Thursdays At Eight

by Debbie Macomber

  Mick made a show of checking his watch. “I’m meeting a few friends later. Is it okay if I leave now?”

  “Of course,” Michael whispered. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the pillows.

  When Mick left, Clare remained standing in the doorway. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

  Michael nodded. “Please.”

  She made them each a cup and carried his into the room. Michael was out of bed, wearing his bathrobe and sitting in the nearby recliner. He rarely had much energy to move around anymore, especially toward nightfall.

  “Can you stay for a few minutes?” he asked as she was about to leave.

  Clare sat on the end of the bed. For a few moments, they both gazed at the television screen, as if a rerun of Law and Order was of utmost importance.

  “I didn’t know you were dating,” Michael said in a casual tone.

  Clare wasn’t fooled. She opened her mouth to explain that Leslie was only a friend and that technically this was their first date, then changed her mind. She didn’t owe Michael an explanation, nor did she feel at ease discussing this subject with him.

  “When did you meet him?” he asked, again making his interest sound casual.

  “Why?”

  Michael still stared at the television. “No reason.” He sipped his tea, then asked, “Do you intend to see him again?”

  “Probably. Listen, Michael, I’m not comfortable talking about my social life with you.”

  “Sure,” he said with an offhand shrug. “It’s none of my business, right?”

  “Right.”

  There was a pause during which they both watched the show. Then he murmured, “You might have waited.”

  “Waited,” she cried, suddenly angry. “For what?” They’d been divorced for nearly two years, separated for three. He certainly hadn’t waited to move in with Miranda.

  He glared at her then. “I’m dying, Clare,” he said in a low voice.

  “Yes, I know. And I wish with all my heart that none of this—none of it—had happened. But you aren’t my husband.

  You were the one who didn’t want to be married to me, remember? Just because you live in my home now—”

  “A house I bought and paid for,” he shouted with more energy than she’d seen in weeks.

  “Like hell,” she tossed back. “I worked just as hard for this house as you did.”

  Michael clamped his mouth shut. “You can screw everything in pants for all I care, but I’d appreciate it if you’d—” He stopped abruptly and pressed his hand over his heart. His breathing came in deep, irregular gasps.

  “Michael! Michael!”

  He shook his head. His tea had fallen from the end table and spilled onto the carpet.

  “Should I call for help?” Clare had already moved into the hallway, toward the phone. She didn’t know what else to do.

  “I’m all right… Just go.”

  Clare stood there in the doorway, irresolute. She couldn’t tell if this attack was the result of their argument or a consequence of the disease. She started to leave, since that was what he seemed to want.

  “No.” He held out his hand to stop her.

  She came slowly back into the room.

  “I’m sorry—you’re right,” he said hoarsely. “Who you date is none of my damn business.”

  She nodded and turned away before he could see the tears in her eyes.

  “It is best to learn as we go, not go as we have learned.”

  —Leslie Jeanne Sahler

  Chapter 35

  JULIA MURCHISON

  August 24th

  The last time I wrote in my journal was the morning of Zachary’s birth. It’s hard to believe that was nearly two months ago. From the moment he was born, everything in our lives has been centered on him.

  I’ll be heading out to the hospital soon, since I try to get there by eight every morning. I’m writing this at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea at hand. (Yes, real tea once again!)

  I used to worry about the shop. I’d get into a state if I had to close an hour early, certain I was losing a sale. In the last two months, I’ve barely given my fledgling business a thought.

  Thankfully, my mother, Georgia and—to my everlasting surprise—Irene Waldmann are taking turns filling in for me. I realize this isn’t a permanent solution, but all three claim they’re enjoying themselves. It’s one less thing to worry about. Mom’s fully retired now and she loves to knit as much as I do. She came to me recently and suggested she continue working half-days after Zachary’s home. Then in the afternoon, we can trade places and I’ll work while she stays with the baby. I haven’t talked to Peter about it yet, but the suggestion sounds ideal to me. Mom isn’t the only person wanting to care for Zack—my sister volunteered and amazingly enough, Adam and Zoe, too.

