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I want to practice gratitude. I know that sounds hokey, but instead of concentrating on the negative, I want to look at the positive side of life. After that horrible flu, I’m grateful for my health, and yes, I can even find reasons to be grateful for my mother-in-law. (She must have done something right, considering how Peter turned out.)
I’ve decided to start every journal entry with five things for which I’m thankful. I’m calling it my List of Blessings. That way I can begin my day on a positive note.
I feel the breakfast club has become my own personal support group. Every Thursday at 8—what a treat! And to think that I never would have enrolled in the journal-writing class if not for Georgia. Leave it to my cousin to con me into something I didn’t want to do, because she refused to go alone. Sure enough, I sign up for the class and three weeks later Georgia drops out. But I didn’t feel abandoned since I’d met Liz and Clare and Karen by then and we’d bonded like super glue. I stayed in the class so I could be with them.
It began with the four of us meeting after class. We’d go to the Denny’s restaurant near the college for coffee. Then when the session was over, Liz suggested we continue meeting. She’s the one with all the good ideas. It made sense that we get together at the same time as the original class, but with teenagers at home it’s difficult for me to take one night a week out of my already heavy schedule; doing that was hard enough while the course was in session. Trying to find a mutually agreeable time proved to be the biggest challenge. I suggested we meet for breakfast, and everyone leaped on that. Sometimes the obvious solution isn’t immediately noticeable.
Georgia’s sorry she dropped out of the class. I haven’t invited her to join our breakfast group. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to keep my newfound friends to myself, but I need this. I need them. The things we talk about, the things we share, are not always for Georgia’s ears. She might be my best friend and my cousin, but I wouldn’t want any part of the group’s conversation to be repeated. Georgia, God love her, couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.
Peter and I didn’t do anything all that exciting to bring in the New Year. The kids were with friends at church for an allnight youth program. We went out to dinner with the Bergmans. It’s tradition now that we spend New Year’s Eve together, but I wasn’t really up to it this year. I would have preferred a night with just the two of us, but I didn’t want to disappoint either Peter or our friends. We played cards and at the stroke of midnight, Peter opened a bottle of the best champagne we could afford and we toasted the New Year.
I didn’t mean to get sidetracked. My word is GRATITUDE, and the first thing I’m going to do is write my List of Blessings just so I’ll remember to keep counting them. Then, seeing that the house is quiet for once, I’m going to take a long nap.
COUNTING MY BLESSINGS
1 New beginnings.
2 My husband and his mother. God bless her!
3 Good friends like the Bergmans.
4 The sound of Adam’s laughter and the sweet beauty of my daughter.
5 Sleeping for ten uninterrupted hours.
“Hi, Mom.” Zoe walked into the kitchen not more than ten minutes after Julia woke up from her afternoon snooze. New Year’s was always a lazy day around their house. Her thirteen-year-old daughter fell into the seat across from her, landing clumsily in the chair. Zoe laid her head on the patchwork place mat and yawned. Her arms dangled loosely at her sides.
“Did you have a good time last night?” Julia asked.
“Yeah,” Zoe murmured with no real enthusiasm.
Julia knew that the church youth leaders had kept the kids active with swimming and roller-skating, plus a number of games that included basketball and volleyball. The night ended with a huge breakfast at 5:00 a.m., and from there everyone went home. Peter had picked up Adam and Zoe at the church, and Julia had assumed they’d sleep for much of the day. She was wrong.
“Did you and Dad have fun without us?” Zoe asked, as though she expected Julia to announce that the evening had been intolerably boring without their daughter to liven things up.
“We had a wonderful, romantic evening,” she said, wanting Zoe to realize that she and Peter had a life beyond that of being parents.
Zoe frowned. Yawning again, she stood and made her way back to her bedroom.
“What was that all about?” Peter asked, coming in from the family room where the television was tuned to one of the interminable New Year’s Day football games.
“Haven’t a clue,” Julia said, secretly amused.
“Come sit with me,” Peter invited, holding out his hand.
A dozen objections ran through her mind. The kitchen was a mess and she was behind with the laundry, but she couldn’t refuse him.
