The Living Room

by Robert Whitlow

  Mr. Phillips didn’t return to the office before Amy left for the day. She was glad for the time to be alone and allow her thoughts and feelings to settle down. When she pulled into the driveway, Jeff’s truck was already there. Inside, she saw fresh flowers on the kitchen table. Jeff poked his head in from the family room.

  “Check the oven. There’s no need for you to fix supper. I brought a full meal home from LuAnn’s Restaurant and put it in to keep it warm.”

  “Thanks, but what’s the occasion?”

  “Do I always need a reason?”

  “No,” Amy responded slowly. “And the flowers are beautiful.”

  “You deserve them.”

  Before Amy could spoil the moment by telling Jeff about the phone calls with the editors, Ian came bounding down the stairs.

  Suddenly, there was a thud and a cry of “Ouch!”

  “What’s wrong?” Amy dashed out of the kitchen and found Ian holding his left arm.

  “I missed the last step and landed on my arm.”

  He moved it back and forth gingerly. Jeff held the arm in his hands and pressed it gently.

  “Does that hurt?”

  Ian winced. “A little, but I can move it. When it broke it just hung there.”

  “Should we take him to the ER?” Amy asked Jeff.

  “No,” Ian responded emphatically. “I’m starving, and Dad made us wait to eat until you got home.”

  Amy looked at Jeff.

  “Let’s keep an eye on it during supper,” Jeff said. “If it gets worse or starts to swell, we can go to the hospital.”

  Amy took Ian into the kitchen where he sat in his chair and rested his arm gingerly on the table. Jeff called upstairs for Megan to come down for supper.

  “What’s wrong with Ian?” she asked as soon as she came into the kitchen and saw his arm propped on the table.

  “He tripped going down the stairs and landed on it.”

  Ian held up his arm and moved it back and forth.

  “But it’s feeling better now.”

  “Do you think he tripped because he’s been using drugs?” Megan asked.

  Amy was taking the baked chicken Jeff had brought home out of the oven.

  “What a crazy thing to say,” she replied.

  “That’s what you would have asked me if I’d tripped. Why should it be any different with Ian?”

  Amy looked at Jeff and silently pleaded for help.

  “Did you have a bad day at school?” he asked Megan.

  “Not if you think it’s good when your best friend stabs you in the back.” Megan bit her lip. “And you find out that she’s been planning it for weeks.”

  Amy put the chicken down and faced Megan.

  “Bethany?” she asked.

  Megan nodded, fighting back tears.

  “Do you want to tell us about it?” Amy continued.

  Megan motioned to Ian. “Not now.”

  Supper was a somber meal. The food was good, but it was eaten in silence. As soon as he finished, Ian carried his plate to the sink without being asked, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher.

  “If it’s okay, I’m going up to my room,” he said. “I don’t think I need to go to the hospital.”

  “Fine.” Jeff nodded.

  As soon as Ian’s footsteps faded on the stairs, Amy and Jeff both turned to Megan.

  “What happened with Bethany?” Amy asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But you have to,” Jeff responded. “We aren’t going to let you suffer alone.”

  Megan looked at her father and a tear rolled down her cheek. Amy pulled a tissue from a box on the kitchen counter. Megan blew her nose.

  “It all had to do with Mr. Ryan,” she said. “Bethany was jealous of me because she knows I’m one of his favorite students. She started a rumor that I’ve been making fun of him behind his back. It got back to him, and I could see that it really hurt his feelings.”

  “You can tell him it’s false,” Amy said. “He’ll believe you.”

  “No, he won’t. Because part of it is true. Not that I meant it seriously, but Bethany and I were joking about him the other day, and I sent her a text message about how his hair is falling out, and he is getting a gut from eating too many french fries. She left her phone in his classroom with the text open, and he saw it.”

  “I hate text messaging,” Jeff responded.

  “I tried to talk to Mr. Ryan after class,” Megan continued, “but he cut me off and asked me to leave.” She buried her face in her hands. “How can I go back to school?”

  Amy and Jeff exchanged a questioning look over the top of Megan’s head.

  “There’s nothing you can do about it tonight,” Amy said. “But Mr. Ryan is an adult who knows how silly students can act.”

  “He didn’t think this was silly,” Megan said without lifting her head. “I could see how much I hurt him when I looked in his eyes.”

  Amy pressed her lips together. She wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “Do you have any homework?” Jeff asked Megan.

  “Yes, but how can I think about that?”

  “At least try.”

  With a shrug Megan got up from the table and left the kitchen.

  “What should we do?” Amy asked as soon as she was gone. “I could call Mr. Ryan.”

  “No.” Jeff shook his head. “I’m going to drive over to his townhome and talk to him. It may not be as bad as Megan thinks, but if it is, I’ll try to see if I can help smooth things over.”

  Amy’s gratitude for the meal and flowers couldn’t compare with her appreciation for Jeff’s willingness to help Megan. She leaned over and gave him a big kiss.

  “What’s that for?” he asked.

