The Living Room (35 page)

Upstairs, Amy turned on her computer and tried to channel the frustration she felt into her main character. Toward the beginning of many books, the protagonist has a crossing-the-threshold moment in which she has to choose whether to go forward into the unknown or maintain the status quo. Even if the character initially refuses the call to adventure, an author can create circumstances that overwhelm the character’s will. But Roxanne didn’t need to be manipulated. Her seething rage at the injustice visited on her family fueled her decision to confront the evil in the local sheriff’s office. As Amy rapidly typed,
Roxanne crept into a restricted area of the sheriff’s department and found a folder that hinted at the illegal activity she suspected.

When she finished the writing session, Amy stood and stretched. Between the stress of the law office and the concentration required to write, her brain was a frazzled mush. But she was satisfied with what she’d accomplished. The inciting incident for
Deeds
of
Darkness
rang true.

She went to Ian’s bedroom and peeked inside. He was already asleep. The cast on his arm prevented him from lying on his preferred side, so he’d had to adjust. With his mouth slightly open, he was a picture of the total relaxation only children possess. Watching Ian, Amy made a note to use what she saw when describing the carefree sleep of the baby boy in her book. His lack of concern would be a nice juxtaposition to Roxanne’s fear and anxiety. Amy kissed Ian on the forehead. Once he was sound asleep, there was little chance a gentle kiss would awaken him.

Megan’s light was still on. Amy knocked and entered. With her legs propped up on the bed, Megan was lying on her back on the floor and holding a textbook in front of her face.

“Why are you reading like that?” Amy asked.

“I have a chapter test tomorrow in history, and if I get in a different position, I can remember what I read. World War I was a huge mess. What were the European politicians thinking?”

Amy didn’t attempt an answer.

“Is the test essay, multiple choice, or fill in the blanks?” she asked.

“All of the above, but GR tells us the essay questions in advance.”

“GR?”

“Mr. Ryan. Bethany and I have been calling him GR for Greg Ryan.”

“But not to his face.”

Megan lowered the book to her chest and gave Amy an exasperated look.

“No, but now that you’ve brought it up, we might give it a try.”

“There’s no need to get sassy with me.”

Megan rolled her eyes and went back to studying the book.

“Good night, Mom,” she said.

“Good night.”

Amy backed out of the room in retreat. Jeff was in the family room watching TV. When Amy approached she saw that he’d fallen asleep.

“Do you want to go to bed?” she said in a normal tone of voice, hoping she wouldn’t startle him.

“Uh, yeah,” Jeff mumbled, opening his eyes and rubbing them. “This show is almost over. Did you get a lot of writing done?”

“Yes, but I don’t feel right abandoning the family for the entire evening. I can’t do this every night of the week. It’s not fair to you or the kids.”

Jeff stood up and stretched. “There will be plenty of nights when you won’t be able to grab this much time, but when you can, I want you to do it. Finishing this book is your number one priority.”

“You sound like you’ve been talking to Bernie.”

“He has his reasons for pushing you along,” Jeff said, looking Amy in the eyes, “and I have mine. If you get a big contract, you can quit working at the law office and never go back.”

“Yeah.” Amy thought about her conversation with Mr. Phillips. “I need to remember that.”

In the middle of the night, she had a divine dream.

Even as a grown woman, Amy experienced a childlike wonder each time she came into the living room. Stress peeled off her soul like dead skin. If God’s mercies are new every morning on earth, they are even more magnificent when revealed in glory. Faint voices of praise fluttered at the edge of her hearing.

Bathed in thankfulness, Amy’s heart felt renewed. Just as she reached the point of overflowing gratitude, she felt herself being pulled away, and a rapid succession of images flashed across her mind. Once again, she couldn’t slow them down. The next thing that happened
was auditory, not visual. She heard an unfamiliar name accompanied by a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach:
Larry
Kelly
.

Amy woke up lying on her back in the darkness. Usually she felt refreshed after a trip to the living room. Tonight it took a few moments for the nauseous sensation to go away. She couldn’t think of anyone she knew named Larry Kelly. Jeff was asleep on his side with his back turned toward her. She turned on the lamp on her nightstand and wrote the name Larry Kelly on a piece of paper.

When she came downstairs the following morning, Jeff was alone in the kitchen preparing scrambled eggs and cooking bacon for breakfast.

“Smells good,” she said, glancing at the bacon sizzling in the skillet.

“It’s been awhile since I gave the kids something hot for breakfast. Ian can eat bacon with one hand.”

Amy poured a cup of coffee and took a sip.

“Do you know a man named Larry Kelly?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Jeff poured milk into the bowl where he’d put the raw eggs.

