Thursdays At Eight

  Everything about this afternoon is so vivid in my mind. I keep going over it and over it, almost obsessively. Miranda left him—I never did learn exactly when she moved out. I’m sure Michael didn’t want me to know.

  That made me wonder if he delayed seeing the doctor because of her. And I wondered—if we’d still been together, if there’d never been an affair or the subsequent divorce—whether I would’ve detected something wrong before it was too late. If Michael had gotten medical treatment sooner, would that have made a difference?

  I’ll never know.

  I’ve been walking around in a haze ever since. Michael asked me to assume the management of the dealership, but he made it clear that once he leaves, he won’t be back. Mick’s major is business, and Michael’s hope is that our eldest son will eventually step into the role of manager and shared ownership with his younger brother. Until that happens, Michael needs me to run the business.

  I remember, soon after I filed for divorce, pleading with God to let Michael suffer. My sense of outrage demanded it. I wanted him to know that betrayal can destroy you, wanted him to feel the bitterness corroding everything he once considered decent and fair. But even in my most desperate moments, I wouldn’t have wished this on him.

  Alex, the son of my heart, knew the minute he walked in tonight that something was drastically wrong. I kept my promise to Michael, but I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold back the truth.

  I’ll do what Michael asked, give my notice at Murphy Motors and return to the dealership. With the two of us working together, the transition should be seamless.

  Michael is dying and he’s come to me for help. I’m willing to step in and do what I can, for my children’s sake…and for his. I don’t want to care, don’t want to become emotionally involved. But I am, and even though we’re divorced, that’s not going to change.

  “The greater part of our happiness or misery depends on our dispositions and not on our circumstances.”

  —Martha Washington

  Chapter 26

  JULIA MURCHISON

  List of Blessings

  My mother

  Comfortable shoes

  Consignment maternity clothes

  May 13th—Mother’s Day

  The house is quiet and everyone’s still asleep. I woke early, although this is the one day of the year I can sleep in without feeling guilty. The peacefulness was just too wonderful to ignore, so I’m sitting here in the family room, thinking over the events planned for today.

  My mother’s coming for brunch after church, and then she’s going to my sister’s for dinner. Janice wanted all of us to celebrate Mother’s Day together, but I couldn’t.

  I wanted this day with my own husband and children—although that’s not working out exactly as I’d hoped. Peter’s mother is joining us. Two visits within a year. Now, that’s got to be a record! Naturally she’s in the area for some meeting. We just happen to be unlucky enough to be here, too. How un-gracious of me, but that’s the way I feel.

  I’ve never had much enthusiasm for my mother-in-law. She’s so unlike my husband that it’s difficult to see them as mother and son. She flew in from Seattle for a business meeting and insisted on staying in the hotel room her company arranged. I got the distinct impression that visiting us is a burden. It’s as though she’d like to forget she has a son and grandchildren. I sometimes find it difficult to hold my tongue with her. I have a wonderful, loving husband, but Peter owes his upbringing to a hodgepodge of daycare workers and nannies who provided him with the love and emotional support his mother was unable or unwilling to give her only child.

  We invited Peter’s mother to join us for church and then brunch afterward, but she declined, which didn’t surprise me. Her excuse was that she didn’t want to “intrude” on our time with my mother.

  Peter is kind of defensive about his mother, so I said nothing, but I’m not looking forward to this afternoon. I only hope the children will behave themselves. This is probably wishful thinking on my part. Our kids are typical teenagers; the only people they care about are themselves.

  “I am not playing the clarinet for Grandma,” Zoe insisted as Julia added slices of cucumber to the salad, then placed it inside the refrigerator.

  “Your father asked you to,” Julia reminded her rebellious daughter.

  “I hate it when he does that.”

  Julia understood her daughter’s reluctance, but at the same time, she sided with Peter. He was proud of Zoe and wanted to impress his mother with her musical ability.

  “When’s Dad gonna get back?” Adam asked, slouching on the sofa, thumbing through the latest issue of Car and Driver magazine.

  Julia read the digital readout on the microwave. “It’s three-twenty. Give him another ten minutes.”

  “How come Grandma Murchison didn’t want to sleep here?” Zoe asked, following Julia around the kitchen.

  “Would you?” Adam demanded, his face hidden behind the magazine.

  Zoe seemed to consider her brother’s question. “Yeah, I would. If I only had a few hours to spend with my grandchildren, I’d make the most of every single one.” She gave a slight shrug. “I mean, she doesn’t get to see us very often.”

  “Grandma Murchison didn’t come to see us this time, either,” Adam told his sister.

  “Yes, she did!”

  Adam lowered the magazine. “Tell her, Mom.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I believe your grandmother flew in on a business-related matter,” Julia confirmed, choosing her words carefully.

  Zoe frowned. “What?”

  “She’s here for a finance meeting with some corporate bigwig,” Adam said.

  Peter’s mother had seen her grandchildren maybe a dozen times in their entire lives. Adam was right; the only reason she was with them now was because her company had sent her.

  “Apparently Grandma’s real important,” Adam continued, clearly in the know.

