Thursdays At Eight by Debbie Macomber Page A

director? He wants you to audition for another commercial?”
    Karen sighed. “It’s for a dog-food commercial. He told my agent he liked my style and—”
    â€œI’ll just bet he did,” her mother said, lips pinched tight. “Exactly what are you going to have to do for that role?”
    Enough was enough. As politely as possible, Karen placed the pink linen napkin on the table and picked up her purse. “I think it’d be best if I left.” She kept her voice expressionless.
    â€œSit down right now!” her mother ordered. “I won’t have you making a scene by leaving before we’ve finished our lunch.”
    Karen reached down for her shopping bag and held onto it with both hands. “If you’re worried about creating a scene, then I suggest that the next time we meet, you refrain from insulting me.”
    â€œAll I said was—”
    â€œThank you for lunch.” Karen did her best to hide heranger—and disappointment. She should’ve known better. Whenever she saw her mother, they always played out some version of this encounter. The simple truth was that her family didn’t respect her and had no confidence in her talent or, apparently, her judgment. And that hurt.
    â€œKaren, wait,” Victoria pleaded, rising to her feet.
    Karen shook her head, fearing that if she stayed she’d end up saying something she’d regret.

“What a wonderful life I’ve had! I only wish I’d realized it sooner.”
    â€”Colette
Chapter 9
    JULIA MURCHISON
    January 25th
    List of Blessings
The security of order. Everything neatly in its place. Yarn arranged by color to form a rainbow effect in the store.
The welcome feel of my mattress after a long day on my feet.
Music and the way it nurtures me.
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!
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 madean 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