“Do we have any chips?” he asked as he chewed his first bite.
Amy placed a bag of chips on the table beside his chair. He ripped it open.
“This is good,” he said after he’d eaten half of the first sandwich. “You make the best sandwiches in the world.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Amy took a cup of yogurt from the refrigerator for herself and sat down beside him.
“Tell me more about the game last night,” she said.
Ian provided a semi-intelligible account of the game between the local high school and Loudon County. Amy knew the basic rules of football, but her ten-year-old son had already passed her in technical knowledge.
“The Cross Plains defensive backs had trouble tackling their running back once he got past the line of scrimmage. In the second half we started playing an eight-man front. That helped a lot because their quarterback couldn’t pass it very good.”
“Well. Pass it very well.”
“When would I use the word ‘good’?”
“You could say, ‘The Loudon County player wasn’t a good quarterback. He didn’t pass it well.’”
“That’s not right. He was a good quarterback running the option play. But he was a bad passer.”
Ian finished the first sandwich and took a big bite from his second one. He showed no sign yet of being full.
“Do you know the name of the junior varsity player who was talking to Megan at the Pizza Palace?” Amy asked.
“Nate Drexel,” a female voice responded from behind Amy.
Megan was standing in the kitchen door in her bare feet and wearing her pajamas. Her hair hadn’t been combed and hung down in her face.
“We’re just friends,” she continued. “He’s a tenth grader who’s in my World History and Algebra II classes. It was just somebody to talk to.”
“Okay,” Amy answered. “Are you hungry?”
“Just thirsty.”
Megan poured a large glass of orange juice, then sat down at the table beside Ian and reached into the bag of chips.
“Can you tell me anything else about Crystal?” Amy asked, trying not to sound as anxious as she felt.
“She messed up the whole night for all of us,” Megan said. “She left the restaurant without telling anyone where she was going and wasn’t there when Bethany’s mom showed up to take us home. We called everyone we knew but couldn’t find her. Then her parents came and got in a big fight in front of everyone.”
Megan looked at Ian’s sandwich. “Can I have a bite?”
“I’ll fix one for you,” Amy said immediately. “Same as his?”
Megan lifted the corner of the bread.
“Leave it alone!” Ian said.
“I’m just looking.”
“Just roast beef for me,” Megan said to Amy.
Ian finished eating while Amy prepared a sandwich for Megan.
“I’m going over to Bobby’s house,” he said. “He’s got a new video game.”
“What kind of game?” Amy asked. “I don’t want you playing anything violent.”
“It’s all pretend, and his mom is the same as you.”
“Then I’ll call her.”
Amy held the phone to her ear while she spread mustard on the bread and talked to Bobby’s mother.
“Thanks, Nancy,” Amy said as the call ended. “I’ll do the same.”
“Go ahead,” she said to Ian. “Bobby’s dad checked out the game and said it was okay.”
“Jack Pickens likes to kill baby deer,” Megan said.
“It’s not hunting or war,” Ian retorted. “It has something to do with trying to find a treasure.”
“Those can be creepy if the role-play part is weird.”
“How do you know about that?” Amy asked.
“Spend-the-night parties since I was his age.”
Ian left the kitchen before his permission to play the new game could be revoked.
“Give up trying to control everything in Ian’s life,” Megan said to Amy. “He has to learn on his own.”
“Did you learn anything last night?”
“Yes. The next time I want to do something, Crystal isn’t going to be there. She left the pizza place with a sleazy guy none of us like. He’s a junior and has his own car, but it’s a piece of junk I wouldn’t be caught dead in. I don’t know what she was thinking. Alecia can usually talk sense into her, but not last night. Bethany sent me a text this morning that Crystal ended up at the guy’s house all by herself. Her parents had to go pick her up.”
“Was she hurt?”
Megan gave Amy an incredulous look. “He didn’t beat her up, if that’s what you mean. The guy is a jerk, but he’s not some kind of psycho.”
Amy didn’t want the flow of information to stop. Megan took a big bite of sandwich.
“I was hungrier than I thought,” Megan said when she swallowed. “And don’t worry about me. I want to have fun, but I’m not going to do something stupid like Crystal. You didn’t have to send Dad to spy on me.”
“I didn’t. Your father cares about you.”
“It was Dad’s idea?” Megan asked in surprise.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Megan nodded.
Amy was mystified why it would be bad if she suggested parental surveillance but Megan could accept it if it was initiated by Jeff. She decided not to try to solve that conundrum.
“What will Crystal’s parents do to her?”
“Probably ground her for a month, but it won’t last.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’ll wiggle out of it.”
Megan finished her sandwich.
“I’m going to take a hot bath and wash my hair,” she said, “then read in my room. I have a book report due on Tuesday, and I haven’t finished the book.”
“What are you reading?”
“The Lord of the Flies. Have you read it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m at the part where Simon gets killed because they think he’s the beast.”
“It doesn’t get any happier.”
Megan left the room. Amy thought about Golding’s novel. Beneath the thin veneer of civilization, human nature could be murderously sinister.
seven
On the Monday before the Thanksgiving holiday, Jeff lingered at home after the children walked out of the house to catch the school bus.