  “That’s what I hear,” Julia muttered.

  Zoe ran to the living-room window at the sound of the minivan pulling into the driveway. “Dad’s back,” she cried excitedly. Shoving her feet into an old pair of sandals, she raced out the front door.

  Adam slowly set aside his magazine and stood, his shoulders hunched.

  Julia removed the apron and brushed her hand down her blouse to remove any crumbs. She sighed deeply; other than a half-hour’s respite when she first woke, all she’d done today was cook and clean.

  Peter, ever thoughtful, had brought her a plant yesterday, but she’d been the one who’d organized two family meals to honor first her mother and now his. Everyone took for granted the effort and planning that went into each event. For brunch, she’d served a smoked salmon and asparagus frittata—admittedly wasted on her children—plus homemade rolls, muffins and fruit salad. Not to mention fresh-squeezed orange juice. Dinner was going to be a barbecue. At least Peter would do that part, Julia thought grudgingly, although she’d marinated the chicken, made the salads and prepared dessert. She sighed again, feeling tired and out-of-sorts.

  “We’re back,” Peter announced as he escorted his mother into the house.

  “Brenda, welcome,” Julia said, moving toward her. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Hello, Julia.” The other woman leaned forward and pecked Julia’s cheek. But her eyes didn’t leave the small mound that identified the pregnancy.

  “When is the baby due again?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

  “September seventh,” Adam said in a loud, clear voice. He sounded as though the date had been burned in his mind like a historical day.

  “Adam’s shot up about a foot since you last saw him,” Julia said, sliding an arm around her son’s shoulders.

  “Hi, Grandma,” he said with little warmth.

  “Zoe, say hello to your grandmother,” Peter instructed.

  “Hi,” Zoe mumbled, clasping her hands behind her back as if to say she had no intention of playing the clar
inet on command.

  “Please, come in,” Julia said. This was all rather awkward, with the five of them standing in the entryway.

  Brenda walked into the living room and sat down, choosing the most comfortable chair for herself.

  “Iced tea, Mother?” Peter asked, evidently eager to please her.

  “That would be nice.” She patted her brow with a lacy cotton handkerchief. “The weather in southern California is considerably warmer than it is in Seattle this time of year,” she murmured.

  Peter hurried toward the kitchen. As soon as he’d left the room, Brenda turned to Julia.

  “So, the new baby is due in September?”

  Julia nodded and sat down, too. It was the first time since early morning that she’d had an opportunity to relax.

  “Do you think a third child is wise at this stage of your life?” Brenda asked, her question as blunt as it was unwelcome.

  “I beg your pardon?” What she wanted to do was scream “That’s none of your business!” Brenda had no right whatsoever to comment on their personal lives and decisions. This was a woman who barely knew her grandkids’ names, Julia thought angrily.

  “The baby is a surprise,” she managed to say calmly.

  “This is a three-bedroom house, isn’t it?” Brenda asked, looking around critically.

  “Mom and Dad want us to share our rooms with the baby,” Adam informed her. He ignored the furious glance Julia threw him.

  “You can’t do that to Adam and Zoe,” Brenda said.

  “For the first few months, the baby will be in our room,” Julia told her.

  “It’ll ruin your marriage.”

  “Peter, I’d like a glass of tea, too,” Julia said, in an effort to turn the conversation from the volatile subject of her pregnancy.

  “Coming right up,” he called back.

  Julia wanted to wring her hands in despair when she realized that all her request had done was delay Peter’s return.

  “Zoe,” Julia said, smiling grimly at her daughter. “Go get your clarinet.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “Mother, I told you I didn’t want to play for Grandma.”

  “Please, Zoe,” she whispered, desperately needing an ally.

  The thirteen-year-old stamped out of the room, muttering as she went. Julia’s feelings vacillated from embarrassment at her daughter’s bad manners to relief at the coming distraction.

  “Here we are,” Peter said, returning with a tray of iced tea, clearly oblivious to the tension in the room. He served his mother first, then Julia, and took the third glass himself. The three of them sat in a small circle, with Adam standing next to his father.

  “I thought we’d barbecue later, when it cools down a little,” Julia said in an effort to fill the silence.

  No one had anything to add to that.

  “Do you like my purse?” his mother asked, holding up the briefcase-style leather bag. “I bought it specially for this trip.”

  “It’s lovely,” Julia said. And obviously expensive…

  “It’s my Mother’s Day gift to myself.” She turned to Peter. “Thank you, dear, for the flowers in my room.”

  Julia decided she should learn from her mother-in-law. Brenda wasn’t waiting for her son or anyone else to go out and buy her what she truly wanted. Instead, she’d purchased it herself.

  Julia had received a potted azalea from her husband. The kids had given her cards and gone in on a small basket of scented soap. She loved the significance of those gifts—but what she really longed for was a silk nightgown in a pale shade of ecru with a matching robe. The gown was on display at the local Nordstrom’s, and Julia had been back to look at it three times. She wanted something beautiful, something to remind her that she was attractive and desirable even at five months pregnant. Unfortunately, the price tag was more than her shop pulled in during an entire day.

