Thursday Afternoons

by Tracey Richardson

  “God, I’m sorry I’m late,” Nat says as she sits down, immediately noticing that Amy has already ordered a glass of wine for her. “You’re an angel, Ames.” She picks up the glass and takes a long sip. Almost long enough to make Amy worry that her sister has developed a drinking problem, which she does not need on top of everything else.

  “Long day?”

  “Aren’t they all? At least it’s Friday. Thank God!”

  “Friday for you but not for me. I’m on call all weekend.”

  “That sucks.” Nat eyes Amy’s soda and lime. “That explains the non-alcoholic drink. Damn, I thought we were having dinner together to let our hair down. I could use a bit of that. Actually, a lot of that.”

  It’s Amy’s default to feel sorry for her sister—and to sometimes be pissed off at her. But she loves her too. Three years older, Nat should have been the role model Amy idolized. But the truth is, they were opposites from day one with Nat always flitting from boyfriend to boyfriend as a teenager, blowing off school whenever she could, fighting with their parents over everything—big and small. At twenty-two she married Tim. They settled in Windsor, and even though she’s only an hour’s drive from her parents, she might as well be in another province. It’s Amy who shoulders the burden of helping them. Four years ago, she returned to practice surgery in their hometown on the shores of Lake Erie. Not so much because she was homesick or nostalgic to return, but because her parents had begun needing more and more help. And Natalie, well, let’s just say that their parents haven’t been her priority. But still, Amy doesn’t want to have to make all the decisions about how to care for them—their dad in particular.

  “I thought you said Tim was finally able to get out more?”

  Amy admires Nat’s dedication to her husband, but it’s been a struggle. Tim can only manage to work part-time at a liquor store outlet. He’s a severe introvert and suffers from occasional crippling anxiety, leaving Nat to do all the heavy lifting at home as well as financially. Amy tries not to judge, but man, there are times when she’d like to slap her sister upside the head, demand that she start salvaging something of her own life, her own dreams. Nat always wanted to be a lounge singer, and she’s got the vocal chops to do it, but with her need to earn a consistent living, well, shower singing is about the only singing in her immediate future.

  Nat takes another sip of wine, shakes her head, but doesn’t elaborate on her husband. “What about you, you having any fun lately?”

  The question catches Amy off guard, too late to halt the blush she feels crawling up her cheeks. She evades, says she’s working a lot (what else is new), but Nat isn’t buying it.

  “You look different.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You do, actually.” Nat leans closer, lowers her voice to a whisper. “Is that a sex glow I’m seeing on my baby sister?”

  “A what?” Her assignation with Ellen is more than twenty-four hours old. Surely she’s not still glowing, even though it was hotter sex than their first time. They even stayed long enough for a second round—in the shower. Buckling knees, warm water cascading over them, slippery skin, urgent moans that drowned out everything else. Taking a shower will never be the same again for Amy.

  Nat grins and laughs like she’s learned the juiciest gossip she’s heard in ages. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

  “Nobody. You need more sleep, because you’re way off base.” Amy is not going to confess her crazy affair with Ellen. She doesn’t need to be teased or, worse, lectured. Natalie has never exhibited the same patience for Amy’s romantic choices (or choice, to be more accurate, since there’s only ever been one major one) as Amy has with Nat.

  “Ah jeez, Ames. I wish you’d find somebody. It’s long past time, don’t you think? You’re more than settled in your career now and…” Nat has never understood why Amy is so reluctant to enter into another relationship, but then, she’s always been better than Amy at scattering problems and heartbreaks into the wind. Or ignoring them altogether, as Nat has often done in her own life. “Can’t you let what happened with Lisa go? I mean…”

  They haven’t talked about Lisa in years and Amy has no idea what’s inspired her sister to bring up her ancient past. Her jaw tightens and she has to squeeze out the words, “You don’t just forget that stuff.” Going through more than three years of hell with someone isn’t exactly a memory you can simply file away forever, never again to feel its sadness, its wretched frustration.

