Thursdays At Eight

by Debbie Macomber

  At the shocked look that descended on Clare’s face, they all burst into laughter.

  “You’re joking, right?” Clare shook her head as though the idea was ludicrous.

  “No, I’m not,” Julia insisted. “In fact, I have an uncle I want you to meet.”

  Clare’s mouth opened and then closed, but no sound came out. Finally, she asked, “Who?”

  “My uncle Leslie. He’s gorgeous and fun and visiting the family. We’re having him to dinner Saturday night, and I want you to join us.”

  “Me?” Clare pressed her palm to her chest. “What about Liz—she doesn’t have all the baggage I do. Anyway, I’m not ready. I—”

  “This is totally nonthreatening,” Julia broke in. “My uncle’s only going to be in town for a couple of weeks. He’s divorced, too. He understands.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “You’re going,” Liz stated in no uncertain terms.

  “Why me?” Clare challenged. “You should be the one.”

  Karen caught the glance Liz and Julia exchanged. It told her what she’d already suspected. Julia had originally gone to Liz, but she’d refused and suggested Clare instead.

  “You’ll come, won’t you?” Julia pleaded.

  “I…” Clare looked uncertain and then seemed to arrive at a decision. “Yes, I think I will.”

  Liz positively beamed.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Clare asked Julia. “Entertaining and all?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “The pregnancy’s going okay?”

  She nodded, but Karen noted a small hesitation. “I haven’t been sick all week.”

  “Has the baby moved yet?” Clare asked.

  “She’s moving all the time.”

  “She?”

  “I don’t know, but I like to think I’m having a girl.”

  “I have a name for her,” Karen said. “You should call her Thursday.”

  “Thursday?”

  “Sure, why not? You could name her after us.”

  “Sorry,” Julia said, instantly nixing the idea. “I’m far too traditional for something like that. Besides ‘Thursday’s child is full of woe’—don’t you remember the old rhyme?”

  “Before we get sidetracked,” Liz said, “I believe Karen has something else she wants to tell us.”

  All eyes turned to Karen.

  Karen blinked and stared back at her friend.

  “Don’t you have some good news about a recent audition?”

  Karen shrugged, pretending to make light of her success, then joyfully threw her arms in the air. “I got the role!”

  “It is not easy to find happiness in ourselves, and it is not possible to find it elsewhere.”

  —Agnes Repplier

  Chapter 22

  CLARE CRAIG

  April 7th

  I can’t believe I actually agreed to this dinner party. It’s insane! The last time I went out with a man other than Michael was nearly twenty-six years ago. The minute Julia suggested the idea I should have refused. I have no idea what made me agree. How could I have done such a thing without thinking it through more carefully?

  I’m not ready to date again. But if I phone now, just hours before I’m supposed to show up, I’d be putting Julia on the spot. To be honest, I’m not as worried about that as I am about what she’d tell the others in our group. Then everyone would know what a coward I am.

  Okay, the decision is made. I’m going.

  No, I’m not. I can’t. I wouldn’t know what to say. Idle chitchat with a stranger has never been my forte, even if this stranger is the nicest man in the world (according to Julia, anyway, who also says we’ll have lots in common). The truth is, I don’t know why I’m afraid. As Julia pointed out, this is totally nonthreatening. Having dinner with the uncle of a good friend. Really, what’s so scary about that?

  I think what terrifies me is the idea of any man in my life other than Michael. I didn’t realize how insecure I am.

  I refuse to believe that after all these years as a competent businesswoman, I’m letting a dinner date do this to me. I guess it isn’t insecurity as much as the fear of making myself vulnerable again. I don’t want to put myself at risk, especially when I know how crippling the pain of rejection can be.

  Liz reminded the group that she doesn’t need a man in her life. I agree with her. I don’t need a man, either. I’m a smart, attractive woman, dammit! I’ll admit my personal life has been a disaster recently. I’m coming back, though, slowly but surely, from the edge of insanity. I’m recovering from the grief of Michael’s betrayal. Getting over the anger.

