Thursdays At Eight

by Debbie Macomber

  “Mom.” Alex’s raised voice rang over the telephone line. “I need a favor.”

  “What’s up?” Clare had been busy working off her unhappiness over the soccer fiasco by scrubbing the shower stall in the master bedroom. She was determined to regain control of her emotions, and since it was Monday, didn’t have the distraction of work. Her hours at Murphy Motors were Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  “I need to write a makeup test this afternoon.”

  “English or algebra?

  “Algebra.”

  Because of the soccer tournament, Alex had missed two important tests. Algebra was her son’s poorest subject, and he resembled his father there, far more than he did her.

  “What about the English midterm?”

  “Mrs. Ford was cool about that. She said I could write it any time this week.”

  “Not so with Mr. Lawrence?”

  “No. In fact, he said if I didn’t take the test this afternoon, he’ll give me a zero. And if I get a zero, you can kiss my chances of getting into Berkeley goodbye.”

  “Did you study?”

  “Of course I did. I’ll ace it if—”

  “If what?”

  “Mom,” he said, then hesitated. “You know I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way.”

  “What?” Clare demanded, growing impatient. Intuition told her she wasn’t going to like this. Alex was generally straightforward when he wanted something; there had to be a reason he was being so indirect.

  “I told Dad I’d pick him up at the hospital, and now I can’t.”

  Clare’s anger was immediate. “You’re asking me to chauffeur your father around?”

  “Yes.” Alex’s voice sounded small. “I know you and Dad are divorced, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be civilized.”

  Clare gritted her teeth and waited for the anger to pass. “I’m civilized, Alex. Are you suggesting I’m not?”

  “No, Mom, please…I don’t want to get into this with you. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.”

  “What about his…friend?” Clare asked. Surely Miranda could pick him up.

  “She can’t just take off from work, you know.”

  Clare hadn’t realized nail technicians were on such tight schedules.

  “Can’t he get a taxi?” If there was a way out of this, Clare planned to find it.

  “Yeah, I guess, only I told him I’d be there and you always said it’s important for us to keep our commitments.”

  Hmm. Moral righteousness. He was bringing out the heavy artillery.

  Something wasn’t logical here. A thought occurred to her that hadn’t earlier. “Why can’t he drive himself?”

  “Mom, I’m between classes and I don’t have time to discuss this, but apparently Dad’s having some tests done at the hospital. He’s not supposed to drive.”

  “Oh.” She paused. “What kind of tests?”

  “I’m not…sure.” It was his turn to pause. “Will you do it or not?” he asked more sharply.

  She desperately wanted to tell Alex that Michael could find his own damn way home. But deep down, Clare knew that if she refused, Alex would skip the exam and take the zero in order to fulfill his obligation to his father.

  “Will you?” he repeated.

  “All right,” she muttered with ill grace, angry for allowing herself to be maneuvered into something she didn’t want to do.

  Alex quickly gave her the necessary information, then said, “Thanks, Mom. I knew I could count on you.”

  The line was disconnected before she had a chance to respond.

  Dreadful though the situation was, it did give her an opportunity to speak to Michael about the next soccer tournament, scheduled for March. Look on the bright side, Clare! They’d agreed to alternate attending the games. This afternoon would be a perfect chance to sort out the details and make sure there wasn’t a repeat of last weekend.

  Clare suspected that Alex was secretly hoping his parents would reunite. What a joke. As far as she was concerned, Michael had proven himself completely untrustworthy. But according to the books she’d read and what she’d heard in her support group, this was a common fantasy for children of divorce—regardless of age.

  It worried her a little that Alex felt this responsibility toward his father. He was only a kid; he shouldn’t have to ferry Michael around or be involved with his problems. Yet Alex had accepted the burden as if it were his own.

  As the time approached to leave for the hospital, Clare dressed in her best business suit. Staring at her reflection in the bedroom mirror, she stripped it off. Too formal, she decided. She was striving for a look of casual elegance.

  No. That might give him the impression that she was living a life of leisure. Whatever she chose to wear had to convey how terribly happy she was, how terribly busy. Her goal was to make Michael believe she was extremely inconvenienced by having her day interrupted. At the same time, her graciousness and generosity in coming for him would clearly state that she was the bigger person, capable of putting bygones aside.

  Best of all, Michael had no idea she was picking him up. According to Alex, it was impossible to get a message to him, letting him know the arrangements had changed. That being the case, Michael would be caught off guard when she arrived. Good—he could suffer the same shock Clare had last Saturday. Not only that, she was prepared, and her carefully contrived demeanor would remind him of what he’d thrown away. A mature, classy, compassionate and capable woman.

  Yes. She had it all figured out.

  Life’s unpleasant surprises did come with compensations.

  After emptying almost her entire closet, Clare finally chose a canary-yellow pantsuit. It suggested cheeriness and optimism; even better, Michael had always liked it on her. Whenever she wore it, he’d sing “You Are My Sunshine,” and he’d— Enough of that! She planned to swing into the hospital like a…like a ray of sunshine. Cordial but not overly so. Michael would be in her debt, and she preferred that to owing him anything.

