Thursdays At Eight (25 page)

CLARE CRAIG

W
hen Leslie Carter unexpectedly walked into the Chevy dealership on a Friday evening early in August, Clare did a double-take. As general manager she had to oversee the sales staff and approve each deal. She was chatting on the phone with the head of the service department when she saw Leslie.

He had a luxurious tan from long days of sailing in the sun. He wore shorts and boat shoes and was so handsome it was difficult to take her eyes off him.

She watched as he approached the receptionist, who turned to shoot a glance in her direction. Clare swiftly ended the phone conversation, stepped away from her desk behind the glass wall and hurried into the showroom.

“Leslie, hi,” she said, extending her hand. She felt a strong and immediate urge to hug him, but suppressed it, since this was only the second time she'd seen him. They'd talked occasionally over the intervening months and there'd been a couple of postcards, even some e-mail messages, especially after Zachary's birth. But she'd forgotten what he looked like.

Absurd as it seemed, she'd forgotten he was this attractive, this downright good-looking.

Leslie stared at her extended hand, as though he was having the same thought—that this was too formal a greeting for someone who'd become a friend. He smiled warmly before clasping it between his own two hands.

“When did you get back?” she asked.

He peered at his watch. “About three hours ago.”

He'd come almost directly to find her. His answer flustered and thrilled her.

“I thought I'd take you to dinner, if you're free.”

“Let me find out.” She already knew there was nothing scheduled for that evening, but glancing over her appointment calendar would give her a few minutes to gather her wits. With Michael living at the house now, she wasn't exactly free. But she didn't want to launch into a long explanation about her ex-husband or why he was living with her.

“Janet, would you get Mr. Carter a cup of coffee?” she asked as she disappeared into her glass office.

She made a pretense of looking in her book, then dialed the house. She couldn't very well announce that she had to check with her children before she agreed to a dinner date.

Alex answered on the second ring, his voice hushed.

“How's Dad?” she asked.

“He's sleeping.”

“I'm going to be late, is that all right?”

Alex was silent. “How late?” he finally asked.

The boys took turns staying with Michael. He didn't want or need constant attention, but at this stage of his disease, no one was comfortable leaving him at the house alone. He was usually in a drugged state, and growing weaker day by day.

Mick and Alex were with him during the days, and she often relieved them in the evenings.

“I'll be home before eight,” Clare said. She and Alex reviewed the medication schedule for Michael, then she hung up.

Leslie was waiting for her. He stood when she returned to the showroom.

“When would you like to leave?” she asked.

“Is now too soon?”

“Now would be perfect.”

Clare knew Leslie's arrival had stirred a lot of interest among the staff, but it didn't bother her. Her long hours had brought the dealership back to prosperity within a few months. With the staff's cooperation, she'd averted chaos and financial disaster. Her ideas had been welcomed and put into action, and all the employees had rallied around her. With some inventive, humorous television advertising, the dealership was reaching record sales.

True, the hours she'd put in were grueling. The reasons behind her renewed ambition, her drive, weren't entirely clear, even to her. Yes, the dealership was Mick and Alex's heritage, but there was more to it than that. Clare had something to prove to herself, and to Michael.

Living with her ex-husband wasn't easy; despite that, she felt the decision had been right. For Michael, for her and for their sons.

Clare didn't spend a lot of time alone with Michael. Because of her hours at work, she often didn't arrive home until he was asleep. But he remained in her thoughts—and in her heart. It had come as a revelation to discover she still loved him. Not the same way she had when they were married, of course. Now she loved him because of what they'd had, what they'd once been to each other. She loved him as the man who'd fathered her children.

“What's your favorite kind of food?” Leslie asked as he escorted her outside.

“Italian,” she said automatically.

“Mine, too. Ever been to Mama Lena's?”

Clare nearly tripped over her own feet. “Yes.” It had been Michael's and her favorite restaurant.

Some emotion must have been evident in her response because Leslie immediately said, “Someplace else?”

“Please,” she whispered, not eager to explain.

“Luckily there's any number of good Italian restaurants close at hand. You choose.”

Clare did, and before long they were sitting across from each other in an elegantly spare room, dipping warm bread into a small dish of flavored olive oil.

“I didn't know you were planning to get back this soon,” Clare said, taking a leisurely sip from her glass of Chianti.

“I wasn't.”

“Have you had a chance to check in with Julia and Peter yet?” she asked.

“I talked briefly to Peter earlier this afternoon,” Leslie told her. “He was on his way to the hospital to relieve Julia, so we didn't get much of a chance to chat. He sounded pretty stressed so I didn't keep him long.”

“I know.” Liz gave her an almost daily update on the baby's progress.

“How is Zachary?”

Clare shook her head, unsure how to respond. “This is such an incredible baby. He wants to live so much. Julia and Peter are with him practically every minute. I talked to Julia the other day about his progress, and it's as though she's speaking in a foreign language. All these medical terms and procedures…”

“Little Zack's going to make it, isn't he?”

“We hope so. I gather that most of Zachary's problems have to do with his lungs. He isn't even supposed to be breathing air this soon, and it causes serious complications.”

“Poor little boy.”

“You can't imagine how small he is,” Clare told Leslie. “Julia showed us a photograph at our baby shower, and he's barely as big as Peter's hand.”

“Can they hold him?”

“They have.” Clare wasn't sure how often. “Julia showed us another picture of Peter in a rocker with Zachary against his bare chest.” Then feeling she should explain why Peter had removed his shirt, she added, “The baby needs Peter's body heat in order to keep warm. He can't regulate his own body temperature yet.”

Leslie nodded.

“I pray every day that he survives.” It was a prayer every member of the breakfast club shared.

From the subject of Zachary, they turned to talk of Leslie's adventure, sailing from California to Hawaii, and then the return flight home. The sailboat was berthed at Kauai while Leslie took a break from sea life. His crew of three had dispersed, two of them planning to stay in Hawaii, the other heading up to Alaska. He'd fulfilled his dream, achieved his goal and now had some decisions to make.

The meal was delicious; Clare had ordered a Caesar salad and her favorite eggplant dish. They lingered over a second glass of wine and then espresso. When they finished, Leslie drove her back to the dealership.

Precisely at eight, Clare arrived home, just as she'd promised. After dropping her purse on the kitchen counter, she ventured into the den, where they'd set up Michael's hospital bed.

“I'm back,” she announced.

Mick sat at his father's bedside, the two of them watching television. Every time Clare saw Michael, she felt a sense of shock. He'd lost so much weight that he barely resembled the man she'd known. His skin held a yellowish tinge and his face was gaunt and drawn. The ravages of the cancer seemed more apparent every day.

“Who'd you go out to dinner with?” Mick asked. “Alex didn't say.”

“A friend.”

“Male or female?” Michael asked, turning his attention on her.

She hesitated, then decided there was no reason not to tell the truth. “Male.”

Michael's eyes narrowed. “Anyone I know?”

She shook her head.

“I might,” he insisted. “You can't say that until I have a name.”

“Leslie Carter,” she told him reluctantly. “He's Julia Murchison's uncle.”

Michael frowned, and she could tell he was displeased. “Did you have a good time?” he asked.

“Yes.” She wasn't going to lie, but she didn't intend to rub his face in it, either. This wasn't a revenge tactic. Her dinner with Leslie had been a pleasant outing and she refused to feel guilty about it.

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.

JULIA MURCHISON

August 24th

T
he 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 because 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.”