The Truth About Wednesday

May 2, 2020 by

The Truth About Wednesday

Yes, I know it’s Saturday… but I didn’t want to wait for next Wednesday to roll around before introducing you to Pats. You see, Pats hates Wednesdays with a passion. And now I’ve come to learn her story, I don’t blame her.  So sharing a little of Pats’ story on a Saturday morning seems like a good way to give her a well deserved shout-out… especially since you’ve already met Margaret, Mary Anne and Naomi from my new book SISTERS (Autumn 2020). These four women, best friends since childhood, have kept me fascinated for the past two years; by what they have to say to each other, and ~ more importantly ~ by what they choose NOT to say. I can’t wait to share this book with you!

 

 

From SISTERS, Chapter 3 …

 

 

Though today’s next budding musical prodigy was probably already waiting in the foyer, Pats allowed herself a moment. Closing her eyes, she forced some deep cleansing breaths and tried to banish any negative thoughts which still lingered. Patience, tolerance, kindness, and understanding were things she strived to bring to each session. Some days she managed, some days she didn’t. Some days—such as today—she caught herself wondering why she bothered trying. Music filled her heart and soul, and her love for the piano had been a part of her since she’d been a child. All she’d ever wanted was to somehow make a difference, but students such as Emily brought up the doubts. How had she allowed herself to end up trapped in this little room off the kitchen, keeping count with the metronome as it beat off time for her students, slowly ticking away the days, hours, minutes of her own life?

 

If someone had predicted her musical career would someday consist of days spent instructing students hunched over the same Baldwin spinet on which she herself had learned, Pats would have laughed in their face. A piano teacher? Fine for others, but not her. She dreamed of studying at Juilliard, of playing with orchestras and travelling the world. Big dreams, yes, but she had a big talent, her parents assured her, and Juilliard had agreed with a scholarship in her name. She was Patricia Conroy, and her future awaited.

 

Correction. She was Pats Wheaton, and she’d dropped out of Juilliard to walk down the aisle of St. Elizabeth’s Church and marry Robert. That had been her future.

 

No, this was her future… and sitting here stewing about things in the past wouldn’t accomplish anything. Rising, Pats went out to greet the student who would claim the next thirty minutes of her Wednesday.

 

She had come to hate Wednesdays. Robert’s surgery schedule had always demanded insane hours from him, but now he was head of cardiology, Wednesdays meant he must rise before dawn in order to get to the hospital early enough to preside over his weekly departmental breakfast meeting. And since Pats always rose first, it meant an even earlier start to her own long day. Occasionally she thought of readjusting her schedule, informing her students that Wednesday afternoons no longer worked, and their lessons would need to be rescheduled. But invariably, something would happen, she would forget, and another week would roll by, bringing another Wednesday for her to dread.

 

For there was another truth about Wednesdays: Robert and Wednesdays did not get along.

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