  “Do I always need a reason?”

  thirty-four

  Jeff left, and Amy went upstairs to the writing room. Since sending her initial work to Bernie, she’d finished two more chapters of Deeds of Darkness and was close to completing a third one that introduced Roxanne’s faith. As Amy reread it, she tried to view it through Lynn Colville’s eyes. Nothing she’d written about the protagonist violated any known rule of writing, but there was no denying Roxanne’s faith was the slender strand holding her life together. It didn’t remove all doubt that she would prevail in the end—Amy had already made it clear in her synopsis that there would be equal scoops of tragedy mixed with triumph; however, she could see how Colville could easily criticize the chapter and argue that Roxanne’s faith was a superfluous appendage that weakened the story because it gave her a crutch to lean on. To Colville, Roxanne probably should overcome the deeds of darkness with her own ingenuity and in her own strength.

  Amy rewrote a paragraph to tone down the religious component, but it made the sentences seem to swirl in circles. She stopped. How could she plant a nugget of faith while concealing its true identity? Then she had an idea based not on religious theory but on her own Christian life. What if Roxanne was a dreamer? Dreams were a universal language inherently outside human control and could thus be both instructive and deceptive. Roxanne could be a lifelong dreamer who was only now beginning to connect what happened in the unconscious realm with the real world she inhabited. Amy’s excitement grew. Anytime she wrote out of personal experience, she was able to bring a level of depth to her writing. She quickly rewrote several paragraphs and gave Roxanne an obscure yet vivid dream that foreshadowed her spiritual journey and provided information she would need later in the story. Amy really liked the flow of the new paragraphs.

  She read them twice, then stopped.

  Lynn Colville would fail to see the world of dreams as a mysterious cave filled with unknown discoveries. She would consider it a classic example of deus ex machina—the manipulation of plot and character by an unseen hand. Even if the information Amy introduced in the dreams created challenges for the main character, it wouldn’t make any difference. The supernatural was taboo for the editor. Amy deleted her changes.

  S
he didn’t want to become an orphan so early in her writing career, but she couldn’t write in a vacuum devoid of spiritual air. Before she could question herself any further, she put the chapters in a file and sent it to Bernie and Lynn Colville as an e-mail attachment.

  Going downstairs, she found Jeff standing in the doorway of Megan’s bedroom.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Megan said with a slightly teary smile. “That makes me feel tons better.”

  “What happened?” Amy asked.

  “We’ll talk downstairs,” Jeff replied.

  Jeff waited until they were in the family room to speak.

  “Megan was right,” he said in a soft voice. “Her text message really hurt the guy’s feelings, which surprised me, but if your world revolves around your students, what they think and say about you is a big deal. At first he didn’t want to talk to me, but he let me in when he saw I wasn’t going to leave. I explained the situation from Megan’s perspective and apologized on her behalf. I reminded him about the situation with Nate Drexel and told him this was a chance for Megan to say that she’s sorry for something hurtful she’s done to another person. That seemed to register with him. She’s going to prepare an apology and give it to him tomorrow.”

  “Verbal or written?”

  “I told her to do both. Maybe write a card and then say something when she gives it to him.”

  Amy was impressed with the way Jeff had managed the situation.

  “That’s good,” she said.

  “And to show her that there are no hard feelings, Mr. Ryan is going to invite Megan and a few of her friends over to his place for dinner next week near her birthday. He’s not a chef and was glad to know how much she enjoys Chinese takeout.”

  “What is Amy going to do about Bethany?” Amy asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Let me think about that one. She and Megan have been close ever since Megan went to public school. It’s a relationship worth saving.”

  Jeff turned toward the computer.

  “There’s something else I need to talk to you about,” Amy said, trying to sound strong. “Did you forget to ask about my phone calls with the two editors in New York?”

  Jeff faced her with kindness in his eyes.

  “No, and when I didn’t hear from you after three o’clock, I called Bernie Masters. I figured Bernie would let me know without having to make you suffer through it. That’s one reason for dinner and the flowers. I wanted you to know there are people in the world who love and appreciate you as you are. If you want to tell me about it now, I’ll be glad to listen.”

  “What did Bernie say?” Amy sniffled slightly.

  Jeff gave an accurate summary of the two phone calls. Bernie hadn’t tried to sugarcoat it for him.

  “That’s about right,” Amy sighed. “I sent them three more chapters of the new novel a few minutes ago. We’ll see how Lynn Colville reacts.”

  Jeff held out his arms and wrapped them around her.

  “Whatever happens, remember how this feels,” he said.

  Amy rested her head on Jeff’s shoulder, and they held each other close.

  “Thanks. I love you,” she said as they parted.

  “Better than the men in your books?”

  “Yes. Your hugs are real.”

  Before she went to bed, Amy checked her e-mail. There was a simple message from Bernie:

  I like the new stuff. Very genuine. Your voice shines through.

  The following day when Amy came home from work, Megan was cheerfully sitting at the kitchen table helping Ian with his homework.

  “Good day at school?” Amy asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Megan shook her head and motioned to Ian.

  “I know about your text message dissing Mr. Ryan,” Ian responded without looking up from his book.

  “How?” Amy and Megan asked at the same time.

  “Mom, the walls in this house are made of paper.”