“There’s a guy named Richard Kelly who works as an inspector for the building authority, but I think he goes by Ricky. Why?”

“I heard the name in a dream last night. I thought maybe he was someone who’d been arrested recently, and I saw his name in the paper.”

“Not that I remember,” Jeff said as he added salt to the egg mixture.

“Maybe I can use the name in my new novel. I haven’t identified the bad guy who is the sheriff of the fictitious county on the Texas border.”

“Sheriff Kelly works for me.” Jeff turned his attention to the bacon and used a long fork to expertly turn over the strips. “Do you think this is too done?”

Amy peered into the skillet. “Ian likes it crisp; Megan limp. I’d take a couple of pieces out for her.”

“What about you?”

“None for me, but I’ll eat a bite or two of eggs if the kids leave any.”

Amy went upstairs to get dressed for work. When she returned to the kitchen, Ian was scraping more scrambled eggs onto his plate with a large plastic spoon. Megan wasn’t in sight.

“These eggs are great,” Ian said to Jeff.

“Your dad makes the best breakfast on earth,” Amy said with a smile. “Where’s Megan?”

“Already come and gone back upstairs. She didn’t want any breakfast but asked for a cup of coffee.”

“And you let her have one?” Amy asked.

“Yeah, she caught me off guard. She added creamer and sugar like she knew what she was doing. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn it was you.”

Megan returned to the kitchen and put an empty coffee cup in the dishwasher.

“When did you start drinking coffee?” Amy asked.

“At school. Mr. Ryan has a pot in his room every morning and shares it with a few of us. It’s an acquired taste.”

“Yes, it is,” Amy said. “And I don’t want you relying on caffeine to jump-start your day.”

“You and Dad do.”

Amy glanced at Jeff, who shrugged.

“If you drink a cup here, don’t have another one at school,” Amy said. “One cup is enough.”

“How many do you have?” Megan asked.

“I’d like some coffee,” Ian popped up before Amy could answer. “Bobby’s grandmother lets him drink it with breakfast when he spends the night with her.”

“No, you’re too young,” Amy said to him, then turned to Megan. “And one cup is enough at your age.”

“Then I’ll wait until I get to school where drinking a cup of coffee doesn’t start World War III,” Megan replied.

Amy spoke to Ian. “And remember, you shouldn’t increase your caffeine intake while your broken arm is healing.”

“What?” Ian asked.

“Caffeine isn’t good for your bones,” Jeff said. “The doctor told you to stay away from soft drinks for a few weeks? It’s the same with coffee.”

“How are your bones?” Ian challenged.

“Strong enough,” Jeff said.

Jeff held out his arm. Ian wrapped his good arm around his father’s bicep, and Jeff lifted him a few inches off the floor.

“Stop,” Amy said. “We don’t need two broken arms.”

Jeff lowered Ian and moved his arm back and forth.

“My arm feels fine,” Jeff said.

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

Jeff was still at the house when the children left to catch the school bus. He rinsed the breakfast dishes at the sink and washed the skillet by hand. Amy dried the skillet with a dish towel.

“Megan throws me a curveball when I least expect it,” Amy said as she hung the skillet on a hook above the stove.

“Coffee now, beer later,” Jeff said.

“How can you be so nonchalant about it?” Amy asked. “That sort of thing is serious.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Jeff was right. His father had battled a drinking problem, but he’d been sober for twenty years.

“And at the right time, I’ll tell Megan about my dad,” Jeff continued. “She knows him as a kind, gentle man. A totally different side came out when he’d knocked back too many drinks. He was a real Jekyll and Hyde. It might be better to ask him to talk to her.”

“He’d do it. Did you ever apologize to Megan for the way you acted at the meeting with Nate Drexel?”

“I tried, but she cut me off and told me everything was okay. I think she realized I was upset because I cared about her.”

During the drive to the office, Amy thought about Larry Kelly. It was a decent name for the evil sheriff in
Deeds
of
Darkness
. But in her
heart, she suspected that wasn’t the only reason she’d heard the name in the night.

She logged on to her computer. The firm paid a lot of money so the employees could access a massive national database and find personal information on just about anyone. When Amy was first trained to use it, she was stunned by the breadth of data revealed in the reports. The scope of personal privacy was a lot smaller than most people thought.

It was routine practice for Amy and the other staff at the firm to run a search on opposing parties, witnesses, and potential jurors. Amy typed in the name Larry Kelly and waited. The program came back with hundreds of matches. She would need more specific information to conduct a meaningful search. Adjusting her glasses, she closed the program and began organizing Mr. Phillips’s mail.