  “I know, I know. It was an awful time for you, and I’m sorry for bringing it up, but you’d be so good for someone. You’re kind, you’re super smart, you’re extremely loyal.”

  Amy raises her glass in mock salute. “Nobody can question the loyalty of the Spencer sisters, that’s for sure.”

  Nat accepts the jab with a casual shrug. “So you’re not drinking tonight and you have nothing exciting to confess. I was hoping for a fun distraction.”

  “Actually, I have a distraction for you, but it’s not fun.” It feels like they’re lurching from depressing topic to depressing topic.

  “Is it Mom and Dad?”

  “It is.” Both eighty now, both failing but for different reasons. Their mom recently had a hip replacement and arthritis is giving her daily pain, while their dad is succumbing more and more to dementia. Neither sister can quite accept that their once vibrant, incredibly intelligent father can’t remember something as simple as what he had for breakfast. Most recently, he’s begun getting lost on neighborhood walks when he ventures too far. “They need more help, Nat.”

  “I know they do. But I can’t do it, Ames. You know I’m at my max.”

  Amy sighs quietly, bites back a sarcastic retort. Why should she have to carry more of the load because her sister chose a difficult life? Stop it, she commands herself. You’re the one who chose to be a surgeon, which means you’re not around much either. And now you’re stepping out on Thursday afternoons when you could be helping Mom and Dad instead. Okay, but so what? Is it a crime to want a few hours a week to do something pleasurable for myself? “I know you are,” she says. “I am too.”

  Natalie blows out an exasperated breath, even though it’s Amy who lives less than ten minutes from their parents and has been the one trying to organize paid help for them. “Why can’t they see for themselves that they should be moving to an assisted living place? I mean, isn’t it obvious? They can hardly do anything for themselves anymore…the lawn care, the house cleaning, preparing decent meals. What else can we do?”

  Their server, a perky young thing who’s a little too perky, a little too young, a little too cute for Natalie’s sour mood, takes their order. Natalie practically barks out her choices, asks the server to put a rush on another glass of wine.

  Amy suggests a family meeting. “You, me, them. See if we can have an honest discussion about their limitations, what else they need going forward.”

  “You mean an intervention?” So far, their parents have resisted the idea (which has only been benignly suggested) of moving to a retirement home or even an apartment.

  “Call it what you want. But we—” Amy suddenly can’t speak because her heart is in her throat. It’s Ellen, walking in with an older couple and a teenaged girl who looks…dour, to say the least.

  “What?” Natalie’s gaze follows the path of her sister’s. “Wow. Who’s that?”

  “Who?”

  “The woman you can’t take your eyes off of, darlin’. Long reddish blond hair? Looks like a model or actress or something? My God, she’s a dead ringer for the star of that television show that was on the air a couple years ago. Nashville. Dammit, what’s that actress’s name again?”

  Amy ignores her sister and fantasizes about pretending to go to the washroom and then sneaking the hell out of here. Which is not very surgeon-like of her. Or very sisterly. What is she afraid of? Okay, not so much afraid as definitely uncomfortable at seeing the woman she’s…screwing…out of context like this. Amy knows she has nothing to be uncomf
ortable about, has done nothing wrong. Unless… What if Ellen is married? This could be her parents or her in-laws and her child she’s having dinner with. Maybe her husband is joining them later. Amy feels sick. Goddammit. I’m fucking around with a married woman.

  Nat must have noticed the blood draining from her face because suddenly she’s in Amy’s face. “What’s wrong? Do you know her?”

  “No, I, ah…thought I did but...”

  Nat gives her a look that says she’s gone nuts, but before the conversation can go any further, their food mercifully arrives.

  By the time she notices Abby at a quiet table with another woman, Ellis has already ordered her meal and is in the middle of a conversation with her ex’s father about the latest dip in the stock market. He’s always trying to pick her brain about the markets, assuming because she works in business, has a degree in business and a master’s degree in health care management and policy, that she must have some sort of insider knowledge or expertise. He doesn’t seem to get, or maybe he doesn’t want to, that what she’s really good at is finding efficiencies for health care providers. More like imposing them once she identifies where the money can be saved. When budget deficits begin to swell, Ellis is sent in as the pin to deflate the balloon. Messy work sometimes, but she likes to think of it as saving hospitals, clinics, and institutions from self-destructing under their own weight.

