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Twice A Day

"Dad. Vivianne. You're home." I wanted to rush over and hug my dad, but my stepmother's scowl held me in place.

Where was Christopher? Had he heard them come home and left? I hoped so.

"Hi, Snow-Angel," Dad said slowly, clearing his throat.

He looked good, more in shape, though he still dressed like an undercover TV cop - Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and socks with sandals. He was tan with natural blond streaks in his otherwise dark hair.

His face crinkled near his eyes from smiling. He and my stepmother sat across the dining table from each other, dozens of bags piled between them.

Apparently, there'd been shopping on their trip.

Gatsby darted from under the table and wound around my legs, yowling for his dinner.

"Don't you feed him? He's too skinny," Vivianne said.

She wore a pair of white shorts and a light blue tank. One tanned leg was crossed over the other, and her wedge-sandaled foot bounced rhythmically.

She was a lot younger than my dad, closer to my age than his. Not
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