The Living Room (13 page)

They rode the rest of the way home in silence.

Three days before Christmas Amy was in the family room wrapping presents. Outside, the wind whistled through the leafless trees. Jeff was at work, and Megan and Ian were spending the afternoon with friends. The phone in the kitchen rang. Amy quickly finished tying a bow and ran to answer it.

“Hello,” she said, slightly breathless.

“Amy?” a male voice asked.

“Yes.”

“This is Harold Phillips. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Amy stood up straighter at the sound of the familiar voice.

“No, sir. I was wrapping Christmas presents.”

“You always did a great job of that for me,” the lawyer said.

When she worked at the law firm, Amy wrapped presents that Mr. Phillips gave to his family, clients, and friends. His favorite gift for other people was a sleeve of golf balls. He even gave them to his wife, complete with her initials embossed on them.

“I’d like to talk to you about something important,” he said.

“Okay,” Amy replied slowly as her mind raced in several directions at once. “I’m listening.”

“At the office.”

Amy’s hair was gathered into a loose ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

“I’m in no shape to come downtown,” she said.

“How about two this afternoon? That will give you time to get ready.”

“What’s this about?”

“Will two o’clock work for you?”

Amy knew it was impossible to pry information from the lawyer if he didn’t want to give it out over the phone. She glanced at the calendar on the wall of the kitchen. She knew it was empty for the afternoon but checked anyway.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Amy lowered the receiver, then grabbed her cell phone and sent Jeff a text message. He didn’t reply. She returned to the family room and continued wrapping presents. Mr. Phillips didn’t seem upset. He wouldn’t have been able to hide his emotions if a mistake she’d made while working there had come to light and cost the firm a lot of money. And he didn’t give any indication that he wanted to talk to her about employment. Amy returned to the kitchen and dialed the main number for the law firm.

“Jones, Barrington, and Phillips,” an unfamiliar voice answered.

“Is Mr. Phillips’s secretary available?”

“Just a minute, I’ll connect you to Emily Ashburn.”

Amy hung up as soon as the receptionist put her on hold. She’d have to wait until 2:00 p.m. to find out what was on Harold Phillips’s mind.

While Amy was eating a salad for lunch, Jeff called, and she told him about the brief conversation with Mr. Phillips. One of his first questions was the same one she had.

“Yes, I called the law firm and made sure Emily was still there,” Amy said. “And Mr. Phillips didn’t sound upset, so I don’t believe they’ve uncovered some huge mistake I made before I left.”

“Let me know what it’s about,” Jeff said. “I’ll keep my cell phone with me.”

Amy had trouble trying to choose an outfit for the meeting. It didn’t seem right to dress too casually, but it wasn’t necessary to show up wearing her best clothes for a job interview. In the end, she put on an outfit she’d worn while working for the firm. As she got dressed, she realized one benefit of a writer’s life was a cheaper wardrobe. Amy’s clothes budget had plummeted since she could wear workout clothes all day at the house. She checked herself in the full-length mirror. Nothing had changed in her appearance over the past eighteen months, but she knew she’d changed inside, some of which she was still trying to sort out. She left a note on the refrigerator door so Megan and Ian would know approximately when she’d be home.

Driving to the law firm, Amy passed Ms. Burris’s house. A large, decorative wreath hung on the front door. Amy touched her cell phone that was beside her on the passenger seat of the car. She wanted to call, but it just didn’t feel right. She needed to trust Ms. Burris and didn’t want to be pushy.

The law firm was only a couple of minutes from the Burris home. Most of the cars in the parking area at the rear of the office were familiar. Amy parked next to Mr. Phillips’s silver Mercedes. Brick pavers formed a path around the side of the house to the front door. The law firm had maintained the landscaping of the old mansion, and Amy always enjoyed the sights and smells of each season. Early winter meant beds of brightly colored pansies smiling upward from beside the walkway. Today the pansies danced in the wind.

The name of the law firm was engraved on a square brass plaque beside the large wooden front door. Nelson Jones, one of the original founders of the firm, had been dead for twenty-five years. Bill Barrington, the second named partner, retired shortly before Amy was hired. Now in his eighties, Mr. Barrington and his wife spent most of the year at their beach house on the Outer Banks. That left Mr. Phillips as the only named partner practicing law with the firm. There were four younger partners, but the law firm name never changed. Amy suspected ambition by the other lawyers to have their names at the top of the letterhead and engraved on a new brass plate
was quickly squelched by Mr. Phillips. He believed keeping the same name for decades communicated stability and prestige to clients and the community at large.

Amy was slightly nervous as she pushed open the front door but much less fearful than when she’d arrived years before for her initial interview. At that time, she was trying to convince Ms. Kirkpatrick, the firm administrator, that a year and a half of experience working for a CPA firm in Jacksonville qualified her for employment at a law office.

The firm reception area was the foyer of the house. There wasn’t much space for seating; however, there were three conference rooms adjacent to the reception area, and clients were efficiently funneled into the conference rooms for meetings with the lawyers. An attractive young woman in her twenties sat behind a shiny wooden desk in the foyer. Amy looked at the familiar grandfather clock to the right of the front door. It was 1:58 p.m. Mr. Phillips valued punctuality and didn’t like to be interrupted early or kept waiting. Amy introduced herself to the receptionist, who gave no indication she knew about Amy’s former association with the firm.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Phillips at two o’clock,” Amy said.