  My one concern is that Mom not feel any obligation, but she insists this is something she wants to do. She’s alone and after working all these years, she’d miss the routine and the companionship, or so she says. When I asked her about traveling and doing the things she’s always talked about, she said she still wants to do them, but for now it’s more important to be a grandmother. When Adam and Zoe and Janice’s children were born, she was too busy with her job to really enjoy them as much as she would’ve liked. Zachary’s giving her a second chance and she’s not about to lose it.

  I can only say I’m grateful.

  Adam and Zoe have been wonderful, and I’m grateful for that, too. Neither Peter nor I have given them much attention lately, and I realize our being at the hospital most of the time is hard on them.

  Adam has shown a level of maturity I hadn’t seen in him before. Maturity and a willingness to help in any way he can. Luckily, since he has his driver’s license, he can take Zoe to her tennis lessons and run other necessary errands. He’s chauffeured me to the hospital every afternoon, and we’ve had more time to talk one-on-one than we have in years. He’s shared his goals with me and his plans for the future. I’m thrilled that he wants to go into teaching, like his father. He’s a natural with kids, the same as Peter, and would be an asset to any classroom.

  Zoe’s been a great help all summer, too. She’s taken it upon herself to cook dinners and take care of the laundry. I haven’t had the time or inclination for housework; when I get home from the hospital, it’s late, and I’m exhausted and emotionally drained. Without my having to ask her, Zoe took over. Dinner is waiting for me, and the house is clean. I still can’t believe the way my children have pitched in—after all those months of complaining.

  Peter, my wonderful, wonderful husband. I’ve never loved him more than I have in the last two months. Whenever I get discouraged about Zachary’s condition, he finds a way to raise my spirits. He refuses to allow me to give up, or worry about the expense. I don’t have any idea what the hospital and doctor bills will be or how much will be covered by our insurance. It’s frightening to think about. Frankly, I don’t care if we end up going bankrupt. I want my son to live and to grow up a normal and happy child.

  Looking at him now, seeing the tubes and needles coming out of his tiny, emaciated body, my heart is so full of love it actually hurts.

  When I see him struggle to draw each breath, it’s hard to remember how much I didn’t want this baby. Now all my energy is focused on willing him to improve. He’s not out of danger yet, but he’s taken a turn for the better. If everything continues the way it is now, we might be able to bring him home close to his original due date in the first week of September.

  I know why Liz fell in love with Dr. Jamison. His attitude toward women might be thirty years behind the times (although I suspect much of that’s for show). But when it comes to dealing with preemies and their parents, he’s a saint. What I like most about him is how deeply he cares. I’ve never had a physician as tender as he is, or as patient.

  He and Liz are well-matched—in their intelligence, their sense of humor, their compassion. I know Liz delayed her vacation be
cause of what’s happening with me, although she denies it.

  I’ve missed meeting the group for breakfast, but I didn’t need to show up on Thursdays at eight to feel their support. At my lowest point, when I was sure we were going to lose Zachary, they threw a baby shower for me. I’m not likely to forget everything they’ve done. Their faith and love comforted me during my darkest hours.

  Irene Waldmann came by the hospital one afternoon last week with the baby blanket she’d knit for Zachary. Peter was with him at the time so the two of us sat in the waiting area. Her gift meant a great deal to me—the blanket and helping out at the shop and all her concern for Zack and me. There was a time I thought of her as difficult. She’s a bit prickly, but I should have seen past that. She mentioned the son she lost and tried not to let me see the tears in her eyes, but I did.

  Peter and I decided to ask Irene to be Zachary’s godmother. When I mentioned it to her, she grew extremely flustered and immediately left. But she visited again the next day…. Although she didn’t come right out and say it, I think she’s thrilled. Me, too.

