Thursdays At Eight (7 page)

JULIA MURCHISON

January 25th

List of Blessings

1. The security of order. Everything neatly in its place. Yarn arranged by color to form a rainbow effect in the store.
   
2. The welcome feel of my mattress after a long day on my feet.
   
3. Music and the way it nurtures me.
   
4. Zoe's snit fits when everything doesn't go exactly as she wants it to. Could this daughter of mine be taking after me? Never!
   
5. My customers, eager to create something lasting and beautiful.
   

I
haven't been feeling well for weeks, and with my newfound determination to take care of myself physically, I've made
an appointment to see Dr. Snyder, even though it means I'll have to leave the Thursday breakfast group early. The last time I saw Dr. Snyder was November when I had that dreadful flu bug and was flat on my back for an entire week.

I guess I haven't fully recovered from that virus. I assumed I'd feel better after the holidays, but I don't. In fact, I seem to be more tired now than ever. I can't seem to get enough sleep. Twice last week, I went to bed before Adam and Zoe did.

Peter, who almost never complains, mentioned it at breakfast this morning. But this is more than exhaustion. I'm constantly running to the bathroom. Could be I've developed a bladder infection. I certainly hope not.

My whole system is out of whack. Even my period is late. I'll be forty this year, but I didn't expect menopause to hit me this early. If it did, though, I wouldn't complain.

Reading this, it almost sounds like I'm pregnant. It's been so many years since I had the kids, I didn't put it together until just this minute. But that's impossible. I've been on the pill for years, and with the flu and the busyness of the season, Peter and I haven't been that active sexually.

After Zoe was born, Peter intended to have a vasectomy, but because we were both so young, the doctor advised us to hold off making that decision for a few years. We talked it over and agreed to wait. I went on the pill once I'd finished nursing, and all concern vanished from our minds. Five years later, Peter made an appointment for the vasectomy; I can't remember why he didn't go through with it. He'd gone in for his preliminary exam, but after discussing it with the specialist, he decided he wanted to think this through more carefully. So I continued taking the pill. Which is ninety-nine percent effective…

I'm
not
pregnant. I couldn't be. I'm methodical about my vitamins and my birth control pill. I don't miss. Ever. I refuse
to think like this. A pregnancy now would be a disaster. I'm finished with the baby stage and couldn't imagine going back.

No need to borrow trouble when a baby simply isn't a possibility. Besides, I'd know if I was pregnant. I did with Adam and Zoe. Both times, within ten days of conception, I sensed the changes in my body. It felt as though everything inside me had welcomed this new life taking shape. There's no celebration happening now.

I'm ending this right here because I can't deal with what I'm thinking.
I am not pregnant.
I don't want to be pregnant and I refuse to torment myself with something that has only a one-percent chance of being true.

 

“I don't need a urine test,” Julia insisted, meeting Dr. Lucy Snyder's unyielding gaze. “I already told you a pregnancy just isn't possible.”

Dr. Snyder rolled the stool closer to the examination table where Julia sat, clutching the paper gown to her stomach, her bare feet dangling.

“The pelvic exam suggests otherwise,” Doc Snyder said quietly.

“I
can't
be pregnant.” Julia didn't know why she felt the need to argue when a pregnancy was now almost a certainty. The queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with morning sickness and everything to do with her state of mind.

“With the pill, there's always that slight risk,” the doctor murmured.

Julia adamantly shook her head.

“You say you never missed a pill? Not even once?”

“Not even once!” Julia cried, fighting back emotion so negative her voice actually shook.

Dr. Snyder read the chart. “What about when you had that flu virus?”

“I took my pills,” Julia said.

“You kept them down?”

“Down? What do you mean down?” Julia asked.

“According to the chart, you suffered projectile vomiting for three days.”

Julia's forehead broke into a sweat. “Yes…And I didn't eat solids for a full seven days.” Her stomach hadn't tolerated anything other than weak tea and a few sips of chicken broth.

“I'd like you to have a urine test,” the doctor said. “Just to be sure, one way or the other.”

Numbness was spreading through Julia's arms and legs as she nodded. Dr. Snyder patted her shoulder and quietly slipped out of the room.

If she
was
pregnant, Julia could pinpoint the night it happened—after the tremendous success of her first yarn sale. She'd been incredibly happy. Adam and Zoe had spent the night with her sister, and Julia and Peter had celebrated with a rare evening out, followed by an incredible night of lovemaking.

After providing the nurse with the necessary sample, Julia slowly dressed. Her fingers trembled as she fastened the buttons of her blouse. She'd just finished when Dr. Snyder came into the cubicle with the results.

Their eyes met, and in that instant Julia knew the awful truth. It was what she'd dreaded most. She was pregnant. Whatever Dr. Snyder said after that was a complete blur. She walked out of the office in a stupor and toward the parking garage.

