eye a slit and looked at the black line above where I needed to sign my name.
    She was right. Not bad. Not bad at all. Chris might only need blood pressure medicine, not hospitalization for heart failure. Eyes twinkling, Cher winked again. “The fifty percent family discount does wonders.”
     

Chapter 17
     
    My car trunk was loaded down, and I pulled out of the parking lot of Posh Couture , satisfied that Cher’s wardrobe choices would show off the new and improved me.
    Stage One transformation:   Complete.
    Stage Two:   This was where Candace came in. I hit her number on speed dial, praying she’d finally answer.
    “Crisis central.” Candace quipped. She had such a knack for making me laugh.
    “Your crisis or mine?” I was interrupted by ear-piercing shrieks in stereo. “Are those happy screams?”
    “Let’s see,” Candace replied after a door closed firmly in the background. “Sure. Happy screams, yes. The girls just found a lizard in the laundry basket. Daddy’s taking our new little friend outside. How’s your day been?”
    “Fabulous,” I bubbled and gave her the quick and dirty version of my shopping escapade.
    “Nice,” Candace agreed, without a trace of jealousy. I loved her for that. Then again, her closet was probably full of the same designer clothes I’d just bought. “I want to see all of it!”
    “Done,” I said.
    “Meet me for some dinner? I want to hear all about what else happened at the station. Marcus can keep the kids,” she whispered. “The promise of a little nooky later will do wonders.”
    I could have hugged her. Candace was my safety belt on life’s merry-go-round, my conscience, and keeper of all juicy secrets.
    “That sounds wonderful. But first, I need a favor…”
     
    “Now, start from the beginning,” she commanded with a sweep of her hand.
    Hitting the high points, I recapped last night’s drama—some of which she had seen—the punch, the spattered blood, then Alyssa’s attention-getting antics, and Drew’s reaction. I ran through the breakfast fiasco, Chris hidden behind the newspaper, speaking only in grunts, and my worry about filling in on the anchor desk.
    “And his only concern,” I rolled my eyes dramatically and leaned back in Candace’s chair, “was whether or not I could get his shirts from the dry cleaners.”
    “Uh-oh.” Candace clucked her tongue, one hand on the denim hip of her Joe’s Jeans. Her blue eyes flashed and she tapped the heel of her Jimmy Choos on the ceramic tile floor.
    “I told him, ‘Get your own dry cleaning.’”
    Candace’s eyes widened. She stepped back and did a double take. One hand flew to her mouth. Her huge diamond engagement ring caught the light and winked at me, as if to say:   Nice going. Now say goodbye to your marriage.
    My stomach cramped. I envisioned Chris, furious, packing his suitcases. It had happened once, a long time ago. Would he leave again? Over something so minor?
    “You said that?” Candace finally managed to choke the words out.
    I bobbed my head and stared at the toes of my scuffed suede