The Living Room

by Robert Whitlow

  “Yes, sir. Thanks so much. I really appreciate it. I’ll see you back at the office. Bye.”

  Amy ended the call before Mr. Phillips could change his mind or say anything else.

  “I’m turning off my phone,” she said to Natalie. “Let’s go inside. The aroma from that pie is making me so hungry my stomach is about to start eating itself.”

  twenty-five

  In addition to the meat pie, Natalie had also prepared a fruit compote that Amy carried to the front door. Ms. Burris let them in.

  “I was watching through the parlor window,” she said. “I know we don’t have much time, so everything is set up in the kitchen.”

  Instead of the sunroom, the women went to the large kitchen where Ms. Burris had laid out bright floral china on a small round table covered with a woven tablecloth. Natalie and Amy placed the food in the center of the table, and the three women sat down.

  “I’ll pray,” Ms. Burris said.

  Expecting a quick blessing, Amy bowed her head and closed her eyes. A few moments of silence passed. Amy wondered if she’d heard incorrectly and Ms. Burris had asked her to pray. She opened her eyes. The other two women looked like they were waiting. Amy cleared her throat.

  “Heavenly Father,” Ms. Burris said right before Amy was going to speak, “thank you for bringing us together today so we can eat this food and bless your daughter Amy, whom you love with an everlasting love that can never be shaken. Encourage her with your abiding presence and give her the faith that comes by hearing your voice and believing your Word. May every force of evil arrayed against her and her family be cast down in defeat. Release the full measure of the creative gifts you’ve placed within her and grant her favor and success in all she does. Show Natalie and me how we can best help her as friends. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  “Thank you,” Amy said when the older woman finished. “I needed that.”

  “That’s what friends are for—to pray in ways that aren’t influenced by direct involvement in difficult circumstances.”

  It was one of Ms. Burris’s statements that Amy knew she’d think about after the luncheon was over.

  Amy served the fruit, and Natalie dished out the meat pie. Amy savored a bite of pie that included a few slivers of flaky crust.

  “This is delicious,” she said to Natalie. “I knew it would be good, but this is over the top. How many times have you made it?”

  “This is number two. I made it for Luke and the boys a few weeks ago. When the boys didn’t turn up their noses at it, I knew I was onto something good.”

  “Better than good,” Amy replied as she swallowed her second bite. “This crust is amazing.”

  The women ate in silence for a few moments. Amy glanced at a clock on the wall of the kitchen beside an antique china cabinet. She had to be back at work in fifteen minutes.

  “Thank you for doing this,” she said. “Even though we’re rushed, it’s worth it.”

  “You’re worth it,” Ms. Burris replied.

  Ms. Burris’s words were delivered with such a deep sense of motherly affirmation that tears suddenly rushed to Amy’s eyes. She sniffled.

  “What’s wrong?” Natalie asked.

  Amy wiped her eyes and pointed to Ms. Burris.

  “She did it. What I never got from my mother.” Amy picked up her purse to get a tissue.

  “She didn’t understand,” Ms. Burris said as she reached over and touched Amy’s arm, “but that didn’t keep it from hurting.”

  Natalie looked puzzled.

  “I’ll explain it to you later,” Amy said, blowing her nose.

  Ms. Burris turned to Natalie and asked her a question. The conversation went in a new direction. A short time later Amy and Natalie had to leave.

  “That was great,” Amy said during the drive back to the law office.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed the pie,” Natalie replied.

  “It was delicious, but—”

  “I know you didn’t mean the food,” Natalie interrupted with a small laugh. “It had to do with your mother not understanding your unique relationship with the Lord. When parents don’t put their stamp of approval on something, it makes it tough for children to believe it’s valid. If my mother hadn’t encouraged me to draw and sent me to art class, I never would have graduated from crayons.”

  Thinking about Megan’s love of dance, Amy resolved to be a better encourager.

  “And I’m glad for you, not jealous.” Amy smiled. “But even though Ms. Burris prayed for me, the lunchtime wasn’t all about me. It’s neat that you’ve completed two more illustrations for your book. One more and you’re done.”