The next thing Julia knew, she was at Benjamin Franklin Elementary, the grade school where Peter had been principal for the last four years.

“Mrs. Murchison, this is a pleasant surprise,” the school secretary said warmly.

For the life of her, Julia couldn't recall the older woman's name, although she'd been working with Peter as long as he'd been at Ben Franklin. Linda Dooley, she remembered. It was Linda.

“Is Peter available?” Managing the question demanded full concentration on Julia's part. Her head continued to buzz, her mind skipping from one irrational thought to another. She'd left Dr. Snyder's not knowing where she was driving or what she was going to say or do once she got there. Obviously, she'd made a subconscious decision that Peter, her calm and reasonable husband, would supply the answers.

“You go on in.” A look of concern came over Linda. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Murchison?”

Julia shook her head. Nothing was right. Her entire life was off-kilter. She didn't want this baby, didn't want to deal with this pregnancy. Churchgoing, God-fearing woman that she was, her reaction would have shocked all who knew her.

“Julia?” Peter stood when he saw her. “What's wrong?” He left his desk and placed an arm around her shoulders, then gently guided her to a chair.

Julia sank down gratefully. Her legs had lost all feeling, and she felt on the verge of collapse.

Peter appeared to sense the gravity of the situation without her having to say a word. “What is it?” he asked. “Your mother?”

Julia shook her head again.

“Sweetheart, tell me.”

Her eyes and throat burned with the need to cry, but she refused to allow it.

“You saw Dr. Snyder?” her husband prompted.

She nodded wildly. “The flu…” she managed, willing
herself not to weep. Tears humiliated her. She wasn't like some women who used tears for effect. Nor did she look particularly fetching with red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose.

Peter's hands clasped hers. “It was more than the flu?”

Julia whispered, “Yes…”

“It isn't…cancer, is it?” Her husband had gone pale at the very word.

“No, you idiot!” she shouted, knowing even as she spoke how unreasonable she was being. “I'm pregnant!”

Peter stared at her blankly as though he hadn't heard or, like her, didn't
want
to hear.

“Don't look at me like this is a surprise or anything,” Julia snapped. He was to blame, dammit! If he'd gone ahead with the vasectomy, they wouldn't be facing this situation now.

“Ah…” Peter straightened and buried his hands in his pockets. “Were we planning on having a third child?” If this was an attempt at humor, she wasn't laughing.

“This is all your fault….”

His frown slowly evaporated into a soft, teasing smile. “You're joking, aren't you?”

“Do I look like I'm joking?”

“No…” He hesitated, confusion in his eyes. “You're really pregnant?”

Julia swore to herself that if he dared to smile again, she'd slap the grin off his face.

“But how?” He shook his head as if he wanted to withdraw the question. “Not how, but when? I thought you were on the pill.”

“I am on the pill.”

“And you still got pregnant?”

“Yes…apparently I threw up the birth control pills when I had the flu a couple of months back.”

“I see.” His expression remained sober and concerned, but
Julia knew her husband well enough to see that his reaction to the news in no way matched her own. Peter started to chuckle, but she cut him off abruptly.

“Don't laugh!” She wasn't kidding, either. A pregnancy wasn't a laughing matter. Not at this stage of her life. She was through with being a stay-at-home mother. She didn't regret any of it, but that phase was over now. There wasn't a single committee or volunteer job she hadn't done in the twelve years she'd been home with Adam and Zoe. She'd served as the Parent-Teacher Association president, been a Cub Scout leader for Adam, a Brownie leader for Zoe, an assistant soccer coach, Sunday School teacher, room mother and all the rest of it. She was still actively involved in her children's lives, but as teenagers they were less dependent, required less of her time. Finally, it was
her
turn, and she was unwilling and unable to go back and retrace her steps.

“You find this amusing, do you?” she yelled. “We have two teenage children, Peter. Can you imagine what a baby would do to our family?”

“Julia,” her husband said, his eyes filled with sympathy. “A pregnancy isn't the end of the world.”

“Oh sure,
you
can say that, but it isn't you who'll be getting up in the middle of the night! And what about Adam and Zoe? What about our friends? No one has a child at our age.”

“It happens all the time.”

“Not to us. Peter, you actually seem happy about this. I can't believe it!”

“I'm surprised, and obviously you are, too, but there are worse things. We'll adjust.”

“You might, but I won't. I don't want this child.” There, she'd said it, those dreadful words, but God help her, they were the truth.

Peter gazed at her as though he hadn't heard. “Give yourself time,” he advised, as though all she needed was a few minutes to get over the shock.

“Time for what? Do you think that'll change my mind? Do you seriously believe that once I get used to the idea of being pregnant I'll feel differently?”

“Julia…”

“Why do you think our children's names start with A and Z? A boy, a girl. A to Z, and I was finished.”