  This evening, I’ll go to Julia’s with a brave smile and zero expectations. I have something to prove to myself. I am healing. I’m almost whole again. Oh, sure, I take a few steps backward every now and then. For instance, my job with Murphy Motors—in some ways, that was a mistake. The main reason I wanted the job was to get back at Michael. I wanted him to spend his nights worrying about what I was doing, but my ploy lost its effectiveness when I learned he had other, more important things keeping him awake.

  “Clare,” Julia said, reaching for her hand when Clare arrived, giving her fingers a brief squeeze. “You look wonderful.”

  She should, Clare mused, seeing the time and effort that had gone into her appearance. She’d chosen a velvet cocktail suit in deep green, with a silk camisole, after trying on every party outfit she owned. Thankfully, Alex wasn’t home and hadn’t been around to see her agonizing over this dinner party—or to scoff at her primping. She was afraid he’d disapprove, which was the last thing she needed right now. In any event, he’d taken off that morning and she hadn’t seen him all day. That wasn’t unusual. She’d left him a note saying she’d gone out for the evening. Hey, she could be just as mysterious as Alex!

  “Come and meet my uncle Leslie.” Julia led her into the family room, where Peter sat talking to a distinguished-looking older man. Each held a glass of wine and glanced in Clare’s direction.

  Leslie and Peter stood as she entered.

  “Clare, this is my uncle, Leslie Carter.”

  She stepped forward, her hand outstretched. “I’m delighted to meet you.” Then smiling at Peter, she added, “And it’s good to see you again, Peter.”

  “You, too.” He headed into the open-plan kitchen, where an empty wineglass was waiting. “Can I pour you some wine?”

  “Please.” The dining-room table was set for four. Julia had mentioned earlier that the children were out with friends.

  They all sat down on the two comfortable sofas in the family room. Julia placed a dish of baked artichoke dip and crackers on the coffee table in front of Clare.

  “I understand you’re visiting the area,” Clare said, helping herself to a cracker and dip. Leslie Carter was a handsome man, just as Julia had promised. He had clear blue eyes, and was beautifully tanned. He’d gone almost completely bald, but it was extremely attractive on him—sexy in a Sean Connery way, Clare thought. In contrast to her, he’d dressed casually in a white polo shirt, crisp slacks and deck shoes. She guessed he was somewhere in his late fifties, perhaps early sixties. Julia hadn’t said.

  “I retired a few years ago,” Leslie explained.

  “He’s a whiz with finances. In fact, he’s been giving Peter and me lots of tax tips and he’s got some good financial advice about the store.”

  Clare smiled.

  “He’s traveling around the world in his sailboat,” Peter said enthusiastically.

  “So far I haven’t gone any farther than the West Coast of the United States,” Leslie corrected.

  “But you’re going to Hawaii from here, right?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Alone?” Clare asked, thinking such a venture must surely be unwise.

  “No. I have a small crew accompanying me.”

  “You must love sailing,” Clare said.

  “I do, but it’s a recent passion.”

  “Uncle Les
lie didn’t even own a sailboat until three years ago,” Julia told her.

  “It was something I always thought about doing, but delayed. Then the excuses seemed to run out.” Leslie leaned forward and reached for a cracker. “Once I got started, I wondered what took me so long.”

  “You say you retired a little while ago?”

  “Yes, I was a management consultant for a number of companies in the Pacific Northwest.”

  Julia stood and headed into the kitchen. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Clare asked.

  “Not a thing,” Julia assured her. “Go ahead and visit while I put the finishing touches on the salad.”

  “Let me help,” Peter said, as if on cue.

  All at once Clare and Leslie were alone. She nervously twirled the stem of the wineglass between her hands while her mind raced with possible conversational gambits.

  “I understand you were recently divorced,” Leslie said.