  “Yeah, but right now I’m putting off the last one because then I’ll have no excuse to keep it hidden away. If I hadn’t opened my big mouth the first time we met with Ms. Burris, I could finish and put it in a closet and not worry whether it’s any good.”

  “I’m sure it’s adorable.”

  Natalie reached a stop sign and turned left toward the law office.

  “I want to ask you a question before I drop you off, but I’m afraid to do it,” Natalie said.

  Amy turned sideways in the seat. “Don’t be silly. What is it?”

  Natalie took a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure the illustrations for my book are decent, but if the story needs a lot of work, would you be willing to help? I’d be glad to give you credit as the writer—”

  “Joint credit with you,” Amy interrupted. “And I’d love to do it. Not having to crank out a hundred thousand words to finish a book sounds like a vacation to me.”

  “Great.” Natalie smiled. “Then I’ll start on the final illustration this afternoon. I know exactly what I want to do. It’s a sunset scene at the end of the day, and the children are walking up the beach toward their house.”

  They reached the office, and Amy got out of the car.

  “Have a good afternoon,” Natalie said. “Maybe we can get together this weekend, and I’ll show you the book and illustrations.”

  “I’d love that. Call me.”

  When Amy left the office, she’d tried to encourage Janelle. Returning, Amy felt encouraged herself. She was a few minutes late clocking in at her computer, but that could easily be taken care of by staying over at the end of the day. She peeked into Mr. Phillips’s office. The senior partner wasn’t there.

  Amy’s big project for the day was preparing Chris’s files for Mr. Phillips to review with the young associate. To her eye, Chris seemed like a conscientious attorney. He documented his work with memos, kept detailed billing records, and prepared comprehensive report letters to clients. If she hadn’t known he was a recent law school graduate, Amy would have guessed he’d been practicing at least four or five years. Nothing jumped out as a mistake or evidence of sloppiness. Amy suspected Mr. Phillips already knew Chris was doing a good job, which was the most likely explanation why the young lawyer hadn’t been fired for failing to catch Michael Baldwin’s false testimony. She finished her review and carried the files into Mr. Phillips’s office. The senior partner had returned and was on the phone. He motioned for her to put them on his credenza. She laid them out in alphabetical order and turned toward her office. She heard the phone receiver click.

  “Amy,” Mr. Phillips said, “what do you think about Chris’s work?”

  She faced him and gave her opinion.

  “Yeah, that’s what I found when I spot-checked the files he’s worked on over the past few months,” Mr. Phillips said. “The recent disaster was a very unfortunate aberration that is going to cost the firm a lot of money and prestige, but we’ll get through it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Any other thoughts about Mr. Lance?”

  “I think he’s a good writer.”

  “Better than I am?” Mr. Phillips asked with a glint in his eye that let Amy know he wasn’t completely serious.

  “Different,” she replied. “You’re the most precise writer I’ve ever known. With you, every word has a purpose.�
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  “And you think a well-placed compliment will buy you a pass for ambushing me about your luncheon with Mildred Burris?”

  Amy swallowed. This time no glint in Mr. Phillips’s eye indicated any playfulness.

  “Thank you very much,” she began. “Nothing business-related came up. If it had, I was ready—”

  “Forget it,” Mr. Phillips said with a wave of his hand. “I’ve had second thoughts about trying to fence you in. All I ask is that you be extra careful. I trust you’ll know where to draw the line.”

  “Yes, sir.” Amy hesitated. “There’s one other thing.”

  “What? You already got what you wanted.”

  “I wouldn’t feel right trying to get information informally from Ms. Burris about the Dominick litigation, either.”

  “Who suggested that?” Mr. Phillips sat up straighter in his chair.

  “Chris mentioned it. He didn’t think there would be a conflict of interest, because Ms. Burris is no longer a client of the firm; or improper contact with an opposing party, because she’s not named in the litigation.”

  “Hmm, he has a point,” Mr. Phillips said.