“Have you gotten an idea for a new book yet?” he asked as he poured a second cup of coffee.
Amy, still in her pajamas, was standing at the sink scrubbing the skillet Jeff had used to cook bacon and scrambled eggs. She turned off the water and faced him. She’d thought a lot about the fading flower verse from 1 Peter, but nothing had bubbled to the surface. She was starting to get frustrated, and Jeff bringing up the subject didn’t help.
“No, and I’m expecting a call from Bernie Masters asking me the same thing. You know I can’t force it; I have to wait on the Lord and trust him. Why?”
“Just wondering.” Jeff shifted in place.
Amy waited. There was no subtlety in her husband. His ability to hide his thoughts and feelings was nonexistent. Usually Amy considered that a blessing. She’d much rather know what was going on inside his head than be left wondering.
“While you’re on hold with the writing thing, would you consider talking with Ms. Burris? I’m doing the final inspection for the job at her house this morning, and I’d like to mention it to her.”
“Working as Ms. Burris’s maid isn’t what I want to do,” Amy said flatly. “You may not have noticed, but I’ve been slaving around here for the past two weeks getting the house cleaned up for the holidays. I don’t want your mother to be embarrassed about the woman you married when she and your father come for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“She likes you.” Jeff paused. “It’s your mother who sets her off.”
“And we’ve solved that problem by telling my mother she can’t come until Saturday.”
Jeff took another sip of coffee. “Amy, I can’t get the thought of you helping Ms. Burris out of my mind. How well did you know her when you worked for the law firm?”
“Not very well. We talked on the phone a few times when she needed to set up an appointment to see Mr. Phillips, and I saw her briefly when she came in for appointments.”
Amy groped around in her mind for the right words to put an end to Jeff’s persistent efforts to turn her into a part-time domestic.
“Would you consider helping her as a way to earn extra money to get us through Christmas?” he asked. “It would be like a trial work period for both of you. If it didn’t work out, then you could quit. I could present it to her the same way. I’d hate to see a good opportunity wither away like flowers that have been cut.”
Poised to deliver an emphatic retort that would forever squelch the subject of working for Ms. Burris, Amy abruptly shut her mouth instead.
“Will you at least talk to her?” Jeff finished.
Amy tried to open her mouth to reply, but her heart wouldn’t let her.
“What did you say?” she asked, stalling for time.
“Which part?”
“The last.”
“That it won’t take a lot of your time and would be a trial work period. If Ms. Burris was a poor woman who couldn’t pay you, I bet you’d consider helping her because you’re a Christian. Just because she can pay doesn’t mean it isn’t worthwhile.”
“No, about dead flowers.”
“Uh, the chance for a job won’t last long, just like grass or flowers that have been cut and have to be thrown out in a few days. It’s just a figure of speech. What do you call it?”
“A simile.”
Tension had Amy’s insides tied up in knots. She knew there was only one way to relieve the pressure.
“You win. Tell Ms. Burris I’ll come over and talk to her.”
“Great.” Jeff brightened up. “When would be a good time?”
“Whatever suits her. Are you satisfied now?”
“I’m only asking you to consider it for a month or so. I wasn’t sure I should even bring it up, but I couldn’t get it out of my mind, and—”
“Go,” Amy said with a wave of her hand. “I don’t want you to be late for work.”
As soon as Jeff was out of the house, Amy plopped down in one of the kitchen chairs. The easing of tension in her stomach was temporary. The prospect of having to ring the doorbell at Ms. Burris’s house and talk to her about cleaning her house brought it back.
After taking a shower and getting dressed, she called Natalie and told her what happened.
“Did he quote the verses?”
“No, but he came close enough that it got my attention. Ever since we found out that the cost of Megan’s dance lessons is going up, Jeff has wanted me to get a part-time job cleaning houses.”
“Dance lessons can’t be that expensive.”
“They’re not,” Amy admitted, “but there are much bigger bills coming due that Jeff and I can’t cover in our budget. We’re going to be in a tight squeeze beginning in January, and my income from writing isn’t going to cover the gap.”
“I’m sorry. It cuts down the excitement of being a writer, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“I have an idea,” Natalie said. “Why don’t I hire you to clean my house? And I bet Sophie Melton and Kristen Land would use you, too.”
Amy felt her face flush.
“Cleaning houses for you and your friends would be tougher on me than working for a stranger like Ms. Burris.”
“It’s just an idea. I wasn’t trying to put you down.”
“You’re sweet to offer, but something inside tells me I have to see if Ms. Burris will let me work for her. If that doesn’t pan out, I’m not sure what I’ll do.”
“Luke did a photo shoot for Ms. Burris’s family at her house last year. He said it’s a huge place for one woman to take care of.”
“I may be the answer to that need.”
Amy’s cell phone beeped. It was Jeff.
“Gotta go,” she said. “That’s Jeff calling.”
Mustering as much resolve as she could, Amy accepted the call.
“I just left the Burris house,” Jeff said. “Ms. Burris is willing to meet you at two thirty this afternoon. That should give you time to talk to her and still be home when Ian gets off the bus.”