  “Actually, it’s been a while. A little more than a year, I believe.” She knew exactly how long it’d been, practically down to the hour. “You’re divorced, too?”

  He nodded. “Five years now. It was an adjustment at first. I was prepared to grow old with Barbara, but she… It seems we grew in different directions. She wanted a new life that didn’t include me.”

  “So did my ex,” Clare said with a short, humorless laugh. “Only Michael found a younger woman who made his new life a little more exciting.” She gave a small shrug. “Why stick with apple pan dowdy when there’s cheesecake available?”

  “Barbara’s new friend is named Troy. They’re living together.”

  “Children?”

  He shook his head. “I suppose I should be grateful for that, but I’m not. My life felt damn empty for a long time following the divorce. How about you?”

  “Two sons. Mick’s almost twenty and Alex is seventeen. I don’t know what I would’ve done without them.”

  Leslie nodded. Clare sensed that the failure of his marriage had damaged this man, and that he was still recovering, just as she was.

  “The salad’s ready,” Julia said, entering the room again.

  “In case you weren’t aware of it, my niece is an excellent cook,” Leslie informed her as he got to this feet.

  This was Clare’s first opportunity to sample Julia’s cooking. If the artichoke dip was anything to go by, she was in for a treat. The salad was impressive—a rich mixture of greens topped with slices of fresh pear, crumbled blue cheese and walnuts, served with a raspberry vinaigrette.

  “Julia, you’ve outdone yourself,” Leslie said after the first bite.

  Clare agreed. “This is fabulous.”

  Julia beamed at their praise. “Thanks. If you want I’ll bring the recipe to breakfast next week.”

  “I’d love a copy,” Clare assured her, although she didn’t know when she’d get a chance to prepare it. Alex and Mick were meat-and-potatoes eaters, the same as their father.

  After the salad, Julia brought a baked salmon and a scalloped potato dish to the table. Both were beautifully presented and delicious. Clare had always suspected that her friend possessed finely tuned domestic talents, but she’d never guessed Julia was this accomplished. Dessert was a lemon torte.

  Over coffee in the family room, they chatted about Leslie’s upcoming trip to Hawaii. Julia got out her knitting and, for the first time that evening, Clare was aware of the bulge outlined by her dress. She wondered whether Julia had mentioned the pregnancy to Leslie, then realized that Peter probably had. Julia’s husband and uncle seemed to get on well.

  Clare found that Peter and Leslie were good company and entertaining conversationalists. Julia was quieter than usual but seemed content. She concentrated on her knitting and made only the occasional remark.

  At nine-thirty, Clare decided it was time to head home.

  “I should be leaving, too,” Leslie said and stood with her.

  “I had a wonderful evening,” Clare told Julia and Peter, but the message wasn’t for them alone. Despite all her anxiety, she’d actually enjoyed herself.

  After another round of farewells and thank-yous, Leslie walked Clare to her car, which was parked behind his at the curb. The night was lovely and warm, the stars were out and the scent of blooming lemon trees filled the air.

  “Thank you, Clare,” he said as she unlocked her car—the newest Chevy Tahoe.

  Clare knew what he meant. “Thank you.”

  He grinned; they understood each other. Not only had the evening been pleasant, it had given them hope for the future—not necessarily a future together, but with someone. Romance and male companionship weren’t lost possibilities, Clare thought, as long as there were men like Leslie Carter.

  “Enjoy your adventures,” she said as she slid into the car. “I’d love to see you when you get back.”

  “Same here.” Leslie closed the door for her, then walked to his own vehicle.

  Clare drove home, feeling better about life than she had in…well, in years. Two years. She parked in the garage and was climbing out of the car when the door leading to the house was thrust open. Alex stood on the threshold.

  “Where were you?” her son demanded.

  “I had a dinner engagement,” she answered calmly. Judging by his tone, he’d been worried. Maybe he’d be a bit more considerate about letting her know where he was from now on.

  “You had a date?” Alex asked, his tone bordering on the belligerent.