They snuggled up on the leather couch with Julia’s head on his shoulder and his arm around her. It was peaceful; the only sound came from the television, the volume kept purposely low.
“I saw you writing in your new journal,” he mentioned absently, his gaze on the TV.
“It’s perfect,” Julia said, cuddling close and expelling her breath in a long sigh.
Peter turned to study her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He seemed to accept that, but Julia decided to confide in him about her gratitude plan. “Do I complain too much?” she asked, not certain she was going to like the answer. “The reason I ask is that I want to make an effort to be more appreciative.”
“Really.” Peter’s gaze wandered back to the screen.
“I’m making a list.”
“Good for you.”
Julia doubted he’d even heard her. Still, she continued. “I want to work on me this year.”
“That’s nice, sweetheart.”
Julia stifled a groan. “The kids are growing up and before long it’ll be just the two of us.”
“Hey, I’m in no rush,” he joked.
“I’m not, either, but it’s inevitable. Adam will get his driver’s license this year and we’ll be lucky to see either him or the car after that.” Their son was a responsible boy and it would help Julia immeasurably not to be transporting him to and from track practice, which was an irony of its own. Driving him to the track so he could run.
“Zoe’s going to be in high school soon,” Peter added.
It seemed just the other day that their daughter was seven and missing two front teeth.
Peter slipped his hand inside Julia’s blouse and cupped her breast. “I like the way we christened the New Year.” His mouth nibbled at her neck with a series of kisses that grew in length and intensity. Julia straightened, and their lips met in a kiss they normally reserved for special nights.
“There are advantages to one’s children growing up,” Peter whispered, as his hands grew bolder with her breasts.
“Oh?”
“They seem to stay in their rooms a great deal more.”
“That they do,” Julia agreed, twining her arms around his neck and luxuriating in his kiss.
“Mom. Dad.” Adam walked into the family room, his face clouded with sleep.
Peter quickly removed his hand and an embarrassed Julia tucked in her blouse.
Their son took one look at them and frowned darkly. “What’s going on?”
“Ah…nothing,” Julia mumbled, glancing away.
Adam wandered into the kitchen and made himself a cup of hot chocolate.
“I thought you two would be over the mushy stuff by now,” he muttered disgustedly as he returned. “It’s embarrassing to catch your parents in a lip lock.”
“You just wait,” Peter told his son. “When you’re forty, you’ll see things very differently.”
Adam gave them an odd grimace, then carried his cup back toward his room. “I’m going online,” he announced as he disappeared down the hallway.
“Where were we?” Peter asked and reached for Julia again.
Chapter Five
CLARE CRAIG
“Advice is what we ask for when we already know the answer but wish we didn’t.”
—Erica Jong
“This is so nice,” Liz Kenyon said, sliding into the booth across from Clare in the Victorian Tea Room on Friday afternoon. Clare dredged up a smile, although the year wasn’t beginning well. Barely two weeks into January, and the issues with Michael were once again staring her right in the face.
Clare was pleased—no, she was relieved—to see her friend, even though they’d had breakfast with the others just the day before. There were things she needed to talk about that she wasn’t comfortable saying in front of the whole group. Liz was the person who’d understand. Who might even have some practical advice or at least encouragement.
The restaurant was close to Willow Grove Memorial where Liz worked as administrator, which made it convenient for both of them.
A decisive woman, Liz picked up her menu, looked at it for no more than a minute, then set it aside.
Clare required much longer to make her selection, but only because she found it difficult to concentrate. Her head reeled, and making the simplest choice seemed beyond her at the moment. Spinach salad or a Monte Carlo sandwich? It wasn’t a life-and-death decision but it took more effort than she was able to muster. There didn’t seem to be a dish appropriate for spilling out one’s heart to a friend.
When she finally closed her menu, Clare glanced up to see that Liz was watching her. “Are you okay?” Liz asked quietly.
With anyone else, Clare would have plastered on a phony smile and offered reassurances. She didn’t think she could fool Liz. Nor did she want to.
Just as she was about to explain, the waitress arrived to take their orders, and looked to Liz first.
“I’ll have the seafood sauté salad,” Liz said and handed her the menu.