“Apparently not.”

Julia jerked her purse strap over her shoulder and bounced out of the cushioned seat. “I can see that talking to you isn't any help at all.”

“Julia…” Peter followed her outside his office and down the long empty corridor. “Listen, Julia. It's not so bad. Having another baby will be kind of exciting….”

Her husband didn't understand. Nor did her physician. As soon as she'd delivered the news—news Julia didn't want to hear—Dr. Snyder had distanced herself emotionally. Julia sensed it, felt it.

And Peter—sure, he'd been surprised, but he apparently shared none of her qualms. If anything, he seemed pleased. Thrilled, even. Excited.

Everything Julia wasn't.

LIZ KENYON

January 28th

I
'm feeling depressed, and I'm not sure I want to analyze the reasons. Perhaps it's just this time in my life. I'm fifty-seven and alone. Never in a million years did I think such a thing would happen.

Not to me.

The alarm wasn't set since it's Sunday, but I woke at six anyway. After tossing for a half hour, I decided I wasn't going to sleep any longer, no matter how much I wanted to. So I got up and showered. When the mirror cleared, I stared at my reflection and what I saw made me feel like weeping.

When did those crow's feet appear? I don't remember noticing them before. It isn't only my eyes, either; there are lines at my mouth and neck that I swear weren't there a week
ago. I looked old and beaten, and I'm feeling every day of my fifty-seven years.

Until recently—until I started a journal, in fact—I hadn't given much thought to age. Fifty-seven is still young. This morning, studying my reflection, I was forced to confront the truth. Fifty-seven
isn't
that young.

All at once it hit me.

As though losing Steve and having the children move away isn't bad enough, now I'm facing yet another loss, this one as devastating as the others. My youth. Oh, I don't mean that I thought I was still in my twenties or anything so foolish—just that I saw my life (and, admittedly, my looks) continuing into the future unchanged. And I know now it isn't true. There are supposed to be compensations for these losses…of beauty, health and endless possibility. Compensations like grandchildren, wisdom, insight. But as far as I'm concerned the trade hasn't been a fair one. My grandchildren are far away, and I'm definitely lacking in wisdom. All I feel is the loss and none of what I'm supposed to have gained.

Oh, dear, I'm sinking to a new low. Self-pity. No. I won't allow it. I
refuse
to feel sorry for myself. Action must be taken and quickly.

To complicate matters, I'm convinced that Sean Jamison is partly responsible for this unwelcome and unappreciated epiphany. Rumor has it he's dating the new physical therapist.

I couldn't care less.

Obviously that's a lie—I do care—otherwise I wouldn't be writing about it. Nor has it escaped my notice that the woman is twenty years his junior and nearly thirty years mine. Naturally Sean finds her attractive. What man wouldn't? She's young, pretty and probably defers to him. I, on the other hand, am older (though maybe not wiser) and I have wrinkles. No contest there. Not that I'm interested in competing for Sean.

Really, it doesn't even make sense that I care. He isn't seeking what you'd call a meaningful relationship. He's attracted to me; he's made that plain and I have to admit I'm flattered. Truth be known, I'm attracted to him, too. I wish I wasn't, because it's clear that this is destined to be a dead-end relationship—if a relationship at all. Sean just wants me to blindly fall into bed with him.

Unfortunately I can't do that and be comfortable with myself. There's only been one man in my life and after thirty-one years with Steve, I can't get involved with a man who's looking for a bout of casual sex. To me, it has to mean more than a few hours of pleasure. I can't change the woman I am, even for Sean Jamison.

I shouldn't feel this disappointed. To his credit, Sean has been forthright about what he wants, but I'd hoped for something different from him. I've always believed there was real depth to the man. Apparently I was wrong.

In an effort to boost my spirits, I phoned Amy after breakfast. My Sunday-morning chats with my daughter and grandchildren are often the highlight of the weekend for me.

As always, the conversation made me feel better. I told her I'd decided to be a volunteer reader at the Juvenile Detention Center and Amy applauded my decision. Getting out and doing something positive for the community is bound to improve my frame of mind.

Amy asked about the breakfast group and I was able to give her an update on everyone. She hasn't met any of these women who've become my friends, but she likes to hear about them whenever we talk. I think Amy wishes she could be part of such a group.

After I'd chatted with Andrew and Annie, I thought about my Thursday-morning friends. They're more than that, of course; it's just a quick way to distinguish them from my other
friends. We're each at a completely different point in our lives, and yet there are similarities, too. I see myself in Clare's anger and grief, in Karen's passion, in Julia's sense of domesticity and order. And do they see their future selves in me? I think they must. I also think these friendships have become the truest and deepest I have.

I'm so thankful I met Clare, Karen and Julia. I need my friends, and never more than now.