Free Thursdays At Eight by Debbie Macomber Page A

afternoon.”
    â€œExactly.”
    He hesitated. “All right, but I’m going to next Tuesday’s game.”
    â€œAnd I won’t,” she said sweetly. “Now, was that so hard?”
    â€œNo,” he admitted grudgingly.
    â€œGoodbye, 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.

“The worst part of success is to try finding someone who is happy for you.”
    â€”Bette Midler
Chapter 8
    KAREN CURTIS
    T his lunch was destined to be even worse than Karen had imagined. As she stood in the foyer of the yacht club restaurant, she saw her mother pull up to the valet attendant and step out of her Lexus. Catherine Curtis wore a pastel-blue linen dress with a huge wide-brimmed matching hat and white gloves. Victoria looked like her twin, only she had on a tailored blue suit with a white collar. Apparently, three-year-old Bryce was spending the day with his father. Karen was disappointed; she’d looked forward to seeing her nephew. It went without saying that her mother and sister weren’t going to approve of her jean overalls from Old Navy.
    â€œHi, Mom,” Karen said, standing when they entered the yacht club.
    Her mother’s expression spoke volumes. “Karen.” She leaned forward and presented her cheek for Karen to kiss.
    â€œYou’re early,” was her sister’s sole greeting.
    â€œMy car’s on the fritz, so I took the bus.” Actually, Karen hadmade a day of it, shopping in Willow Grove that morning, then catching the bus out to the marina. She’d read the current Vanity Fair during the forty-minute ride, which had been relaxing and enjoyable, calming her before the inevitable confrontation.
    Her mother and Victoria exchanged glances.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Karen said in a stage whisper. “No one saw me get off the bus. Certainly no one who’d connect me with the two of you.”
    â€œShall we have the hostess seat us,” her mother said, ignoring the comment.
    â€œYes, let’s,” her sister piped in with phony enthusiasm. The two headed in the direction of the restaurant, leaving Karen to trail behind. The temptation to slip away was almost overwhelming, but the consequences wouldn’t be worth it. So, like an obedient child, she followed them.
    The hostess directed them to a window table and handed them menus before she left. Karen sat across from her mother and sister and gazed out at the marina for several minutes. The water sparkled in the January sun, and boats of every size lined the long dock. Everything from the simplest sailboat to yachts with price tags that ran into the millions.
    â€œWhat looks good to you?” Victoria asked Catherine. Karen observed, not for the first time, that Victoria rarely made a decision without consulting their mother.
    â€œThe crab and shrimp quesadillas, perhaps. With a small avocado salad.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I was thinking,” Victoria said, closing her menu. “What about you?” she asked Karen.
    â€œI’ll have the crab Louis.”
    â€œExcellent idea,” Catherine said approvingly.
    At least Karen had enough ordering savvy to please her mother.
    Catherine set aside her menu and focused her attention on Victoria. “How’s Roger?”
    Karen frowned. She’d hoped all conversation regarding the twit would be over by now. They’d probably spent the entire drive out to the club admiring Roger and then discussing Karen—her lack of direction, her fanciful dreams, her multiple shortcomings.
    Victoria smiled benignly at her mother. “Busy, as always.”
    Wishing now that she’d taken the time to change out of her jean