Читать книгу Thursdays at Eight - Debbie Macomber - Страница 12

CLARE CRAIG

“If you think you can, you can. And if you think you can’t, you’re right.”

—Mary Kay Ash

At noon on Saturday, Clare checked her e-mail messages for the sixth time that day. It hadn’t occurred to her until after her lunch with Liz that she could contact Michael without speaking to him or sending a letter. E-mail. She hardly ever used it herself, since she considered it a time-waster. But she remembered that Michael, who was enthralled with anything high-tech, did much of his correspondence by e-mail.

Her message had been short.

Michael:

Unless you want an

embarrassing scene, I suggest

you stay away from Alex’s

soccer match this afternoon.

Next Tuesday’s game is all

yours.

You will receive a schedule

of which games I’m attending.

You’re free to attend the other half.

It’s up to you.

Hugs and kisses.

Not!

Clare

It’d taken her most of an hour to write those few words. She hoped the small touch of humor would help.

By one o’clock, her stomach was so queasy she couldn’t even manage a cup of tea. She hadn’t asked him to e-mail her back but had assumed he would, if for no other reason than to confirm that he’d read her message. Clare needed his assurance that he’d do nothing to embarrass her in front of her friends. That was all she wanted; she should have known better than to expect cooperation from Michael.

At two, just an hour before she had to leave for the game, Clare found herself so agitated, she actually broke into a cold sweat. Her queasiness had developed into full-blown nausea. When she couldn’t bear it another minute, she reached for the phone.

She hadn’t called the dealership in a very long time, but the telephone number was still on her speed-dial. She punched the button.

“Craig Chevrolet,” the receptionist answered in a light, pleasant voice. “How may I direct your call?”

“I’d like to speak to Hollie Hurst,” Clare said. No reason to talk to Michael when his secretary knew his schedule.

“One minute, please.”

She was put on hold while an easy-listening radio station played in the background. The receptionist was new. Clare hadn’t recognized her voice and wondered briefly what had happened to Janet Harris. She wanted to think the young mother had quit in protest when she learned of the divorce, but that wasn’t likely. Everyone at the dealership had stayed on. Being rational, she had to suppose it wasn’t a question of personal loyalties. Michael, after all, signed the checks.

“Michael Craig.”

“What happened to Hollie?” Clare demanded before she thought to slam down the receiver without identifying herself.

There was a short, shocked pause, followed by, “Clare?”

“I asked to speak to Hollie.”

“She has the weekends off.”

Clare should have remembered that. Recovering quickly, she lowered her voice. She hadn’t expected him to pick up the phone, but she wasn’t about to let him know the effect he’d had on her. “Well, hello, Michael.”

“What’s the matter, did the support check bounce?” He didn’t bother to disguise his sarcasm.

Clare smiled. Thanks to Lillian, Michael was required to send her a hefty check each month. He had to be feeling the pinch.

“I guess you haven’t read your e-mail?” she asked.

“Should I have?” He snorted. “I’ve been busy, you know. Making money I don’t get to keep. You sent me an e-mail? What for?”

“I’d hoped to avoid this,” she muttered.

He sighed as though bored with the conversation. “Instead of exchanging useless banter, get to the point, would you?”

“It’s about Alex—”

“I have a right to see my son,” Michael snarled, not giving her a chance to explain.

“Did I say otherwise?” she returned in like tones. “Whether Alex sees you or not is his decision. Not yours and certainly not mine.”

“I agree,” he said, but his voice still held an edge.

“See? We can agree on some things,” she said with exaggerated sweetness.

“Is there a legitimate purpose for this call?”

“Yes.” She made herself sound calm and businesslike. “I understand you’re planning to attend Alex’s soccer games.”

Clare could feel Michael’s tension through the phone line. “Do I need to call my attorney? Is that what you’re saying?”

Clare laughed softly. “I can’t believe you want to tangle with Lillian Case again.”

“I’ll do whatever is necessary if you try to keep me away from my son.”

“Michael, really!” Her aggrieved tone was convincing, she thought. She was a better actress than she’d realized. Hell, Karen should take lessons from her.

“Do you enjoy this? Do you get some kind of sick thrill out of making my life miserable?”

Clare could almost see his face getting red. She could feel his anger—and she loved it. The exhilaration she experienced now made up for the months of strained, angry silence. Had she known the sense of triumph, of satisfaction, this would give her, she’d have phoned him much sooner.

“I didn’t say anything about preventing you from seeing his games, did I?” she asked, again maintaining a cool, even voice. “If you want to go to Alex’s soccer matches, that’s perfectly fine with me.”

“You’re damn straight I have a right to see Alex play!”

If he’d shut up long enough, he’d learn she had no objection to his being there. “Michael, listen,” she said, trying to keep the smile out of her voice.

“No, you listen! If I need to have my attorney call yours, then so be it.”

“Michael—”

“I’m warning you, Clare, I’ve had all I can take of your bullshit.”

“I didn’t phone to start an argument.”

“The hell you didn’t.”

“No, really. All I wanted was to set up some sort of schedule. For Alex’s sake.” She waited for him to react.

“What do you mean?”

“Alex’s soccer games. I was hoping we could be civilized about this. The last thing I want is to get the courts involved. Not again.”

“I don’t relish the idea myself.”

She’d just bet he didn’t. “You have to know how difficult it was for me to call you.”

Silence.

“We haven’t spoken in more than a year. I’ve put up with the situation, got on with my life. It isn’t like I’ve made a pest of myself, is it?”

“Just say what you have to say.”

“You want to attend Alex’s soccer matches. So do I. He’s my son, too. But I think it’d be best all the way around for us not to show up at the same time. That way Alex can concentrate on his game instead of what’s happening off-field between his parents.”

“All right,” Michael said, sounding guarded.

“I tried to avoid this. If you’d read your e-mail, we could have solved everything without all this…unpleasantness.”

“I assumed Alex told you I was planning to be there.”

“Originally, all he said was that you might start coming to the games. Thursday night, he dropped the news—he said you were coming to this game. But that’s not enough notice for me. Keith’s mother asked me to help her at the concession stand and it would be irresponsible to cancel at the last minute. If you’d gotten back to me, I might have been able to find a replacement. I can’t now.”

“In other words, you don’t want me there this afternoon.”

“Exactly.”

He hesitated. “All right, but I’m going to next Tuesday’s game.”

“And I won’t,” she said sweetly. “Now, was that so hard?”

“No,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Goodbye, Michael,” she said and replaced the receiver. Slumping in the chair, she buried her face in her hands. It shocked her to realize how badly she was trembling.

She’d talked to her ex-husband. During their conversation, she’d felt rage, exhilaration and a sense of bitter victory.

What she felt now was despair.