Read Online Thursdays At Eight by Debbie Macomber - Free Book Online Page B

activity, I’m going to do so wholeheartedly and with absolute commitment. That means I have to pick the right one….

“If you think you can, you can. And if you think you can’t, you’re right.”
    â€”Mary Kay Ash
Chapter 7
    CLARE CRAIG
    A t 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 scheduleof 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.
    â€œCraig Chevrolet,” the receptionist answered in a light, pleasant voice. “How may I direct your call?”
    â€œI’d like to speak to Hollie Hurst,” Clare said. No reason to talk to Michael when his secretary knew his schedule.
    â€œOne 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 youngmother 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.
    â€œMichael Craig.”
    â€œWhat 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?”
    â€œI asked to speak to Hollie.”
    â€œShe 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.”
    â€œWhat’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.
    â€œI guess you haven’t read your e-mail?” she asked.
    â€œShould 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?”
    â€œI’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?”
    â€œIt’s about Alex—”
    â€œI have a right to