The Living Room

by Robert Whitlow

  “Wow, if that starts happening all the time, the practice of law will never be the same.” Jeff paused. “But isn’t it sometimes hard for you to figure out what your dreams mean?”

  “Yes, it’s nerve-racking to mention what I think. I’d hate to have to do it a lot.”

  “That may not be up to you.”

  “It’s always up to me. The question is whether I’m willing to obey and what that obedience looks like.”

  As she listened to herself, Amy was reminded of Ms. Burris. She missed the older woman. Regardless of what Dr. Kelly and Beverly Jackson may have done to Sanford Dominick, Amy could not let herself believe Ms. Burris did anything wrong. Only if the elderly woman admitted it would Amy think it possible.

  Later that evening she went up to the writing room to work on the next chapter in Deeds of Darkness. However, without any feedback from Lynn Colville, she didn’t want to run the risk of wasting her time. She struggled for over an hour without writing a hundred words that made sense and finally turned off her computer.

  That night she went to the living room.

  It had been several weeks since she’d had a divine encounter, and given all the pressure she’d been under recently, Amy gladly yielded to the pull toward the place of peace. Enveloped by the breathing walls, the issues of life didn’t disappear, but they receded into the background. The living room had never been a place where she tried to figure out the answers to her problems. Rather, it was a place where her problems shrank in the presence of the one who held the entire world in his hands. Refreshed, Amy could faintly hear the sounds of praise taking place beyond the walls. Her heart longed to join the throng where each instant revealed a new facet of the Lord that prompted a fresh response of worship.

  As she felt herself being pulled away, a series of rapid images once again flashed before Amy’s eyes. When she woke up, she looked at the clock. It was 1:30 a.m. Another hour passed before she drifted off to sleep once more.

  The following morning one of the first items in her dictation queue was a letter from Mr. Phillips notifying Dr. Ramsey that the Thompson Trust would not be retaining his group to assist in the evaluation of the Nigerian oil venture. Amy dutifully transcribed the letter. But instead of putting it in the stack for Mr. Phillips to review, she placed it to the side. Something didn’t feel quite right about it. Shortly before noon, she received a text message from Bernie:

  Heard from Lynn. Check your e-mail, then call me.

  Amy’s heart sank. Bernie would have called her immediately if he’d received good news from Colville. She logged on to her home account from her phone and quickly scrolled down to the message from the editor. She clicked it open:

  Received additional chapters. Will be in touch.

  Lynn Colville

  The editor certainly wasn’t wordy. It was time for Amy’s lunch break, so she left the office, drove to the park, and called Bernie.

  “What does this e-mail mean?” she asked as soon as the agent answered the phone. “Is it written code?”

  “Yeah, the key is in the second sentence. Everybody in the publishing, entertainment, and music businesses knows the lingo. If someone in New York, Hollywood, or Nashville tells you they’ll ‘be in touch,’ it means you’ll never hear from them again. A friend of mine who represents musicians calls it a ‘Nashville No.’”

  “Are you sure? Colville seemed to pride herself on being honest and blunt. Remember how she criticized Kate Heigel for avoiding me and sending Diana Carmichael to turn me down?”

  “Of course, but do people always do what they criticize other people of not doing?”

  It took Amy a second to unravel Bernie’s response.

  “Not necessarily,” she said.

  “Exactly. Lynn let you down easy. Another key is what she wrote about the additional chapters. She received them but didn’t read them. That tells me she’d made up her mind after our conversation the other day. It’s how the dance is danced and the game is played. I’m sorry.”

  It was a weird way to be rejected.

  “Would you call Colville and make sure?” Amy asked.

  “Sure, but don’t be disappointed if she doesn’t return my call.”

  “What do we do next?”

  Bernie was silent for a moment. “Let me mull that over, and I’ll be in touch with you. Hey, I’ve got to jump on another call.”

  Amy had another question, but there wasn’t anyone on the line to ask. Then she thought about Bernie’s final comment that he would “be in touch.”

