Perfect Wife

When the doorbell rang, Carly Alderson was sitting cross-legged on the Italian leather recliner in the den, watching a made-for-TV movie about star-crossed lovers, sniffling back tears and popping the remains of a lemon-filled doughnut into her mouth.As the elegant gong resonated through the custom-built, plantation-style home her neighbors referred to as the McMansion, she froze in midchew.Oh, God. Make them go away.She wassonot up for visitors. Not today, and especially not now.Half of her wanted to ignore the interruption, reach back into the Tasty Dream Donut sack for the last chocolate Éclair, sink into the cushions and fall back into a fictional sorrow, rather than think about her own.But the rest of her, which unfortunately included the eight-and-a-half pounds she'd put on since her divorce had been finalized, hoped it was Greg coming home to tell her he was having second thoughts. That he'd made a big mistake -- ahugeone -- and that he couldn't live without her.News like that would be the first step in righting her world -- the one Greg had sent spinning off its axis when he'd told her he didn't love her anymore and that after seven years of marriage he wanted a divorce.In a fit of bravado, Carly had thrown him out of the house, then had all the locks changed. That bold move, as well as taking back her maiden name, had been Carly's way of letting Greg know what a divorce meant. That things were final. Kaput. Finished.Of course, she'd only meant it as a bit of shock therapy, a way for him to see reason.But so far, nothing had worked.The gong sounded again, and nervous panic sent her heart rate thumping to beat the band.What if itwasGreg?Needless to say, the desperate I-need-to-save-my-marriage part won out.She stood, and when she glanced at the telltale bag in her hands, her breath caught.Oh, God. She couldn't let him find her pigging out. So she quickly shoved the incriminating sack, complete with the remaining chocolate Éclair, under the chair cushion, a trick she hadn't pulled in years.Then she rushed into the guest bathroom that was right off the den to make sure she didn't have any glaze or lemony goo smeared across her face. But as she looked into the mirror, she nearly collapsed in a frumpy heap on the hardwood floor.Tear tracks had done a real number on her mascara, making her look like a raccoon with red-rimmed eyes, a pitiful little creature who was a far cry from the I've-gotit-all-together woman she really was.Greg would probably think she was still pining over him, which had been true earlier this week. And yesterday afternoon. But the culprit this time had been a sad chick flick, a real tearjerker and...The doorbell rang again, this time sounding as though an impatient Girl Scout with an armload of cookies was repeatedly jabbing an index finger at the button. Not that Carly had ever had a run-in with a Girl Scout who wasn't sweet and adorable.Oh, for crying out loud. All right already. "I'm coming," she hollered, as she turned on the water in the bathroom sink.She half hoped whoever it was would get tired of waiting and just go away. But she'd neglected to pull her car into the garage after a grocery run this morning, so most people would suspect she was at home and in a back part of the house.If she found a salesman -- the pesky adult variety -- at the door, she'd probably practice some of those fancy kickboxing moves and see if they really worked.Of course, if it was Greg, she'd die of embarrassment. He'd never seen her looking so wretched and pitiful.There'd been a time in her life when she'd always looked that way, felt that way. But a lot had changed since she'd grown up, left home and gone to college. She'd gotten her act together and gained some self-control.Yet if truth be told, she'd allowed herself to fall back into a few old habits lately, something she'd have to put a stop to before the exDuarte, Judy is the author of 'Perfect Wife ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780373247738 and ISBN 0373247737.