  Amy held her breath and waited.

  “But I don’t like it. If we want to ask Mildred anything about Sonny Dominick, it needs to be in a deposition where she can have counsel present to represent her if she chooses to do so.”

  “Thanks. I know Chris may bring it up this afternoon, and I didn’t want it to look like I went behind his back.”

  “Even though you did?”

  “I wasn’t trying to—”

  “I don’t expect you to be a lawyer,” Mr. Phillips interrupted, “but you’ll be a better assistant if you speak your mind and let me decide what I think about it.”

  Amy’s door was closed when Chris arrived for his meeting with Mr. Phillips. A few minutes before 5:00 p.m., Mr. Phillips returned some of Chris’s files to her office and placed them on her desk.

  “The thirty-four-minute dictation piece I just sent you covers the cases I went over with Chris. I’d like that on my desk first thing in the morning.”

  Amy glanced at the clock on her computer. It would take at least an hour and a half to transcribe that much dictation.

  “Is it okay if I come in early in the morning?” she asked. “I won’t be able to finish today.”

  “Whatever it takes. Oh, and I talked to Chris briefly about Mildred Burris. As I told you earlier, you can see her if you like, but steer clear of all topics directly or tangentially related to the Dominick matter.”

  Amy wasn’t exactly sure what topics would be tangentially related to the Dominick estate but didn’t want to say something that might prompt Mr. Phillips to revoke his permission.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  Amy stayed a half hour past her normal quitting time to make up for her extra-long lunch break and to get as much of the dictation complete as possible. Mr. Phillips’s ability to quickly grasp the status of a case and order next steps was impressive. It looked like Chris would be working more, not less.

  On her way home, Amy called Jeff and asked him to bring Chinese takeout for supper.

  “What does Megan want?” Jeff asked.

  “The sesame chicken.”

  “I thought she liked Mongolian beef.”

  “That was three months ago. Everyone else gets the usual.”

  “How do you know I haven’t expanded my culinary horizons?” Jeff asked.

  “Go ahead, but before supper is over, I bet you’ll wish you’d stuck with the sweet-and-sour pork.”

  Amy beat Jeff to the house. Neither Megan nor Ian was in sight when she came in through the kitchen.

  “Megan! Ian!” she called up the stairwell.

  “I’m in my room!” Ian responded through the open door.

  Amy waited, but there was no answer from Megan. She climbed the stairs. The door to Megan’s room was closed. Amy tapped the door with her knuckles.

  “Megan? Are you in there?”

  Amy tried the doorknob. It was locked. She knocked more loudly.

  “Megan! Are you asleep?”

  Still no answer. Amy stepped down the hall to Ian’s room. He was sitting in the middle of the floor building a spaceship. He balanced the spaceship against his cast while he placed another piece in position.

  “Where’s Megan?” Amy asked. “She didn’t tell me she wasn’t going to be home or leave a note.”

  “I don’t know,” Ian said. “As soon as she got here, she went to her room. I think she was feeling kind of sick.”

  Amy returned to Megan’s room and banged on the door with her fist. No answer. Beginning to panic, Amy shook the doorknob. The door could be opened by inserting a nail into a small hole. Amy ran downstairs to the garage. Jeff kept different sizes of nails and screws in tiny bins above his workbench. She grabbed a couple of nails and raced back up the stairs. She tried to keep her mind from imagining something horrible. Her fingers trembled slightly as she inserted a nail into the hole and pushed until it clicked. She threw open the door.

  Megan was lying on her back on top of the covers. Her head was tilted slightly to the side, and her mouth was open. Amy rushed up to her and shook her shoulders. Megan moaned.

  “What’s wrong?” Amy asked.

  Megan’s eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. She moved her arms and yawned.

  “Huh?” she said.

  “Are you sick? Didn’t you hear me knock on the door?”

  Megan blinked her eyes a few more times.

  “No. I passed out as soon as I got home. I was exhausted.”

  “But you never sleep that soundly, not even in the middle of the night.”