  “Uh-oh,” she said softly to herself. “I think I just became a double orphan—no publisher, no agent.”

  She spent the remainder of the half hour sitting numbly in her car. She nibbled the edges of the sandwich she’d brought from home, but food had no taste. For some unknown reason her mouth was exceptionally dry, and she drank an entire bottle of water. Thoughts about her trip to the living room the previous evening helped a little bit, but nothing was going to remove the sting of double rejection. Returning to the office, she was greeted by a cheery Janelle.

  “I hope you’re having a great day,” the receptionist said.

  Amy hoped her plastic smile was enough to fool Janelle for the few seconds it took to pass her desk. She dutifully finished out the rest of the workday. Mr. Phillips signed a stack of letters and reviewed several documents without asking her about the letter to Claude Ramsey. Amy left it on her desk beneath a file in an unrelated matter. As she reached her car, her cell phone vibrated. It was a text message from Bernie:

  Colville passed. Dead end.

  That night during supper Amy kept looking at the kitchen clock for no apparent reason. Time was passing, but it didn’t mean anything. She knew she’d have to tell Jeff what happened later in the evening. He’d been so sweet after the conference calls that she hated having to give him really bad news.

  “Bethany and I are friends again,” Megan announced after putting a second helping of sweet potato casserole on her plate.

  “How did that happen?” Jeff asked.

  “Mr. Ryan did it. He talked to her one-on-one and then made us sit down with him after class today. He was really tough on Bethany, and she started to cry when she apologized to both of us. Seeing her that way made me willing to give her a second chance.”

  “A second chance?” Amy asked. “Does that mean you’re going to keep score?”

  “Come on, Mom,” Megan said. “Be realistic. Are you saying if she tries to hurt me like that again, I’m supposed to ignore it?”

  “No, but you have to forgive her if she’s sorry.”

  “Yeah.” Ian glanced up from a chicken leg that he’d picked almost totally clean. “It says in the Bible you have to forgive, like, 490 times.”

  “You used that up with me by the time you were three years old,” Megan shot back at her brother.

  “It also says not to borrow trouble from tomorrow for today,” Jeff cut in. “I’m glad you and Bethany worked it out. Is she going to come to your birthday party next week?”

  “Yes, both the one at Mr. Ryan’s house and later here on my real birthday,” Megan replied. “She’d already bought me a nice present before this blowup happened.”

  Amy hadn’t started planning the spend-the-night party for Megan and four of her friends.

  “And there’s nothing for you to do,” Megan said in anticipation of Amy’s thoughts. “This isn’t the third grade with the fairy princess theme.”

  For that party Amy had made a princess costume for Megan and put together elaborate gift bags for every girl who came.

  “What are you going to do?” Amy asked.

  “Just hang out. We may have some fun doing silly things with a new app Alecia found on her phone. It switches faces and puts them on other people’s bodies.”

  “Bobby showed me that,” Ian said. “It’s funny.”

  “It’s great that you and Bobby have something in common,” Jeff replied.

  “If we put Alecia’s dog’s he
ad on Ian’s body, nobody would be able to tell anything different,” Megan said.

  “Megan—” Amy started.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Ian cut in. “I forgive her. That’s pretty good.”

  Amy stayed on the sidelines as the rest of the mealtime conversation went between Megan and Ian about goofy phone apps. She never would have guessed the two siblings would have discovered common ground. As soon as the children cleared out of the kitchen, Amy told Jeff about the e-mail from Lynn Colville, her conversation with Bernie, and the stake driven into the heart of her writing dreams.

  “I’m sorry,” she concluded. “I’ve tried to do my best.”

  “At least you went back to work at the law firm,” Jeff replied soberly. “I thought it was a good idea at the time, but I had no idea how important it would turn out to be. Do you really think your chances of holding on to a job are good when Emily comes back from maternity leave?”

  Amy was stunned that Jeff immediately went to the practical side of things.