  Soon Peter and I will be making plans to bring Zachary home. I feel more confident than ever that our son will, indeed, be coming home.

  Adam was waiting outside the hospital when Julia left at three-thirty that day. They ran into terrible traffic on the commute home, but she didn’t mind; it gave them extra time to talk.

  He dropped her off at the house and then went on to his part-time job at the neighborhood grocery, where he worked in customer service. When he got off at nine o’clock, he had instructions to come directly home for a celebration.

  That afternoon, Zachary had weighed in at a whopping four pounds, and he was scheduled to be released within the week.

  Each and every one of those precious ounces had been reason enough to throw a party.

  “Hi, Mom!” Zoe called out when Julia entered the house. “How’s Zachary?”

  “Fabulous.” She hugged her daughter, then headed for her bedroom to change clothes. To her surprise, Zoe followed her and sat on the end of the bed while Julia shed her dress. She donned a pair of shorts and a tank top.

  “I made spaghetti for dinner. I hope that’s all right.”

  Zoe had developed her own sauce recipe that had quickly become a family favorite. “It’s perfect.”

  “I added a can of sliced olives this time.”

  Julia had to think about that, then nodded. “Sounds good.”

  “I like cooking.” Zoe drew up her legs and folded them beneath her.

  Julia sat down next to her daughter. “Something on your mind?” It wasn’t like Zoe to follow her around.

  “I—I wanted to talk to you and Dad about Zachary, but it’s been hard because either Dad was at the hospital or you were.”

  “I know.” Julia hadn’t seen as much of her daughter as she had Adam.

  “I’ve…I’ve had these feelings and Aunt Janice said I should talk to you about them.”

  Julia took a deep breath, a little anxious about Zoe’s concern and unable to guess what it might be.

  “All right, let’s talk.”

  Zoe was very quiet for a moment. “I’d better check on the sauce,” she said abruptly. She hopped off the bed and dashed into the kitchen.

  Although Julia was curious, she decided not to question her daughter. This had to come from Zoe voluntarily. She trailed after her into the kitchen.

  Without being asked, Zoe poured her a glass of iced tea and set it out, with two cookies on a napkin—just as if she were serving her mother an after-school snack—which made Julia smile. Then, wooden spoon in hand, she lifted the lid to the simmering sauce and stirred.

  “Do you remember when you told Adam and me you were pregnant?” Zoe asked conversationally.

  Julia wasn’t likely to forget. “I remember.”

  “I was really mad at you.” She continued stirring the sauce, her back to Julia.

  “You felt a baby would be an embarrassment to you in front of your friends.” Julia spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, merely recounting Zoe’s reaction, not judging it.

  “I want you to know I don’t think of Zachary as an embarrassment anymore,” Zoe said in a rush. “I’m glad you had him. I’m proud of my little brother.” She sniffled and rubbed her nose. “Mom, I’m sorry for all the things I said.”

  Julia left the table and Zoe turned, threw her arms around Julia’s waist, and hid her face against her mother’s shoulder.

  “I was so afraid he wasn’t going to live.”

  “That decision was in God’s hands. It still is.”

  “I know…”

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” Julia said, brushing the hair from her daughter’s forehead. “When I first learned I was pregnant, I wasn’t happy about it, either. I kept thinking of all the things our family would have to give up because of another baby.”

  “That’s all I thought about, too,” Zoe admitted, her eyes bright with tears. “I didn’t once stop to think what Zachary would add to our family.”

  Julia was amazed at her daughter’s insight. Zoe was right; Zachary had brought them all together again. As Adam and Zoe grew older, their family life had splintered, each member going in his or her own direction. They’d stopped functioning as a cohesive unit.

  It was a process that had begun innocently enough as the children grew into their teens, and had escalated when Julia started her own business, since the focus of her energy and attention had gone into that. Even the things they’d once enjoyed as a family, like hiking and camping, had fallen by the wayside.