  Megan rubbed her eyes and tried to sit up but collapsed on the pillow. Amy felt Megan’s forehead, but there was no sign of fever. Megan made another effort to sit up. Amy helped her, and she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  “Why are you so tired?” Amy asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’m awake now. And I’m thirsty.”

  “Do you want me to bring you some water?”

  “Yeah.”

  Amy left the room and raced to the kitchen. She was filling a glass with ice water when Jeff came in.

  “Something’s wrong with Megan!” Amy said. “She went to sleep when she got home from school, and I had trouble waking her up.”

  “Does she hurt anywhere or have a fever?”

  “I’m not sure about pain, but she didn’t feel hot.”

  Jeff placed the bag from the Chinese restaurant on the counter and accompanied Amy upstairs.

  “Hey, Dad,” Ian said when they passed his room.

  “Hi, son.”

  Megan was lying down with her head on her pillow. She looked much the same as she did when Amy first opened the door.

  “I had to unlock the door from the outside,” Amy said. “She didn’t hear when I knocked.”

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Jeff said, walking over to the bed and sitting down. “Wake up.”

  Megan opened her eyes, saw Jeff, and smiled. He put his arm behind her back and helped her sit up.

  “I brought you a glass of water,” Amy said.

  Megan reached for the glass. Amy steadied it so Megan could take a sip. Megan opened her eyes wider and took another sip. She took the glass from Amy and had a third drink.

  “I don’t know why I woke up so thirsty,” she said. “What would cause that?”

  “Diabetes,” Amy blurted out.

  “Diabetes?” Jeff asked in surprise.

  “I don’t know,” Amy said. “But I remember my aunt Lacy was thirsty all the time before they diagnosed type 2 diabetes. They found her one afternoon passed out at the house. She was almost in a diabetic coma.”

  “I wasn’t in a coma,” Megan replied in a stronger voice. “I was asleep.”

  “Maybe, but it wasn’t a normal afternoon nap,” Amy said. “I’m going to schedule an appointment for you with Dr. Simmons.”

  “I�
�m not sick.”

  “You’re going to the doctor,” Jeff said. “No debate.”

  Megan stumbled downstairs. She began to revive as she ate supper. Amy watched her closely. By the time they finished eating, she seemed normal.

  “I’m going to do my homework and go to bed early,” she said with a yawn. “But I really don’t think I need to go to the doctor.”

  “Are you sick?” Ian asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why do you have to go to the doctor?”

  “Dad and Mom are making me.”

  “That’s right,” Jeff said. “Which means you don’t have to worry about the decision.”

  “I’ll try to make the appointment as soon as school gets out,” Amy said. “That way you won’t have to miss any classes.”

  “I wouldn’t mind missing sixth-period Earth Science. It’s like something Ian would take. I always have trouble staying awake in that class.”

  Amy checked on Megan twice after supper. Both times she was sitting at the desk in her room doing schoolwork. On school nights, Megan usually went to bed around 10:00 p.m. When the clock passed 9:30 p.m. and she was still awake, Amy knocked on the door frame.

  “I thought you were going to sleep early.”

  “No, I’m not that tired. I guess the nap I took this afternoon kicked in.”

  Amy went downstairs to the family room where Jeff was in front of the computer and told him what Megan said.

  “Maybe she doesn’t need to go to the doctor,” Amy said. “She seems okay now.”

  “She wasn’t when we got home. And if you’re right about the possibility of diabetes, then something she ate may have equalized her system and caused her to perk up. I’ve been reading about the common symptoms of diabetes online. One is excessive thirst. She definitely had that. Did she have to go to the bathroom a lot today?”

  “I didn’t ask her, but I did hear her door open and close a few times after supper.”

  “And you saw how much she ate tonight. An increased appetite is another indication of a problem.”

  “Yeah, we know she loves Chinese food, but it won’t hurt to get her checked out. I have to go into the office early in the morning to finish a memo Mr. Phillips dictated so I won’t have to use more than an hour or two of sick time to take her to the doctor.”