Amy smiled. Father-daughter ice-cream trips had been a tradition to celebrate triumphs and ease hurts since Megan was little.
“And I’m on my way to get Ian at after-school care when I leave here. Remember, I promised to take him to the batting cages.”
“Right.”
“I guess that’s it. I’m sure I’ll remember more by the time you get home.” Jeff paused. “Did you hear anything else about the man you found this morning? Is he going to make it?”
Amy told him about the phone call with Mrs. Fincannon.
“That’s good,” Jeff said. “I’m still trying to get my head around what you did.”
“Me, too, but I think Mrs. Fincannon had the right attitude.”
“Are you going to call the newspaper reporter?”
“No, she said it better than I could.”
“Don’t worry about fixing supper,” Jeff said. “I’m going to cook hamburgers on the grill.”
Relieved at the news about Megan, Amy returned to her office. The last item in her dictation queue was from Chris Lance. It was the first project he’d sent her and was more than twenty minutes long.
It was the first draft of a brief—a written legal argument addressed to a local trial judge in a lawsuit about the breakup of Westside Lighting, a wholesale company. Chris talked very fast and, unlike Mr. Phillips, gave no punctuation, paragraph separation, or help with spelling. It was similar to a stream-of-consciousness novel in which the author ignores the rules of grammar and composition for the sake of artistic freedom. If she’d received something like this from one of the partners, Amy would have wondered if it was a test of her competency. With Chris, she suspected it might be his way to get back at her for cutting him off earlier in the day.
The dictation software allowed her to slow down Chris’s voice so she could keep up. The process made him sound like the bass singer in a gospel quartet. Close to 5:00 p.m. she reached the midway point of the brief.
“And as a third ground for finding that the alleged verbal agreement between the parties is unenforceable, the Court’s attention is directed to page twenty-one of the deposition of Michael Baldwin, the former manager for both the Fayetteville and Cross Plains stores.”
Amy stopped the dictation. She’d been inside the Cross Plains store. Even though it was a wholesale company, Jeff had used his connections in the local building industry so they could purchase track lighting for the high ceiling in their family room at a big discount. The man who’d helped them with their purchase was Michael Baldwin. Amy remembered him because of his distinctive handlebar mustache and thought at the time he’d make an interesting character in a book. Now she remembered him, not as a salesman, but because she’d seen him in a dream.
And he hadn’t left a good impression.
There was a knock on her hallway door.
“Come in,” she said.
It was Chris. Amy pulled the buds from her ears.
“Are you making progress with the brief in the Westside Lighting case?” the young lawyer asked.
“Yes.”
“I know I put my thoughts out there pretty fast.”
“It reminds me of a James Joyce novel.”
“Who?”
“James Joyce, the Irish novelist and poet.”
“What did he write?”
“Ulysses is his most famous novel.”
“I thought that was written by Homer, the Greek guy.”
“That was the Odyssey. Ulysses is the Latin name for the hero.”
“I was an economics major in college.” Chris shrugged. “Since you’re a published author, I didn’t want to insult your intelligence by providing punctuation and spelling.”
Amy couldn’t tell if Chris was being sincere or sarcastic. She tried to keep her response professional.
“I’ve worked for several lawyers over the years,” she said. “Periods and commas aren’t essential, but it would help to know when to start a new paragraph or the spelling of unusual names or terms.”
“No problem. Just get me the first draft, and I’ll mark it up.” Chris paused. “Did you say anything about my dictation to Mr. Phillips?”
“No.”
“Thanks.”
Chris cleared his throat.
“And, uh, I’m sorry for the way our conversation went this morning. You know, the one about the man you found.”
“I remember.”
“I was talking about it to Laura at lunch, and she really let me have it. Let’s put it behind us. Chalk it up to my ignorance. I know as much about religion as I do James Joyce and ancient Greek literature.”
It seemed to be a day for apologies.
“Thanks,” Amy said.