  The kids had their own interests, which was completely natural. Equally natural, Peter and Julia appreciated having some time to themselves and the opportunity to see their friends. In the last couple of years, though, there’d been very few family occasions. She’d insisted on family dinners as much as possible, but too often they were rushed and perfunctory, a source of tension more than pleasure.

  Until now. Zachary had changed all that.

  “Adam and I talked it over, and we both want to share our rooms with Zachary.” She looked quickly at her mother. “Once he’s old enough to sleep in his own crib, I mean.”

  Julia nodded. “He’ll be in the bassinet in our room for a few months still.”

  “Adam thought Zachary should sleep in his room because he’s a boy, but I convinced him it was only fair that he spend time with me, too.”

  Julia smiled despite the tears gathering in her eyes.

  “Don’t you agree?” Zoe leaned back to look at Julia.

  “Of course I do,” she said seriously. “Of course I do.”

  “Adam said once he leaves for college, Zachary can have his room full-time.”

  “That’s considerate of you both.”

  “I’ll watch him, too, Mom. After school and whenever you need me to. I know I said I wouldn’t, but that was before he was born and I realized I was going to love him. He’s my little brother, you know.”

  Julia hugged her close.

  “And he’s very special. No one thought he’d even live, did they? And…and now he’s all right, isn’t he? That’s what Dad said.” She gazed expectantly at her mother.

  “Yes,” Julia whispered. “Yes, he’s fine. We’ve been very, very lucky.”

  “It’s because he’s a miracle baby,” Zoe told her solemnly. “Our very own miracle baby.”

  “Vitality! That’s the pursuit of life, isn’t it?”

  —Katharine Hepburn

  Chapter 36

  LIZ KENYON

  Liz had never purchased a vehicle of her own. Her car had been new six years ago; after Steve’s death, she’d replaced the car destroyed in the accident with one identical to her husband’s. She’d given her own car to Brian and driven the new one—for six years now. It had never occurred to her to purchase anything else. Never dawned on her that she might have distinct tastes and preferences.

  Now she wanted a car of her own choice. She had the extras,
the options and the color selected, but had yet to decide on make and model. The one person she could trust to guide her was Clare, who knew more about automobiles than Liz ever cared to learn.

  They met at the dealership one hot August morning; Liz had stopped by on her way to work. Clare walked around the lot with her, pointing out the advantages of one style over another.

  “So you’re still determined to drive out to Oklahoma by yourself?” Clare said once she’d finished the tour.

  Liz glanced away so Clare couldn’t see her smile. She was astonished that a woman who managed an entire dealership, cared for her dying ex-husband, maintained a home and looked after two children, would ask such a question. “You seem skeptical. I can make the trip on my own, you know.”

  “You can do anything you put your mind to,” Clare said, doing a quick about-face.

  “Then why the concern?” They paused in front of a used two-year-old Seville in the very pearl-white color Liz preferred.

  Clare shrugged off the question. “I was wondering if it’s safe for you to be traveling alone, that’s all.”

  “Why not? I’m not going to take any unnecessary risks. I have three weeks’ vacation, so I’ve got the time for an extended trip. Besides, I happen to enjoy driving on the open road.”

  “What does your daughter think?”

  “Same as you. She’s afraid it’s not safe. I haven’t even pulled out of the driveway yet and already she’s worrying.”

  “Well, maybe you should listen and just book a flight,” Clare suggested.

  “I could,” Liz said as she strolled between the vehicles. She paused and looked back at the Seville. The sleek lines of the vehicle and the color were perfect, and the car had all the options she wanted; not only that, it was still under warranty. Liz sighed. She was definitely considering the Seville, but everything would be easier if she didn’t have so many cars to choose from. The choices confused her, and every time she saw one she liked, it was more money than she wanted to spend or, if used, had too many miles to suit her.