  The hospital. Apparently Michael’s current lifestyle had taken its toll on his health. Poor boy, he just couldn’t keep pace with a youngster. She’d be sure to reveal exactly the right amount of sympathy, with just a hint of contempt.

  On the drive to Willow Grove Memorial, she repeatedly played through the scenario in her mind, imagining Michael’s reactions and rehearsing her own.

  Michael was supposed to be waiting for her in the hospital foyer. All that was required of her, according to Alex, was to drive up to the front doors.

  She tried that, but when Michael didn’t show up, she circled the block a couple of times. When he still didn’t appear, she parked the car in the first available slot, and strode purposefully toward the hospital entrance.

  Her mood darkened.

  Searching for Michael was not part of the deal. It ruined the way she’d envisioned their meeting, completely spoiling the little script she’d created. If he wasn’t inside where she’d been told he’d be, Michael could damn well find his own ride home.

  No sooner had she walked into the marble-floored foyer than she heard someone call her name.

  “Clare,” Liz said, hurrying toward her. “What are you doing here?”

  This was embarrassing. Being seen by her friend wasn’t part of the deal, either. “Ah…” A lie would be convenient, but unaccustomed to prevarication, she couldn’t think of one fast enough.

  “Everything’s all right, isn’t it?” Liz pressed.

  “Oh, sure…” She sighed. “I’m here to pick up Michael.”

  Liz’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.

  Reluctantly Clare explained Alex’s predicament and hers, ending with Michael’s non-appearance at the appointed place. “I guess I’ll wait a few more minutes,” she said.

  Liz’s expression was sympathetic. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  Clare’s answer was a shrug. “I’m about to find out, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, you are.” She glanced pa
st Clare’s shoulder. “Is that him over there?”

  It was, and he looked dreadful. Pale and gaunt. Seeing him close-up, she realized he’d lost more weight than she’d noticed on Saturday; he was downright thin.

  He stopped abruptly when he saw her.

  “Where’s Alex?” he asked, gazing around.

  “Taking an algebra midterm,” she replied stiffly, staggered by the differences she saw in him. She nodded toward Liz. “This is my friend Liz Kenyon, the hospital administrator.”

  Michael inclined his head, acknowledging the introduction with a brief smile. “Do you mind if we leave now?”

  “I’ll see you Thursday,” Clare said, turning toward the doors.

  “Okay.” As Clare began to walk away, Liz squeezed her hand.

  Outside the hospital, Michael paused. “Where’s the car?”

  “In the east parking lot.” She pointed.

  He nodded and started walking in that direction.

  Clare followed more slowly behind him. She should have pursued her question about the tests. Alex probably knew something and she should’ve insisted he tell her. In her eagerness to wear the perfect outfit, to show him how completely she’d recovered from their divorce, she hadn’t given it much thought. Whatever the tests were for, they must’ve been hellish.

  Neither spoke as they walked toward the parking lot. By the time they reached the car, Michael’s breathing was labored. She pretended not to notice.

  Once inside the vehicle, Michael closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest. He’d broken into a sweat. She struggled not to react with pity or fear. Struggled not to react as a wife would.

  Clare started the engine and backed out of the space.

  “I appreciate this, Clare,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  “I won’t pretend it was convenient,” she said, keeping her voice cool, refusing to allow herself to feel anything, and hating it that she did. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Alex.”

  “I know.”

  She waited until they’d merged with the flow of traffic before she broached the subject of their son and the remaining soccer matches.

  “I thought we’d agreed to split up Alex’s games,” she said in as reasonable a tone as she could manage. “If you wanted to attend the tournament, you should’ve let me know.”

  Michael didn’t answer, and when she turned to look at him, he was staring out the side window.

  So he intended to give her the silent treatment. Okay, fine. But she wasn’t conceding defeat. She—

  “I’m sorry.”

  Again she had to strain to hear him. In an odd way, she was almost disappointed by his apology. It sabotaged her anger.

  “Sorry?” The least he could do was explain himself.

  “Stop the car.” His voice was harsh. Urgent. He pointed to a side street and added. “Hurry…please.”

  “Stop the car?” she repeated. Even as she said the words, she switched to the outside lane and pulled off the main street, onto the road he’d indicated. The second she eased to a stop at the curb, the passenger door flew open. Michael half fell out of the car, bent over and vomited on the sidewalk.

  Clare remembered Julia’s horrible case of flu last November. That must be what Michael had, although even worse. Doubled over, he heaved until there was nothing left.

  When he’d finished, he leaned weakly against the side of the SUV.

  Without a word, Clare opened the back and found a bottle of spring water and uncapped it. Next, she gave him a tissue from her purse, which he used to wipe his mouth. She handed him the water bottle.

  Michael took it from her, rinsed his mouth, then used what remained to wash off the sidewalk.

  He climbed back into the car, more ashen than before.

  “That must’ve been one hell of a test you had,” she said. “Or do you have the flu?” Clare didn’t want to feel sympathy for him, but despite everything, she did. It was impossible not to be affected by someone’s pain. Even if that person had ripped apart her life. Even if she’d sworn to harden her heart against him.

