The Living Room (38 page)

After Chris left, Amy went to the law firm mail room. The note was still in the bin for delivery to the post office. She took it out and stuck it in her purse.

Exactly at noon, Natalie sent Amy a text that she was in front of the office to pick her up. Amy logged off her computer. She passed Janelle’s desk on the way out the front door.

“If Mr. Phillips asks about me, I’m out to lunch with a friend,” Amy said to the receptionist.

“He’s been in a meeting with the other partners most of the morning,” Janelle responded in a low whisper. “Something big is going on. Do you know what it is?”

“Yes, but I can’t say anything about it.”

“They’re not going to lay off staff, are they? I’ve been here the least time of anyone.”

“That’s not it. Besides, you do a great job. I wish I could talk to people on the phone as easily as you do. Several clients have mentioned to me how pleasant you are, and you route the calls very efficiently.”

“Really?” Janelle brightened up. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me. I mean, Ms. Kirkpatrick gave me a little bit of positive feedback at my review but nothing specific.”

Amy left the office, glad she could at least brighten Janelle’s day. Natalie was parked behind a Mercedes owned by one of the partners.

“I have a special surprise for you,” she said when Amy opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

“Something smells good.” Amy glanced over her shoulder into the backseat. “I thought you’d whip together a salad, but you’ve been baking.”

Natalie pulled away from the office and drove to a red light. The park was to the right, but when the light turned green Natalie took a left.

“This isn’t the way,” Amy said.

“It is for where we’re going.”

“Tell me.”

“Be patient.”

Natalie took two more turns. Amy suddenly realized what she had in mind.

“We’re not going to Ms. Burris’s house, are we?” she asked in alarm.

“And we’re almost there.”

Natalie turned onto Ms. Burris’s street. Her house was the second one on the right. Amy held out her hand.

“Stop!” she said. “I can’t see her. At least not until some things at work are cleared up.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“It’s confidential, but Mr. Phillips made me promise not to have any contact with Ms. Burris.”

Natalie pulled the car to the curb.

“He can do that?” she asked incredulously.

“Maybe not legally, but I have to agree to what he says if I want to keep my job.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Does Ms. Burris know we’re coming?” Amy asked.

“Of course she does. I wouldn’t barge in unannounced. She thought it was a wonderful idea. I could tell when you called me last night that you were stressed out, and I thought this would be a good way for you to be encouraged.”

“You could hear the stress in my voice?”

“Of course. You hide what’s going to happen in one of your books a lot better than you do your own feelings.”

Amy took the note she’d written Ms. Burris from her purse and showed the envelope to Natalie.

“I wrote this last night telling Ms. Burris I couldn’t see her. I was going to mail it today. One of the things I wanted to ask you to do was to keep meeting with her. Some of the bits of wisdom she comes up with really stick with me, and I thought you could share what she said with me.”

Natalie shook her head. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Totally. I promised Mr. Phillips.” Amy hesitated. “But the reason I didn’t send the note in the noon mail was because one of the other lawyers talked to me this morning and wants a chance to try and change Mr. Phillips’s mind.”

Natalie, who had picked up her cell phone to call Ms. Burris, dropped it in her lap.

“What?” she asked.

“I can’t tell you why the other lawyer wants to talk to Mr. Phillips, but he does.”

“I’m not following this. I thought lawyers were supposed to be logical.”

“And they aren’t afraid to disagree. The goal is to argue until the best idea wins out.”

“Where does that leave us?” Natalie asked. “I have a meat pie with a puff-pastry topping in the backseat that isn’t going to be fit to eat if it isn’t hot.”

Without saying another word, Amy grabbed her own phone from her purse and punched in a number she knew by heart but rarely called. She silently prayed the person would answer. As soon as the call went through, she started talking rapidly.

“Mr. Phillips, this is Amy. Do I have your permission to eat a quick lunch with Ms. Burris at her house? A friend set it up without knowing there might be a problem. We’ll only be there a few minutes, and I promise to be completely discreet. It would be socially embarrassing to cancel without an explanation or to give one with my friend present.”

Amy had never delivered such a fast speech to the senior partner. Usually she chose her words carefully and spoke slowly. Mr. Phillips didn’t immediately respond.

“We’re parked outside Ms. Burris’s house, and I would appreciate an answer now,” Amy concluded in a rush.

“Go ahead. But avoid any topics related to firm business.”

“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

I
n 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.”

“And you think a well-placed compliment will buy you a pass for ambushing me about your luncheon with Mildred Burris?”