“Okay. Did you go over any of the details with her?”
“No, but she seemed excited to meet you. She remembers you from the law office but hadn’t made the connection between us. Before I left she mentioned hiring me to do some odd jobs around the place. There’s always something that needs fixing in an old house.”
“You can fix the toilet, and I’ll clean it,” Amy said.
Jeff was silent for a moment.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asked. “You changed your mind so fast it kind of threw me off.”
“It threw me off, too, but I’m not upset with you. I need to follow through with this and see where it leads.”
The call ended, leaving Amy with a smidgen of guilt soiling her conscience. She knew she’d been hard on Jeff but couldn’t think of a way to apologize over the phone. She resolved to make it right before they went to sleep that night.
It was an overcast day that matched Amy’s mood. To get to Ms. Burris’s house, she followed the same route she used to go to the law firm. It seemed longer than eighteen months since she’d logged off her computer and cleaned out her desk. She’d been a good secretary. Her work at Jones, Barrington, and Phillips was boring and mundane when typing a long document but challenging when rushing to prepare something for court.
The law firm was old-fashioned and stodgy enough that Mr. Phillips expected his personal secretary to wear dresses, skirts, or nice slacks. The senior lawyer always came to work in a coat and tie, even after some of the other attorneys adopted business casual attire on days they didn’t go to court or meet with clients. As she turned onto McDonald Street, Amy knew dresses wouldn’t be her working wardrobe at the Burris home.
Up ahead, she could see the two-story brick house with the large holly bushes and white gazebo. The front yard was billiard-table flat and carefully manicured. The outside trim of the house had a fresh coat of white paint. The new windows installed by Jeff’s crew blended perfectly with the style of the house. Amy knew her husband made sure each window was mounted as carefully as a painting in a frame. She pulled into a semicircular driveway that looped in front of the house. Her car looked out of place, unless, of course, it was the maid’s vehicle. She walked up a brick sidewalk to the front door. There was a huge lion’s-head brass knocker, but she pressed the button for the doorbell and waited. No one came, and Amy checked her watch. It was 2:31 p.m. The door opened.
Ms. Mildred Burris was just as Amy remembered from the last time they’d crossed paths at the law office. Short, with carefully coiffed white hair and a wrinkled face, she was wearing a dark blue dress with a single strand of pearls around her neck. Her blue eyes almost matched the color of her dress. She squinted slightly at the afternoon sun that was shining in her face.
“Come in, come in,” Ms. Burris said in a soft Southern voice. “I remember you from Harold Phillips’s office. I knew you were special then, just not how much.”
Puzzled, Amy followed the older woman into a small parlor to the left of the entrance hall. The furniture didn’t look as old as Amy would have expected. Ms. Burris had done more remodeling at the house than just replacing the windows.
“Why don’t you sit there,” Ms. Burris said, pointing to a yellow chair with beautiful floral upholstery.
“That’s almost too pretty to sit on,” Amy said.
“One of my great-nieces helped me pick it out.”
Ms. Burris sat to Amy’s right on a love seat. The upholstery on the love seat was more subdued than the chair but picked up some of the same colors. Amy glanced around the room. There were three paintin
gs on the walls, each one intriguing enough that Amy wanted to step closer for a better look. A wooden secretary desk in the corner looked like an antique. The low table in front of the love seat had an interesting swirl design in the wood around its edges. If Amy had to clean a house, this would be a nice one to keep tidy.
“I love this room,” Amy said.
“You’re sweet, but it’s just a shadow, isn’t it?”
Amy raised her eyebrows. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Ms. Burris smiled, which made her blue eyes almost close.
“Tell me about you,” Ms. Burris said, scooting back in the love seat. “I want to hear everything you want to share.”
“I worked at Jones, Barrington, and Phillips for twelve years after my husband and I moved here from Jacksonville, Florida. We have two children, a fourteen-year-old girl and a boy who’s ten. The last six years at the law firm I was Mr. Phillips’s secretary. I left my job there a year and a half ago to devote my time to writing. I’ve written two novels and hope to start a third one soon.”
“I read the article in the paper about you. I think it mentioned that you’d worked for Harold. Your picture caught my eye, and your husband showed me a photo of you and the children on his phone.”
When Amy’s first novel was released, the paper printed a local interest piece about her that included a shot of Amy sitting at her computer pretending to write.
“Yes, there was a kind quote from Mr. Phillips mentioning how proud he was of my accomplishments.”
“Harold doesn’t dish out praise very readily, does he?”
“No, ma’am, he doesn’t. Anyway, I’m looking for a part-time job because writing inspirational romance novels isn’t very profitable, at least at first. I’m very punctual and reliable. Mr. Phillips can verify that. And I’m a hard worker—”
“Especially when you put your head on the pillow at night,” Ms. Burris said with a smile. “Not many people learn more about God’s kingdom while they’re asleep than awake.”
Amy’s mouth dropped open. She felt an immediate mixture of shock and a hint of anger at Jeff. He knew how much she valued her privacy.
“Did Jeff tell you about my dreams?”
The Living Room Page 7