  “Do I have to play?” Zoe bemoaned her sorry fate as she clumped back into the room, clarinet in hand.

  “I’m sure Grandma would be happy to hear you perform,” Peter told his daughter with a look that defied her to suggest otherwise.

  “Do you know anything by Bob Dylan?” Brenda asked. “Maybe one of the early protest songs?”

  Zoe glanced at her mother for the answer. Julia shook her head.

  “Sorry, no.”

  “You choose then,” Brenda said, with a resigned expression as if she had about as much interest in listening as Zoe did in playing.

  The next ten minutes were taken up with Zoe’s all-too-short performance.

  “I’ll have my driver’s license this summer,” Adam said as soon as his sister had finished playing and hurried back to her room.

  Julia wished there was somewhere she could hide.

  “Driving?” Brenda seemed astonished.

  “I’ll be sixteen next month,” Adam boasted.

  “And you’re pregnant,” Brenda said, turning to Julia.

  Julia looked away.

  “I certainly hope you can afford this child.”

  “Mother…” Peter murmured.

  “Think about it,” her mother-in-law pressed. “You’re just making ends meet as it is. Julia’s business is barely off the ground. What are you going to do with the baby while you’re at work? Have either of you given that any thought?”

  “My mother’s retiring this year,” Julia began.

  “You expect your mother to step in and provide day care?” Brenda asked sharply. “That’s completely unfair of you.”

  “My mom—”

  “Mother,” Peter said, more loudly this time.

  “Far be it from you to offer any help,” Julia cried, feeling trapped.

  “Do you expect me to pay for your mistakes?”

  Zoe came back to the living room, obviously drawn by the shouting. She and Adam stared wide-eyed, listening to the heated exchange between their mother and grandmother. Peter was trying to calm them down, without success.

  Julia stood abruptly and glared at her mother-in-law, husband and children. “This might come as a shock to you all, but my baby is not a mistake.”

  “You mean to say you got pregnant on purpose?” Brenda demanded.

  Julia stiffened. “No…no more than you did.” She was instantly ashamed of her outburst. Brenda had chosen never to marry and had raised Peter entirely on her own. “My child is a surprise, but he or she is no mistake.” Then, because the entire episode had distressed her so much, she left the room.

  Peter followed her into the bedroom a moment later. “Honey…”

  “All I want is a few minutes alone. I’m sorry if I upset your mother.”

  “No. I’m sorry you’re upset.” He sighed, and slowly exhaled. “Things got out of hand before I realized what was happening. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “What would you like me to do now?”

  “I…don’t know. Give me a while to rest and let our tempers cool, and I’ll come back and apologize.”

  Peter rubbed the length of her arm. “Take as long as you need. And, Julia?”

  She glanced up at him, raising her head from the pillow.

  “Don’t apologize.”

  Exhausted and emotionally drained, Julia decided to rest her eyes and immediately fell asleep, waking two hours later. When she rejoined the others, it was as if nothing had happened. She found her mother-in-law with Adam and Zoe, arranging dinner dishes on the patio table. Brenda had rolled up her sleeves and donned one of Julia’s favorite aprons.

  “We were about to wake you,” she said, setting a couple of salad bowls in the center of the table. “The potatoes are roasting in the oven. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Thank you,” Julia said faintly.

  “You’re up,” Peter said, carrying a platter of barbecued chicken toward them.

  “Just in time, too.” She kissed his cheek, letting him know she felt much better. Because she’d been so exhausted, she’d allowed his mother’s attitude to get the best of her, something she
genuinely regretted.

  “We wouldn’t have eaten without you, Mom,” Zoe assured her, slipping an arm around Julia’s thickening waist. It was the first time in weeks that her daughter had made such a loving gesture. Julia felt tears gathering behind her eyelids; she blinked rapidly, determined not to let them fall. With pregnancy she’d become so emotional.

  While Peter turned off the barbecue, the kids went to the kitchen to bring out the potatoes and collect drinks.

  Julia approached her mother-in-law. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice.

  Brenda hesitated, then nodded and without looking at Julia, whispered, “Me, too. I have a bad habit of saying things I shouldn’t—poking my nose in. You and Peter are wonderful parents. Everything I never was.” Her mother-in-law busily rearranged serving dishes for a moment. “I realize this pregnancy is unplanned, but you’re right, the baby’s no mistake.” She glanced toward Peter and her eyes softened. “I was never meant to be a mother, and when I discovered I was pregnant with Peter, I had doubts about my ability to raise a child. Over the years, I made my fair share of mistakes, but I’ve always loved my son and wouldn’t exchange the experience of motherhood for anything in the world. You and Peter will be just fine.” Having said that, Brenda did something completely and totally out of character.

  She hugged Julia.

  “Make no judgments where you have no compassion.”

  —Anne McCaffrey

  Chapter 27

  LIZ KENYON

  May 17th

  Amy’s belated Mother’s Day gift arrived in the mail this afternoon. It was an eight-by-ten portrait of Andrew and Annie. My goodness, how my grandbabies have grown. I had to work hard not to break down and weep. I miss them all so desperately.