  “I wasn’t at the hospital for tests,” he said after a moment. “And I don’t have the flu.”

  Clare glanced in his direction and waited for him to explain, her hand on the ignition key.

  “I’m undergoing chemotherapy.”

  Chemotherapy? Michael?

  “You have cancer?” Clare whispered.

  “The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.”

  —Dolly Parton

  Chapter 14

  LIZ KENYON

  February 8th

  I’m worried about Clare and Julia. Our meeting today troubled me.

  Clare is my main concern. It didn’t take me long to discover why Michael Craig was at the hospital on Monday, and it wasn’t for any tests, the way Clare assumed. One look at her ex-husband told me he wasn’t a well man. I wonder if Clare knows the seriousness of his condition, but unfortunately that isn’t a question I can ask her.

  My first reaction was that her son had practically blackmailed her into picking Michael up. I wondered if Alex did this on purpose so Clare would discover the truth on her own. It’s a possibility, but not one I mentioned. In fact, as I learned later, she’s not sure how much her boys know.

  I suspected she was going to need to talk all of this over with someone, and I was right. After work on Monday, I got some Chinese takeout and drove to her house. It took her almost five minutes to answer the door, and she looked pale and shaken and very glad to see me.

  We talked for several hours while we ate Szechwan chicken and shrimp egg fu yung, then drank black tea in front of her fireplace. Apparently Michael’s still living with Miranda. It couldn’t have been easy for Clare to drive him to the house he’s sharing with another woman. I don’t know what they said to each other, she and Michael. Doesn’t matter, though. My main purpose is to help a friend.

  Clare’s a strong woman. She doesn’t credit herself nearly enough. She’s been through a great deal and unfortunately, there’s more to come. However, by the end of the evening, I felt confident that Clare was handling this news as well as could be expected.

  Then at the breakfast this morning, she looked like she hadn’t slept all night. She seemed especially quiet, too, and Karen’s attempts to draw her out were unsuccessful.

  Clare isn’t the only one experiencing problems. Julia seems completely drained. This pregnancy hasn’t been easy on her physically or, of course, emotionally. She, too, was withdrawn and uncommunicative.

  That left Karen and me. Karen, forever the actress, seemed grateful for an audience and did most of the talking. While I enjoy her, I’d hoped Clare and Julia would be more forthcoming, but neither of them really entered into the conversation. Without them contributing, the group simply doesn’t work.

  I’m making the effort to see more of Clare and Julia. After all, I’m the one with the free time to invest in our friendships. I can certainly give them the benefit of my affection and sympathy—if not my wisdom!

  With that thought in mind, I’ve decided I want to learn how to knit, and Julia’s agreed to teach me. She doesn’t hold regular classes; she found it was too difficult to run the store and teach at the same time. (She can’t afford to hire anyone yet, although that’s her eventual goal.) Evenings are reserved for her family and after spending all day at the store, she’s ready to go home by six.

  I’ve always wanted to knit (and I’ll be meeting one of my goals for the year—a new skill!). I’ll buy yarn to make a sweater for Annie, and while I’m learning the basics, I’ll have an opportunity to visit with Julia. We’ve arranged our lessons for two lunch hours a week; I’ll bring the sandwiches, since she won’t accept payment. We’ll knit—and we’ll talk. About the baby, her feelings, whatever she wants.

  Julia’s baby must be why Lauren’s on my mind so much these days. To carry a child for six months and then lose her, born three months premature, nearly
destroyed us. Steve and I were so young and afraid. I’ve never forgotten her, although I rarely mention her name. Born now, my Lauren might have lived. A doctor like Sean might have given her a chance at life.

  He came to my office earlier in the week. I didn’t see him, but I knew he’d been there. I was in a meeting with the nursing director, finalizing the details of the new contract. When I returned, a long-stemmed rose had been placed on my desk. It’s been almost a month since Sean and I talked. I’m not even sure if he’s still seeing the physical therapist.

  I wish I could pinpoint what it is about this man that I find so attractive. And dammit, I have to admit that I do. I know he’s younger and he’s arrogant and he’s impatient and demanding—and he’s got an inflated opinion of his own charms. And yet…and yet I can’t stop thinking about him.

  He’s as different from Steve as any man could be. Perhaps what attracts me is the challenge. But really, do I need that at this point in my life? I don’t think so. Then why do I care?

  I can’t figure it out.

  I have plenty of challenges to occupy me. My job, of course. And my volunteer work. Now that I’m reading to the kids at the detention center, I’m finding the experience immensely satisfying.

  Anyway, I put Sean’s rose in a vase and left it on my desk (right next to my copy of the second Harry Potter book). All week that rose has been there to remind me of him. It’s the first thing I notice when I walk into the office each morning and the last thing I see at the end of the day. I should have tossed it immediately, and didn’t.

  I generally trust my own judgment about people and relationships. This time I have the distinct feeling I’m setting myself up for a major letdown.

  It’s not a comfortable sensation. Sean obviously feels the same way or he would have asked me out again and he hasn’t.