  “Hey, be reasonable! I didn’t shrivel up and die after the divorce, you know.”

  Alex followed her into the house. “Who’d you go out with?”

  “Who?” she repeated, frowning. “Why do you need to know that?” When he continued to glare at her, she asked, “Is my going out really so remarkable?”

  “Yes.”

  Taken aback, she just looked at him. “Where were you?” he asked again. “Julia and Peter Murchison’s house, if you must know.”

  “She’s in your breakfast club, right?”

  “Right.” Clare went into her bedroom, kicked off her shoes and removed her earrings. Alex trailed behind her, then slumped onto the end of the bed.

  “Did you have a good time?” he asked, obviously making an effort.

  “Wonderful. Julia’s uncle Leslie was in town and I met him.” She went on to mention Leslie’s sailing trip to Hawaii.

  “That’s cool.” But Alex didn’t sound overly impressed.

  “Did anything happen while I was gone?” Something was troubling her son. Alex didn’t generally follow her from room to room, nor did he grill her about where she’d been.

  “Dad called,” Alex said, his voice deceptively casual.

  “And?” She didn’t know what was coming but she tensed, anticipating bad news. With Michael she no longer knew what to expect.

  “He wanted to talk to you.”

  “Me?” Now, that was a first.

  “He…he—” Alex’s voice faltered and he bit his lower lip.

  Clare turned around to face her son. “What’s wrong?”

  “Dad didn’t want to ask me. Dammit, Mom, you should have been here! Dad needed you and you weren’t here.” Alex stood, his hands clenched at his sides.

  “Why did your father need me?” she asked, ignoring the accusation in his voice.

  “He needed someone to take him to the hospital—he didn’t want to ask me.”

  “Did you drive him?”

  “No… When I got there, he was so sick Mom, I didn’t know what to do so I called 911. I thought he was going to die.” Alex’s voice broke. “You should have been there, Mom, you should have been there to help Dad. He needed you.”

  “It is never too late to be what you might have been.”

  —George Eliot

  Chapter 23

  LIZ KENYON

  “Sharon Kelso is here,” Liz’s secretary announced over the intercom. “She’s asked to speak to you and says it’s important.”

  Liz sighed. Her afterno
on was booked solid but her secretary certainly knew that. If the head of the nurses’ union sought an impromptu meeting, then it went without saying something was up. In all likelihood, it meant trouble.

  “Show her in,” Liz said. She felt slightly sick to her stomach. Although a strike had been averted, relations between the hospital and the nursing staff remained tense.

  Sharon Kelso was a large woman who presented herself as a no-nonsense professional. Liz liked and respected her. She considered her fair-minded but a tough negotiator.

  Liz stood as Sharon marched purposefully into her office.

  “Liz.” The other woman inclined her head in greeting.

  “Hello, Sharon, what can I do for you?” No need to delay this with idle conversation; they were both busy women.

  “I’ll need about ten minutes of your time.”

  “You have it,” Liz told her and motioned to the chair. She waited until Sharon was seated before sitting down herself.

  The head of the nurses’ union paused to collect her thoughts before speaking. “I don’t mean to be telling tales out of school,” she began. Her pinched lips made it clear that she was upset. “One of our nurses is experiencing a problem with a certain visiting specialist.”

  There were procedures to be followed in cases like this and Sharon knew them as well as Liz did.

  “Do you want to file a complaint?” Liz asked.

  “That’s an option we’ve considered,” Sharon said.

  “Can you tell me what this is about?”

  “It involves recent corrective actions taken by Dr. Sean Jamison.”

  Liz should have known it had to do with Sean. She could barely keep from groaning aloud.

  “At this point, the staff member involved and I prefer to handle the situation without the formality of filing a complaint,” Sharon said. She appeared to be selecting her words carefully. “Once you hear what happened, you’ll understand our hesitation. We don’t feel it would serve a useful purpose to make an issue of this. There are extenuating circumstances.”