“And if there’s anything else you want to tell me”—Chris paused— “either personal or about a case, let me know.”
Amy raised her eyebrows.
“Did Laura make you promise to ask me that?”
Chris shifted his weight on his feet.
“Was it that obvious?”
“Yes,” Amy said, smiling slightly, “but as a wife, I commend the humility and the effort. Please pass that along to Laura.”
Amy thought again about Michael Baldwin. She hesitated. But it didn’t seem right to bring it up to Chris. Not yet.
Smoke and flames shot up from coals piled in a pyramid in the center of the charcoal grill. Amy went into the kitchen and found Jeff molding hamburger patties in his hands. Jeff’s hamburger patties were always perfectly symmetrical. Amy thanked him and kissed him on the cheek.
“You’re welcome,” Jeff replied. “But I enjoy cooking on the grill.”
“That doesn’t make it less sweet.”
Amy went upstairs to change. Megan stuck her head out of her bedroom door.
“Mom!” she called out in a loud whisper. “Where’s Dad?”
“Downstairs in the kitchen.”
“Can I talk to you?”
Amy went over to Megan’s room. Megan pulled her inside and shut the door.
“What did Dad tell you about the meeting at school?” she asked.
“He thought it went well.”
“I was scared to death. If Mr. Ryan hadn’t stepped in, I’m not sure what Dad would have done.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know how he looked at me the other night when he told me I wasn’t going to tell him he couldn’t come to the meeting? Today, before anyone said anything, he pointed his finger in Nate’s face and told him how upset he was about what he’d done to me and my reputation. Nate turned as white as a sheet, and his mother started crying.”
“Did he raise his voice?”
“He was loud. I thought he was going to grab Nate and shake him or punch him. That’s when Mr. Ryan interrupted and took over the meeting. He turned everything toward the real reason why we got together. When Nate read the apology, he looked at Dad more than he did me. His hands were shaking. I had to say I forgave him or Dad might have gone off on him.”
Amy was bewildered.
“Please don’t say anything,” Megan continued. “I don’t want him to get mad at me. Has he ever lost his temper so badly that it scared you?”
“No,” Amy answered. “And he’s cooking hamburgers on the grill for supper to make things easier for me.”
Megan pushed her hair behind her ears. “He was better by the time we got in the car to leave the school. He even took me out for ice cream, but the whole thing freaked me out.”
“I think it will be okay.”
“I hope so.”
Supper was subdued. Ian loved hamburgers and french fries. He focused all his attention on his food and finished two hamburgers before Amy could eat one. His appetite was the sign of an impending growth spurt.
“Can I take a plate of fries up to my room?” he asked. “I’d like a snack while I do my homework.”
“May I,” Amy corrected him.
“May I?”
“Yes.”
“Do yo
u want to tell your mother about the meeting at school?” Jeff asked Megan.
“Uh, we already talked. I’m just glad it’s over.”
Megan left the kitchen. Amy waited a few seconds until her footsteps couldn’t be heard.
“Can you give me a more detailed version than what you told me at the office?” she asked.
“I may.” Jeff smiled.
“This isn’t funny,” Amy replied flatly.
“It wasn’t much of a joke, but there’s no reason to get upset.”
“You did.”
Jeff was about to eat a french fry but returned it to his plate.
“Is that what Megan told you?”
Amy chose her words carefully. “She said you were overly stern with Nate.”
“He needed to hear it, and I think it made a strong impression on him. At least I hope so.”
“I know you were doing what you thought needed to be done, but it shook Megan up. She’s not seen that aggressive side of you.”
“I was doing it for her,” Jeff said with a puzzled look on his face. “She’s our daughter, and her reputation was dragged through the mud.”
“I understand, but in a few days you might want to revisit how it made her feel.”
Jeff threw his hands up in the air. “Women are impossible to figure out at any age.”
“That’s true, but we appreciate a man who tries and doesn’t give up.”