  “Well, I believe Mr. Phillips is pleased with my work, and he halfway promised me a permanent position the first day I reported back. Emily’s baby is about a month old, so I should find out soon. But I’m devastated by what happened with the editor.”

  “And I know it will take time to get over it. I’m just thankful there seems a way forward for us as a family.”

  Amy didn’t have the strength to convince Jeff he should have more sympathy for her. As soon as the dishes were put away, she fled upstairs to the writing room. She didn’t necessarily want to be alone, but she couldn’t mope on the couch while Jeff sat in front of the computer. She sat in her writing chair, her computer untouched. There was no use working on Deeds of Darkness. It had joined her in the orphanage.

  Amy stared out the window at the familiar landscape. Spring had come during the past two weeks, and dusk was pixilated by pockets of daffodils and tulips. She wished there was color to brighten the darkness of her mood. Sighing deeply, Natalie’s book popped into her thoughts.

  She took out her copies of the lovely illustrations created by her friend. As she looked at each one, the slightest of smiles formed at the corners of her mouth. The paintings reflected the irrepressible joy of Natalie’s life—a perfect antidote for melancholy. By the time Amy reached the last one, her imagination had left the attic room and was walking on warm beach sand, feeling a gentle breeze.

  Turning on her computer, Amy returned to the spot where she’d stopped working on the text. A fresh idea popped into her head, and she started typing. An hour later she reread what she’d written. Regardless of anyone else’s opinion, the words worked.

  Amy was still a writer.

  thirty-five

  Before leaving the writing room, Amy called Natalie and told her what happened with the editors and Bernie. “I wish I was there to give you a huge hug,” Natalie said when Amy finished.

  “You helped me in a way you wouldn’t guess.” Amy told her about the positive effect of working on Natalie’s story. “I know I’m going to struggle with my feelings, but this evening it kept me from sinking into the pit.”

  “I’m glad for that. When can we get together?”

  “My schedule tomorrow is hectic, and Jeff’s birthday is Saturday.”

  “We’ll be out of town Saturday anyway. Would you be able to squeeze an hour out for lunch on Tuesday?”

  That was the day Chris was going to depose Dr. Kelly and Nurse Jackson.

  “Maybe. It depends on whether I have to help one of the young lawyers prepare for some depositions. I should know if I can get away by midmorning.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks for listening.”

  The following morning Amy finished organizing Mr. Phillips’s mail and returned to her office. A few minutes later the senior partner buzzed and asked her to come into his office.

  “Where is the letter I dictated to Dr. Ramsey?” the lawyer asked. “I don’t recall signing it.”

  “On my desk,” Amy replied without explanation. “I’ll get it.”

  She retrieved the letter and placed it in front of Mr. Phillips, who signed it with a flourish.

  Instead of leaving, Amy remained standing in front of his desk.

  “What is it?” Mr. Phillips asked.

  Amy cleared her throat.

  “Do you remember Dr. Lawrence Kelly and Beverly Jackson, the doctor and nurse who helped take care of Mr. Dominick?”

  “Of course.”

  “I had a dream about them.” Amy paused. “And Mildred Burris. It was very specific. Would you like to hear it?”

  Mr. Phillips gave Amy a frustrated look.

  “I’m not trying to confuse things—”

  “No, go ahead. I’ll decide if this is relevant to anything.”

  Mr. Phillips’s eyes opened wider as Amy talked. At one point he started to take notes but stopped. Amy hesitated.

  “Keep going,” he said. “I’ll wait until you finish.”

  “That’s all I remember,” Amy said. “Chris knows about this. That’s why he moved up the depositions of Kelly and Jackson and obtained financial records from them. Do you know what he uncovered?”

  “Not yet. We’re scheduled to meet later today so he can brief me.”

  Amy told him about the money.