  Megan rolled her eyes. “I talked to Mr. Ryan before class, and we worked everything out. He’s even going to throw a birthday party for me and a few friends next week. He said Dad already told him it was okay.”

  “That’s right,” Amy replied.

  “Are you going to invite Bethany?” Ian asked.

  Both Amy’s and Megan’s jaws dropped open.

  “No,” Megan said after a brief pause. “Mr. Ryan is upset with her for making me look bad. Is there anything else you want to tell us?”

  “Huh-uh,” Ian grunted. “I’m finished with my math. Can I go outside until supper?”

  “Yes,” Amy answered.

  After Ian left, Amy turned to Megan.

  “Now that you’ve worked things out with Mr. Ryan, what is your plan on restoring your relationship with Bethany?”

  “None. She’s furious that I’ve turned the tables on her. But that’s her problem, not mine.”

  “She’s been your best friend for almost four years. I don’t think you should—”

  “She wrecked our friendship in the time it took to leave her phone in a place where Mr. Ryan could see it,” Megan interrupted.

  “Did you talk to Mr. Ryan about her?”

  “No, I wasn’t even thinking about Bethany. This was all about Greg, I mean, Mr. Ryan and me.”

  Amy raised her eyebrows. “You don’t call Mr. Ryan by his first name to his face, do you?”

  Megan shifted in her chair. “It was a joke. I mean, he could be my older brother. Some of the seniors call him Greg outside class.”

  Amy remembered the mistake made by the girl at the pizza party who thought Amy was Greg Ryan’s girlfriend.

  “You shouldn’t, even as a joke. He’s not young enough to be your brother.”

  Amy didn’t receive any feedback from Bernie or Lynn Colville all morning. She hoped no news was a sign the editor was taking a thoughtful look at the additional chapters Amy submitted.

  Wednesday afternoon Chris came into her office with a stack of papers in his hand.

  “I have something on Dr. Kelly and Nurse Jackson,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “Money transferred from Sanford Dominick’s account to Beverly Jackson that was way more than she should have received for home health-care services.”

  “How much more?”

  “Three payments of fifty thousand dollars each over a nine-month period, in addition to her regular fees for taking care of him.”

  “Okay, that looks bad.” Amy nodded. “What did he pay Dr. Kelly?”

  “Nothing except expenses not covered by Dominick’s health insurance. But when I subpoenaed Jackson’s financial records in advance of the depositions next week, I found a payment by her to Dr. Kelly for seventy-five thousand dollars shortly after she received her second installment from Dominick.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Who knows for sure, but it looks like Kelly and Jackson were working together, and he used her as a buffer between himself and Dominick.”

  “If they’d convinced Mr. Dominick to voluntarily give them money, why would they want him to die?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe he refused to give Jackson anything else. And don’t forget, she’s a beneficiary under the last will. If it holds up, she’ll receive another two hundred thousand dollars. He was valuable to her dead or alive.”

  Amy shivered.

  “There’s no connection in the financial records with Ms. Burris, is there?” she asked.

  “Yes, there is.”

  Amy’s heart sank.

  “Shortly after Natasha moved to Florida, Dominick paid a local construction company $225,000 to do some remodeling work. I was going over financial information with Natasha on the phone the other day and asked her about it. She didn’t remember any work at their house here, so I got in touch with the construction company.” Chris leaned in. “Get this. The work wasn’t performed at Dominick’s house; it was performed at Ms. Burris’s house in Cr
oss Plains. They only finished up a few months ago.”

  Amy now felt a sick feeling in her stomach. She’d seen and admired the work at the residence.

  “My husband’s company replaced the windows in the house,” she said numbly.

  “And got paid with Sanford Dominick’s money. There’s no legal reason Dominick couldn’t help Ms. Burris out, especially if he was feeling guilty about ditching her. But it shows how all three of the people you saw in your dream benefited significantly from Dominick during a time when he was vulnerable and his health was going downhill.”

  “I don’t think Ms. Burris would do that.”

  “Money talks louder than words.” Chris shrugged.

  “Does Mr. Phillips know about this?”

  “Not yet, but he’ll have everything he needs before he deposes her next week.”

  Shortly before the end of the day, Mr. Phillips buzzed Amy’s phone and asked her to come into his office.

  “I’m going to take your advice,” the senior partner said as soon as she came close to his desk. “I’m not going to hire the Houston firm to advise the Thompson Trust on the Nigerian oil investment. Dr. Ramsey will not be giving us an opinion.”

  Instead of feeling vindicated, Amy suddenly felt insecure.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because I don’t want to make a mistake about such an important decision. Ever since you told me about your reservations, I haven’t been able to shake off the sense that you may be right. You proved to be a good judge of bad character with Michael Baldwin, and I don’t want to repeat that mistake. We’re going to go with the firm in Miami.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.” Amy paused. “I only want what’s best for the firm and its clients.”

  Driving home a few minutes later, Amy wasn’t sure how to process what had happened with Mr. Phillips. She’d never been anything except a subordinate. To have her opinion given so much weight made her slightly light-headed. After supper that night, she told Jeff, in general terms, that Mr. Phillips had made an important decision for a client based on information she’d received in a dream.