While Jeff was on the computer, Amy sneaked up to Megan’s room. She was on the phone and quickly ended the call when Amy entered.
“Dad doesn’t realize how you felt during the meeting and would feel terrible if he knew how much it upset you,” Amy said.
“What did you tell him?” Megan asked sharply. “I told you to keep it secret.”
“Nothing except that at times you were uncomfortable with his approach.”
“Is he going to corner me?”
“No, but he may bring it up. When he does, listen to what he says and then explain your feelings.”
Megan shook her head. “I was talking to Mr. Ryan when you came in a minute ago. He called to check on me and said I should be careful not to make Dad mad.”
“This isn’t about worrying that your father will get mad. You need to talk it through with him so there’s nothing between you.” Amy paused. “And Mr. Ryan shouldn’t be calling you on your cell phone. How did he get your number?”
“He has everyone’s cell number in case he needs to get in touch with us. He was worried about me.”
Amy wanted to press the issue but didn’t. Megan had gone through more than enough stress for one day. At least she didn’t try to hide the fact that the teacher contacted her.
“Okay. Do you have any homework?”
“Yes, but it’s going to be hard to force myself to do it. I hate algebra.”
“I did, too.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I barely made a B–.”
Megan smiled.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Amy looked over the railing into the family room. Jeff was staring intently at the computer screen. She needed to work on the synopsis Bernie wanted.
Deeds of Darkness continued to evolve in Amy’s mind and on her computer screen. The age difference between Roxanne and her niece was now only twelve years, which opened the door to interesting opportunities for tension between them as they competed for dominance in a household with no man present and for the love of Roxanne’s baby.
Amy felt confident that the basic plotline of smuggling people and property across the Mexican border was solid. Public concern over border security was a constant news item, and it was plausible that events like those presented in the story could actually take place. A sophisticated smuggling operation would also be fertile ground for internal plot possibilities between the villains and everyone else.
The more she thought about the relationship between Roxanne and her husband, the more Amy liked the drama created by a man wrongly removed from his family and thrown into jail. Devastated by her husband’s false imprisonment, Roxanne would then be challenged to confront a more immediate evil when she learned that children as young as her son were being illegally transported across the border. As a mother, she could not allow that sort of wickedness to go unopposed, even if she stood little chance of defeating a cruel, powerful enemy. In the fight, the niece would play a key role as an ally, but one whose interaction with Roxanne would be laced with underlying antagonism.
The great unknown remained the degree of personal sacrifice the family would have to make to overcome the deeds of darkness. Amy completed the four-page synopsis without including a tidy conclusion, but she made it clear that victory for Roxanne would come only at a high cost.
eighteen
As usual, Jeff was out of bed before Amy the following morning. When she shuffled downstairs to get her first cup of coffee, Jeff had the morning paper open on the kitchen table. Instantly, Amy was fully awake.
“What does it say?” she asked.
“That you’re a hero who avoids the spotlight,” Jeff replied.
Amy rubbed her eyes and put on a spare pair of glasses she kept in the kitchen. The brief article was on the second page toward the bottom. The headline and text read:
LOCAL MAN SUFFERS STROKE—SURVIVES COLD NIGHT IN DITCH
Cross Plains resident and retired police officer Carl Fincannon, age 61, was reported missing Wednesday evening after he failed to return from a trip to a convenience store. His abandoned car was found a few hours later near the intersection of Selmer and Castile Streets. The search for Fincannon continued through the night until his body was spotted in a ditch early Thursday morning by local resident Amy Clark.
An emergency crew responded to Clark’s 911 call, and Fincannon was taken to nearby Memorial Hospital where he is being treated for a stroke and exposure. Fincannon had walked almost a mile from the place where he left his vehicle. Paul Moran, shift supervisor for Cross Plains EMS, stated, “Mr. Fincannon was in the early stages of severe hypothermia when our crew arrived.” Temperatures in the area fell into the upper twenties last night.