  “I’m sorry,” she says to Ed. “I don’t—”

  “Man, those cannabis stocks are going crazy lately. I’m tempted to pull out of my Big Pharma investments and go with the cannabis. That’s the future. Right, Marjorie? All you have to do is look at all the marijuana greenhouses out in the countryside. They’re popping up like weeds!” He laughs at his own joke while Ellis and Marjorie cut furtive looks at Mia, who’s staring blankly at a distant wall. Probably high, if Ellis has to hazard a guess. Marjorie, by the look of judgy displeasure on her face, has figured out exactly what her granddaughter does in her spare time. Not Ed, apparently. Ed can’t get his mind off the almighty dollar.

  That’s when Ellis notices Abby at a nearby table. And loses every single thought in her head and anything she is about to offer by way of conversation to her dinner companions. Abby almost, no, definitely, looks like she’s trying to hide from her, having angled her chair slightly away from Ellis’s line of sight. Except she hasn’t succeeded, because Ellis can see Abby and her girlfriend clearly. Huh. Why does Abby need these little weekly trysts with her if she has a girlfriend? Or a wife? The idea appalls Ellis. They’d double-checked with one another in their limited online conversations about being single before starting up their…affair. If that’s what it is. Abby, like Ellis, said she was single. She lied, obviously. The last thing Ellis wants is some jealous girlfriend or wife coming after her. No, wait. The last thing she wants, truth be told, is a sexually transmitted disease. Followed by a jealous girlfriend or wife. Jesus Christ, this is a nightmare.

  “So,” Marjorie says, glancing nervously from Ellis to Mia. “About this summer.”

  Ellis can’t focus on anything but Abby right now. Is she happy with her girlfriend? She doesn’t look it, exactly. They’re not touching or acting romantic. In fact, they seem to be in a pretty heavy conversation, judging by the grim expressions, the tautness in Abby’s shoulders. Ellis can tell Abby is tense; her neck and shoulders look nothing like when Ellis’s lips and tongue are tracing abstract patterns on them. No. Abby is the epitome of a woman in the throes of ecstasy when Ellis is having her way with her. Whoever this woman is sitting across from her, she’s definitely not giving her the kind of pleasure that Ellis gives her. Well, well.

  “Ellis?” Marjorie’s voice rises a notch. “This summer?”

  “Sorry? What about this summer?” Is it terrible that she wants to slip a note into Abby’s hand asking her to meet her in the washroom? She’s never had washroom sex before, but for Abby she’d gladly make an exception. Girlfriend or not, Abby is hot as hell, and Ellis knows that resisting her is futile, that her moral objections don’t stand a chance against Abby’s sexiness, Abby’s exquisite lovemaking skills. Bring it on, sign me up, because I want more of that, consequences be damned!

  “Mia,” Marjorie continues. “We were hoping you could take Mia for the summer.”

  The salacious fantasies in her head come crashing to a halt. “What? Sorry, I don’t follow.”

  Ed looks like he’s swallowed something he can’t, well, swallow. He leaves it to his wife to pitch the idea to Ellis that Mia stay with her for July and August, as soon as school’s out. Which is only a month away. To give everyone a nice change, is how Marjorie words it, but what Ellis hears loud and clear is that it’s to give Marjorie and Ed a break from their rebellious granddaughter.

  “I, ah…” Jesus, did they have to ambush her like this? And right in front of Mia? “I’d love to, but my job is going to keep me extremely busy. I’m not home until well after six each night and I usually end up working from home on the weekends. I may have to travel a bit as well.”

  “Mia could easily stay with us when you have to be out of town. And she’s becoming quite an independent young woman who can even cook her own meals. Isn’t that right, Mia?”

  Mia gives her grandmother a death stare before going back to fixating on the wallpaper. Well, that went well. Not.