“I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Amy sat in a leather side chair. There was a collection of regional and national magazines on a low table along with the current edition of the
Wall
Street
Journal
. Amy sat with her hands folded in her lap. She knew she wouldn’t have to wait long. As the clock struck the hour, Mr. Phillips entered the reception area. Sixty-two years old with white hair and rugged good looks, the lawyer was comfortably perched atop the legal community in Cross Plains. The local judges gave Mr. Phillips an extra measure of respect when he appeared in their courtrooms. He greeted Amy with the smile he reserved for people he wanted to persuade or influence.

“Nice to see you,” he said, extending his hand. “We’ll talk in my office.”

Amy saw the receptionist watching them as they left the foyer. Amy steeled herself for whatever important matter justified being
summoned to the law firm. When in full-manipulation mode, Mr. Phillips almost always got his way.

The senior partner’s office was in the former dining room. Entering the office, a visitor faced a bank of six tall windows with an expansive view of the side yard. The lawyer’s desk was to the right with a small sitting area at the opposite end of the room. Amy’s workstation had been behind Mr. Phillips’s office in a converted butler pantry that led to the dining room on one side and a hallway on the other.

“How does it feel to be back in the office?” Mr. Phillips asked when they were seated.

“Fine,” Amy replied, then stopped. She didn’t want to say more than necessary.

Mr. Phillips sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I was reviewing some trust documents the other day and thought about you.”

“Was there a problem?” Amy asked anxiously.

“No, no, but you typed them and your signature was at the end as one of the witnesses.”

Amy waited. Mr. Phillips cleared his throat.

“How is the writing career progressing?”

“Fine. I enjoy it.”

“I know you resigned your job to pursue a writing career, but I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind that you might be interested in coming back to work here in some capacity. Emily is pregnant, and her doctor has ordered her to go on bed rest until the baby is born. After that she’ll be on FML for at least a couple of months. I need a replacement until she returns. Also, we’ve brought in a new associate who is rapidly expanding his practice and would benefit from working with an experienced person like you. The firm could hire a temp, but you’d be infinitely more useful.”

Amy’s mind was racing. She knew what Jeff would want her to do, but her heart was unsettled.

“Taking care of your work is a full-time job,” she said.

“Things have changed a bit since you left. Emily is primarily a
word processor, and you’ve always been a fast, accurate typist. I bet you can finish a book in a month.”

“Not exactly. It’s different from transcription.”

Mr. Phillips continued as if he’d not heard her. “And I think you’ll like our new associate. His name is Chris Lance. He graduated from law school in Chapel Hill a year and a half ago. Some of these young lawyers believe they can type as fast as they can dictate, but I know you can show him how to be more efficient. There would be an increase in your salary and full benefits without a waiting period.”

“I need to think about it and talk to Jeff.”

“Certainly, and I’m not asking you for a ten-year commitment. I need help for the time Emily is going to be out, and we’ll be evaluating the situation with Chris after six months or so. But if you do this and want to stay at the firm, I will make sure there’s a place for you.”

Amy was shocked at how accommodating Mr. Phillips wanted to be.

“This is very kind of you,” she said. “I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”

“By tomorrow?”

Amy knew better than to try to negotiate for an extension of time.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Phillips stood and escorted Amy back to the reception area as if she were an important client. Once she was in her car, Amy phoned Jeff and told him about the meeting.

“What do you think?” she asked, slightly out of breath.

“That he’s realized how good he had it when you worked for him.”

“Working for Mr. Phillips would be temporary. He’s not getting rid of Emily. He wants me to break in the new associate named Chris.”

“Do you really believe Mr. Phillips would give Emily her job back if he preferred you to her?”

“No,” Amy admitted. “He’d either lay her off or shift her someplace else in the firm.”

“Exactly. I think it’s a great opportunity. Even if it only turns out to be for six months, your salary will help us out a lot, not to mention the benefits. What would dependent health coverage for the kids cost at the law firm? It might be cheaper than the amount I’m going to have to pay here.”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to Ms. Kirkpatrick, but I know I’d be covered as part of my compensation package.” Amy paused. “But this feels like I’m going backward, not forward. And it will be so much tougher finding time to write my next book if I’m working forty hours a week.”

“You did it before, and you can do it again. And you don’t have a deadline on an option book.”

“I will if the publisher likes the concept and exercises the option.”

“When that happens, I’ll do what I can in the evenings and weekends to give you time to write. And the kids are old enough to fend for themselves at night. Neither one of them wants you hovering over them.”

“I’m not hovering—”

“Sorry, that didn’t come out right. You’re a mother who cares.”

Amy could already tell from Jeff’s tone of voice that he really wanted her to accept the job and was probably worried he’d say the wrong thing and push her into turning it down.

“Let’s talk later,” she said. “I don’t have to let Mr. Phillips know until tomorrow.”

Amy started the car and left the law firm parking lot. She turned onto McDonald Street and slowed as she approached Ms. Burris’s house. The elderly woman’s car was parked in front of the garage. Amy turned into the driveway. It was time to be pushy.