The woman nodded. “Good choice,” she murmured.
She turned to Clare, but by then neither the spinach salad nor the sandwich sounded appetizing. “I’ll have the same thing.”
“Very good,” the waitress said in the same approving tone she’d used earlier.
Liz waited until the woman was out of earshot. “I thought you didn’t like seafood.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why’d you order the seafood sauté salad?”
Clare wasn’t aware of what she’d ordered; furthermore she didn’t really care. She hadn’t planned this lunch so she could eat. She needed support and advice, not food. “Oh, well,” she muttered.
“Clare, what is it?” Liz studied her, staring hard. “Something to do with Michael, no doubt?”
Clare nodded and chewed at her lower lip. “Alex and Michael have been meeting behind my back,” she said bluntly. “I knew they were talking—Alex admitted as much shortly after the first of the year. Then on Tuesday, Alex said he wouldn’t be home for dinner because he was working late. It was a lie. I phoned the computer store and learned that Alex had left before five.”
“You asked him about it?”
Clare nodded. “He’d gone to dinner with his father. He didn’t mention Miranda, but I suspect she was there, too.” The knot in her stomach tightened at the thought of her son dining with her ex-husband and his live-in lover. The pain never seemed to go away. Whenever Clare felt she was making progress, some new crisis would emerge. Some emotional stumbling block—like this one. She just hadn’t expected it to involve her youngest son.
“It bothers you that Alex is seeing his father?” Liz asked.
“No.” Well, she didn’t really like it, but she was committed to her sons’ right to communicate with their father. In any event, that part wasn’t nearly as troubling as the lie. “I don’t want to stand in the way of the boys having a relationship with Michael. Our differences don’t have anything to do with Mick or Alex.”
“Is that lip service or do you really mean it?” Liz had a way of cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
“I mean it—at least I think I do. Sometimes it’s hard to know. I’m just so angry with Alex.”
“Alex, not Michael?”
“Michael, too, because it seems to me that Alex is imitating his father’s tactics. He didn’t want to admit he was having dinner with Michael, so he did it without telling me.”
“But he did tell you he’d been in contact with his dad.”
That was true enough. “Alex said Michael had phoned him. Well, this is a lot more than a simple phone call. What I object to most is the secrecy. As if my not knowing was somehow supposed to protect me.”
“What did Alex say when you confronted him?”
By the time her son had walked into the house, Clare had been so angry she’d barely been able to speak to him. To his credit, Alex didn’t deny seeing Michael. He calmly told her where he’d gone, then he went to his room, leaving Clare to deal with impotent rage. She was convinced this was Michael’s revenge for her taking the job at Murphy Motors.
“Alex lied to me, and I think Michael encouraged him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know my ex,” she snapped.
“Clare,” Liz said softly. “I’m on your side, remember?”
“I know…I know. Part of me is relieved that the ice between Alex and Michael is broken. I mean, I realize how difficult our divorce has been on Alex. He was always so close to his father.” She felt herself tense as she thought of the pain her ex-husband had inflicted on their family. Poor Alex had been put in an impossible position. He loved both his parents and yearned to please Michael as well as her. That she could understand, but not the lie. Surely he knew what his dishonesty would do to Clare when she found out.
It wasn’t only his relationship with her that Michael had destroyed. Mick and Alex weren’t getting along, and Michael was the source of that trouble, too. He’d managed to drive a wedge between the two brothers, and Clare feared that was about to happen between Alex and her, too.
“On his way out the door recently, Alex oh-so-casually said that Michael might be attending the soccer games. Now I find out he’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”
“And you won’t be there if your ex is?”
“Can you blame me?” She scowled. “At least Miranda’s not coming. Alex told me that much, anyway.”
“No, I don’t blame you.” Liz patted her arm. “It’s perfectly understandable,” she said. “I wouldn’t go under those circumstances, either.”
Clare instantly felt better. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“What do you mean?”
Michael had already taken so much from her, and Clare couldn’t tolerate his stealing more. “I enjoy watching Alex play. I’m the one who drove him to and from soccer practice for the last twelve years. I’m the soccer mom who treated the team to ice cream and slumber parties. The other parents are my friends.”