  The idea of being saddled with a kid for two months, and a difficult one at that, is not something Ellis wants to commit to. But she understands it must be tough for her ex’s parents to be raising their granddaughter at this point in their lives. And then there’s Mia. Motherless, father an unknown sperm donor. The kid has no one in this world except for her grandparents. And Ellis. It’s what drove Ellis to take the ten-month consulting contract in Windsor with the Essex County Regional Hospital Services Corporation, made her uproot and sell her pricey condo in Toronto. Because she owes Nancy. And Mia. Only took her nine years to figure out that it was time to repay old debts, but at least she’s here, dammit. Trying.

  She clears her throat, tries to get Mia’s attention. “What about you, Mia? What are your wishes on this?”

  The kid’s eyes widen, the question clearly catching her by surprise. It’s like she inherently knows nobody wants to be saddled with her. She shrugs as though her answer doesn’t matter anyway. And yet, what could matter more than being wanted or not wanted?

  “Whatever,” she finally grumbles, and it doesn’t fool Ellis, who’s inwardly freaking out. She’s not prepared to take Mia for nine or ten weeks, no matter how desperate Ed and Marjorie are. She wants to say no. She’s still settling into her new job, still in the early stages of assessing this massive review and cost-cutting project that’s going to take months. Plus, a full-time kid is absolutely not what she signed up for. She wishes she had someone to talk to about it, people other than Ed and Marjorie, but she’s on her own.

  “How about this. How about we all think about it, then discuss it again in two or three weeks. We still have a month before school’s done, right, Mia?” Cowardly of her, but it’s the best she can come up with, especially with Mia sitting right here.

  Marjorie answers for all of them. “I think that sounds very doable. Doesn’t that sound good, everyone?”

  Ellis feels sorry for Mia, having to live with people she doesn’t feel close to, who treat her like she’s an interloper without wants, needs, opinions. But she can’t snap her fingers and fill Nancy’s shoes, can’t be this girl’s mother figure. It sucks that Mia’s been orphaned. Sucks too that Ellis was naive enough to think she could step in and somehow help out, that taking the kid out to dinner or a movie once a week could make amends for walking out on her and Nancy all those years ago. Okay, so she underestimated things, but she’s here, if not with both feet, then certainly with one. I’ll just have to figure it out, she tells herself and glances once more in Abby’s direction. This time Abby sees her looking, gives her the slightest, most minuscule nod of acknowledgment.

  Frosty, if Ellis has to describe
the gesture, and she begins to wonder if Abby’s coolness will extend to next Thursday afternoon for their third…date? Assignation? Nope, definitely feels like a date, and the tickle in Ellis’s throat makes her want to giggle.

  Chapter Five

  Amy rushes to the operating suites, where she’s been summoned via her pager from the hospital parking lot. Her escape for the day will have to wait, because her gut tells her it’s Dr. Don Atkinson who’s in trouble. Atkinson, like Amy, is a general surgeon at the hospital. There’s only the three of them, but Atkinson has been her albatross for the past few months. Mistakes, tardiness, he hasn’t been on the ball, and it looks bad for the entire surgical service. He’s only sixty-one or sixty-two, not exactly ancient, but his skills have definitely gone downhill lately.

  She curses under her breath as her suspicions are confirmed. Atkinson had been performing an emergency gall bladder removal a little while ago when things began to go south. One big thing, to be exact. He severed the common bile duct, a very serious complication that will make the patient very sick and can even prove fatal. It’s the most feared mistake for a surgeon when it comes to a cholecystectomy.

  As hastily as she can, Amy scrubs up, steps into the operating theater, and lets a nurse glove her and wrap her in a sterile gown. She glances at Atkinson, who’s sweating profusely, but his relief at seeing Amy is unmistakable. She steps up to the table, her eyes finding the monitor Atkinson was looking at while he operated on the patient via laparoscopy. She doesn’t need to ask all the details of what happened, not yet. Right now, the patient is the priority.

  She takes the tools from his trembling hands, her eye catching a wisp of yellow liquid seeping from underneath the patient’s liver.