Wednesday is Carter's favourite day of the week. Always has been, even when he was still a boy. The weekend is near, but not so near that you begin to remember all the chores that await you on your days off school.
Wednesday has always been the turning point, the day of the week that the world seemed to relax just a little bit.
And now, Wednesday has another meaning.
Nowadays, Wednesday often brings a young man with a solemn demeanor and beautiful dark eyes to match beautiful dark hair. A keen intellect and a good heart despite a smile that rarely appears, a laugh that is rarely heard, and an occasionally caustic tongue.
Carter and the young town doctor have been friends for ages, at first because it was natural that the two lonely bachelors, family far away, would gravitate to one another. Particularly when they shared a love of quiet and books and chess.
But eventually, because of the boy's well-concealed kindness and empathy with those few lucky enough to win his favour. After Carter happened to visit the Clinic in time to see the doctor comforting his pretty little nurse because that young farmer had recently stopped visiting and pretended not to hear her when she called to him in the mountains, and life is hardly worth living when you're nineteen and heartbroken.
From there, it wasn't long before Wednesdays began to bring with them a few new surprises.
First an awkward hug in place of a firm, friendly handshake that had been lasting a little bit longer each week.
Then a more comfortable hug that lingered until the church door creaked open and they jumped apart nervously.
Then a fleeting kiss that neither could absolutely swear had happened, but nevertheless happened again the next Wednesday, and again and again, less fleeting and very nearly leading to more.
Then the delicious discovery that the good doctor makes some very nice sounds when his friend's lips and tongue find that spot behind his ear.
Recently, Wednesdays have begun to bring all these things earlier and earlier, because apparently nineteen and heartbroken has turned into nineteen and rapturous a little sooner than Miss Elli expected when Karen, twenty and beautiful and willful, took it upon herself to repair her best friend's battered belief in true love.
After all, the doctor told him last week with a dry little smile that couldn't hide his relief to see his baby sister laughing and sparkling again, he doesn't want to be a voyeur against his will, listening in on boisterous pillow-fights, or going to the kitchen for something as innocent as a piece of toast, only to find two girls in various states of undress exploring the many uses of aerosol whipped cream.
Carter has his own suspicions about whether that's really why his Wednesdays have been starting early as a quiet, pale, dark-haired visitor slips into the Church and into the basement and into his bed on Tuesday evening and kisses him goodnight and then good morning eight hours later.
But if the doctor isn't ready to admit what Carter has been saying without words almost since they met, that's okay.
There's plenty of time.
There will always be more Wednesdays.