Clark was unavailable for comment, but Fincannon’s wife, Betty Jean, expressed the family’s appreciation to Clark, the EMT responders, the local police, and the medical staff at the hospital. Fincannon is currently in ICU at Memorial Hospital. His condition is listed as serious.
“They spelled our name wrong,” Jeff said when Amy looked up from the page.
“I noticed that.”
Jeff came over and gave Amy a hug.
“Even without an ‘e’ on the end of your name, you did great.”
“Mrs. Fincannon’s deepest appreciation was to the Lord, but I guess that didn’t make it past the editor.”
Jeff pointed up. “He knows.”
When Amy checked her voice-mail messages at work, the next to last one was from Mildred Burris asking her to call.
With a heavy heart Amy had typed and sent the letter Mr. Phillips dictated to Ms. Burris informing the elderly lady that the firm could no longer represent her. The voice mail didn’t mention the letter. Amy glanced at the clock. She barely had time for a short conversation before opening and organizing the morning mail for Mr. Phillips. Wondering if Ms. Burris had seen the morning paper and suspected the truth about Carl Fincannon, Amy closed both doors to her office and dialed the number.
“It’s Amy Clarke. You left me a voice mail yesterday afternoon.”
“Yes. I have a couple of dates for our luncheon with your friend Natalie. Would either this Friday or next Tuesday at noon work for you?”
Amy made a spur-of-the-moment decision to disobey Mr. Phillips.
“Either day is fine with me, but let me check with Natalie and get back to you later today.”
“All right.”
Amy hesitated. She needed to get busy, but a question she’d been mulling over on the way to the office wanted to leap off the end of her tongue.
“If God shows me some
thing, does that mean it’s going to happen, or can it be changed?” she asked.
“I have a principle,” Ms. Burris replied. “Information is for intercession first. God can certainly reveal events that are going to take place no matter what, but I don’t assume that to be the case. Prayer is always in order. However, don’t use prayer as an excuse not to act.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t forget to call Natalie.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The call ended. Amy glanced at the clock. There wasn’t time to phone Natalie and prepare for Mr. Phillips’s arrival to the office.
It was late morning before she had a chance to get in touch with her friend. By that time, four people from the office had stopped by to give Amy a copy of the article in the newspaper. When they asked for more details, Amy described Mr. Fincannon’s leg. That seemed to satisfy their curiosity. None questioned why she was near the hospital so early in the morning.
By 11:00 a.m., Natalie would have finished her workout at the gym and returned home.
“Kim Green ran out to the car this morning and told me about you finding the man who spent the night in the ditch,” Natalie said as soon as she answered the phone.
“Yes,” Amy sighed. “The Lord prompted me to drive down that road.”
“I knew it,” Natalie responded. “But of course I didn’t say anything to Kim. She’s such a blabbermouth.”
“And I appreciate it. I’m still sorting the whole thing out. But that’s not why I called. I talked to Ms. Burris about the three of us getting together.”
When given a choice of days, Natalie immediately selected Friday.
“Why Friday?” Amy asked.
“It’s sooner.”
“Okay.”
“What should I wear?” Natalie asked. “You’ll be dressed up for work.”
“Ms. Burris is fairly formal, and she’s going to make this an occasion. Wear something with flair. Don’t be boring like me.”
Friday morning Amy was working at her desk when her phone buzzed. It was Chris Lance.
“Can you come to my office for a minute?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Amy removed her earbuds. She’d given the young lawyer the first draft of the brief in the Westside Lighting case two days earlier and had not heard anything else from him. As her feet hit the treads on the stairs, they alternately called out “Michael” and “Baldwin.” Ever since her discussion in the call with Ms. Burris, Amy had been praying about what she’d seen in the living room concerning the mustached man. Was this a situation for prayer only or was she called to act?
The Living Room Page 18
