The Living Room (26 page)

Amy returned to her office and picked up the phone. Mrs. Fincannon was a soft-spoken woman with a country accent.

“I’m so glad you found Carl,” she said. “The specialist who’s doctoring him thinks he’s going to pull through, but it will take awhile to find out what he’s lost the use of. I was having chest pains, and the doctor made me come home and lie down for a little bit. Our daughter is up there now. She called me a few minutes ago and said he knew her face and spoke a few words. He even asked about our new grandbaby who is only six weeks old.”

As she listened, Amy’s emotions were a swirling tornado.

“That’s encouraging,” she said, deciding it was best to keep her comments short.

“I’m going back up there later, but I had to call you first. I’m worn out with worry and haven’t slept a wink since he took off for the store last night. Thank goodness I made him take off his lightweight jacket and put on his heavy coat. Normally, I wouldn’t have said a thing, but for some reason it popped out of my mouth. I think the Lord was looking out for him then and sent you down the street this morning to find him.”

“I agree.”

“Good, ’cause that’s what I told the fellow from the newspaper. I don’t think it would be right to say it just happened. My mother always told us God has his hand in a lot more than folks are aware of, and I sure don’t want to miss a chance to give him the credit he’s due.”

Tears formed in Amy’s eyes.

“Yes, ma’am. You’re right,” she managed.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Mrs. Fincannon said. “But I’d like you to come see Carl when he gets to feeling better. I’m sure he’d like to thank you himself. He’s a good man. We’ve been married forty-one years. Our anniversary was two weeks ago. We have three daughters and eight grandchildren.”

Amy held a tissue to her eyes.

“That would be great,” she said with a sniffle. “Please let me know a good day and time, and I’ll be there.”

The call ended. Amy slowly lowered the phone to its cradle.

seventeen

A
my was interrupted at 4:15 p.m. when Janelle buzzed her.

“Your husband is here,” the receptionist said.

“At the office?” Amy asked in surprise.

“Yes, he stepped back to the restroom.”

“I’ll be right out.”

Jeff never came to the office. Amy’s sense of foreboding about what had happened during the meeting at the school increased as she walked to the reception area.

“Mrs. Fincannon seemed like a nice lady,” Janelle said cheerfully when Amy came into the foyer.

“Yes.” Amy glanced down the hallway toward the bathroom that had been designated for male use.

“My friend at the hospital said it looks like Mr. Fincannon is going to make it.”

“That’s what his wife told me. I’m going to see him when he feels better.”

Janelle lowered her voice. “I told her you were an author, and she’s going to buy your book.”

“I appreciate that.”

Jeff opened the door of the bathroom and came toward her. He had a sober look on his face.

“Is anyone in conference room 3?” Amy asked Janelle.

“No, it’s available until a deposition that starts at five o’clock.”

Amy motioned to Jeff. They went into a conference room that had been used as a sitting room when the mansion was a private residence. It contained a shiny wooden table surrounded by six chairs. A vase of fresh flowers rested in the center of the table. A large bookcase lined one wall. The other walls were decorated with paintings, including a portrait of Mr. Jones, one of the founders of the firm.

“How did the meeting go?” Amy asked Jeff as soon as the door was closed.

“It’s hard to know,” he replied.

“What do you mean? Did you get upset?”

“Yes. Can we sit down?”

They sat across from each other.

“But you didn’t do anything to Nate, did you?” Amy asked.

Jeff gave her a puzzled look. “I didn’t punch him, if that’s what you mean. Although if we’d been the same age, I probably would have thought about it. I’d think you’d be more interested in Megan than him.”

“Of course I am. I want to know everything. I’ll shut up and listen.”

Jeff rested his large hands on the table. “I know how you like everything in chronological order. Ms. Robbins gave a short speech, but after that Mr. Ryan took over the meeting. I guess they’d planned it that way in advance. Coach Nichols was there with a scowl on his face. He didn’t say anything, but I know Nate is dreading what’s in store for him on the practice field. The football team is in an off-season training program, and Nate will probably be running wind sprints until he throws up for the next few weeks. His parents were there. Nate’s mother looked like she was about to cry but kept quiet. Nate read an apology that sounded like he’d written it himself. After he did it once, Mr. Ryan asked him to read it again. It was a good move. The second time around it seemed like he was thinking more about what he was saying.”

“How did Megan react?”

“She didn’t cry, and at the end when Nate asked her if she would
forgive him, she told him yes. That’s when Ms. Robbins talked for a minute about what forgiveness looks like. She mentioned not bringing up the incident again and made Nate promise nothing like that will happen in the future.”

“Did his father say anything?”

“He pulled me aside at the end and told me he was sorry Nate had hurt Megan. He believes he’s learned his lesson. I have no idea if that’s true, but I don’t think he’ll be trying to hang around Megan again. Oh, and I spoke with Ms. Robbins about the English class. She’s going to check Nate’s schedule and discuss the situation with the teacher. If a change can be made, they’ll do it. Otherwise, the teacher will be on the lookout for any problems.”

“Where’s Megan now?”

“I took her out for an ice cream and then dropped her off at the house.”

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.”