  “That may or may not be significant. Sonny gave away lots of money over the years. He would go to Las Vegas and drop a ten-thousand-dollar tip on a showgirl or a bellhop. And I remember one time he gave the man who cut his grass twenty thousand dollars as a Christmas gift. But he made money faster than he could give it away. He had a rare knack for being in the right place at the right time.”

  Perhaps remembering another instance of Mr. Dominick’s random generosity, Mr. Phillips stared past Amy for a moment. The lawyer refocused and clapped his hands together.

  “This changes one thing. What’s my schedule look like next Tuesday when Chris is going to depose Kelly and Jackson?”

  “Let’s see. You’re going to an executive board meeting for PKT, Inc.”

  “Bryce Pointer will have to move the meeting if he wants me there to hold his hand. I’m going to take these depositions myself.”

  After Chris met with Mr. Phillips, the younger lawyer buzzed Amy’s phone.

  “Can you come up to my office?” he asked.

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  As soon as Chris saw Amy, he motioned for her to come inside.

  “You’re really out of the closet, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “I hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but I guess so.”

  “And you have Mr. Phillips wrapped around your finger.” Chris smiled. “If you told him you had a dream in which he was handling contingency fee cases, he’d start chasing ambulances.”

  “Nobody has Mr. Phillips wrapped around their finger. Not even his wife. And ambulances get out of the way when they see his car coming.”

  Chris chuckled. “You’ve gotten my attention, too,” he said, but then paused. “But not in exactly the same way as Mr. Phillips.”

  Amy gave him a puzzled look. Chris continued, “I love Laura, but as you probably know I’ve never really tracked with her on the religious stuff. Not that I’ve been antagonistic—”

  Amy raised her eyebrows.

  “Maybe a little bit,” Chris corrected himself. “But I’m going to go home tonight and apologize for my attitude. You haven’t met Laura, but she is awesome. I mean, she’d rather open the screen door and let a fly out than grab a swatter to smash it. She’s always claimed it was her faith that made her that way, but I didn’t buy it.”

  “The note she wrote me was very sweet.”

  “Yeah, and what I need from you is advice on how to talk to her the right way. I always catch myself treating her like a judge I’m trying to convince of my legal position.”

  “What exactly do you want to say to her?”

  “That after living with her for th
e past two years and working with you for the past few months, I’ve realized there really might be a God.”

  “That’s a good opening line.”

  “But she’ll want more details.”

  “Of course she will. For a woman, the journey in a relationship is as important as the destination.”

  “Yeah, guys are all about the bottom line.”

  “I think I can help.” Amy smiled. “But it’s going to require some role play.”

  After a few minutes, Chris had refined his speech for Laura and cut out several disclaimers that Amy knew would have caused her to question his sincerity. Still, he wasn’t quite getting it.

  “You’re not preparing a business contract designed to limit a company’s liability down the road,” Amy said. “Is your goal to show Laura that you want to learn more about God?”

  “Yes, but not just facts.” Chris pointed to his chest. “I want to know about it in here.”

  “Then make sure you say that.”

  Amy’s conversation with Chris lifted her spirits in a way few things could have. The opportunity to actually see God using her in another person’s life made her feel valuable. That evening she told Jeff about the young lawyer’s openness to the Lord, and they prayed for him. Jeff ended his part of the prayer with a request that he would learn how to better communicate with Amy.

  “Amen!” Amy said, a bit louder than necessary.

  “Don’t rub it in,” Jeff replied, opening his eyes.

  Jeff was showered with love on Saturday in the forms of family time, birthday gifts, and his favorite foods. Sunday evening Amy finished her revisions of Natalie’s book. By cutting a third of the words, she’d maximized the effectiveness of the illustrations to release the reader’s imagination. But it wasn’t just deleting words that made the book better. She’d restructured the entire narrative and given the children’s point of view a unique voice that oozed innocence, the wonder of discovery, and the excitement that nature can bring to a fresh heart. Before she sent the revised text to Natalie, Amy took the book with illustrations downstairs to Jeff, who was sitting in front of the computer.