The Living Room (44 page)

“There is lot of creative talent in this town. Are you working on a new book yourself?”

“Yes, it’s in the beginning stages.”

“That must be a challenge. Holding down a full-time job and writing.”

“And trying to be a good mom.” Amy lowered her voice. “Jeff and I appreciate you helping us keep an eye on Megan. She’s smart and strong-willed, but it’s not paired up with wisdom yet. We want to make sure she doesn’t make bad choices.”

“Sure. But getting kids to let down their guard and talk isn’t always easy. There’s a lot of listening required first.”

“I know, and I don’t want to steal your time. You’re already giving so much of yourself to your students. But if you’d like to take Megan to get a burger after dance practice, Jeff gave her money for lunch. Of course, if Molly is going along, that might not work.”

“I’ll play it by ear.”

Megan came rapidly down the stairs. Her dance clothes were in a canvas tote with the studio logo on its side.

“Hey, Mr. Ryan. Bye, Mom,” she said, then darted past her out of the house.

Mr. Ryan lingered for a moment. “If dance doesn’t work out, Megan could probably be a track star.”

Amy watched as Megan got in the backseat of the car.

When Amy and Jeff arrived at the Connor house, it looked like a cross between a haphazard garage sale and an episode from a TV show about a hoarder. Fortunately, a lot of people had shown up, and Tammy’s best friend efficiently assigned people to specific tasks. While Jeff worked in the garage, Amy went to a child’s bedroom.

Darla Connor was six years old and similar to her mother. A small child’s opinion about what’s valuable isn’t logical, so Amy didn’t try to separate junk from treasures. She treated everything except obvious trash as a keepsake, divided the items by type, placed them in boxes, taped them shut, and wrote a detailed description on top. Amy especially enjoyed folding the little-girl clothes. The years when she’d been able to treat Megan as a doll had been a lot of fun. Amy was getting close to finishing the room when Tammy and Darla came in.

“Darla can’t find her bunny,” Tammy said. “I know she had him this morning because she always sleeps with him. Normally, she leaves him alone during the day except at nap time, but all this activity is making her feel insecure.”

Darla had a sad expression on her face. Amy, who was on her knees sorting through shoes, stood up.

“I know exactly where he is.”

She went over to a stack of boxes in the corner of the room and found the third box down. On the top, she’d written
Darla’s stuffed
animals
. Tearing off the tape, she opened the box and took out a well-worn grayish rabbit with long, floppy ears. As soon as she saw the rabbit, Darla’s eyes lit up. Amy handed the bunny to her.

“Hold him for a few minutes, and then we’re going to put him in the car so he doesn’t get lost during the long drive,” Tammy said to the little girl.

Darla ran out of the room.

“Thanks, Amy, you’re a lifesaver. We lost Bunny last week. It was a rough couple of days until we found him hiding behind the potato chips in the pantry.”

“Darla is cute,” Amy replied. “I look forward to keeping up with her through your photos online.”

“Hey, I saw the pictures from the party Megan went to last night. That was the biggest pizza I’ve ever seen. They must have cooked it in sections.”

“I’d like to see them. Who posted the photos?”

“Patty Springsteed. Her son David went to the party. Are you friends with her online?”

“No. What was Megan doing in the picture?”

“Being silly. David had his arm around her and another girl. If my computer wasn’t already packed away, I’d show you.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You have plenty to do.”

twenty-nine

T
he Connor family ordered multiple pizzas to feed the volunteers. When the food arrived, Amy excused herself and drove to Natalie’s house. The contrast between the chaos at the Connor house and the serene organization of Natalie’s home couldn’t have been more dramatic. Natalie had fixed mini club sandwiches with different kinds of meat.

“Where are Luke and the boys?” Amy asked after she’d washed up and settled into Natalie’s kitchen with a cup of hot tea in front of her.

“Out for a couple of hours getting something to eat and then going to the new park on Westover Drive.”

“This is so much better than pizza with grease running off the top,” Amy said after she ate a tiny sandwich in three bites. “I’m hungry.”

“How are things going with Megan?” Natalie asked.

Amy decided it was time to tell her friend about her concerns. That took the rest of the meal.

“Maybe we should pray for her time with Mr. Ryan right now,” Natalie said when Amy mentioned enlisting the teacher as an ally.

Amy glanced at her watch. “Okay. They should be finished by now.”

“Unless they’re really having a good talk.”

Natalie offered up a heartfelt prayer that perfectly mirrored what Amy hoped would happen.

When she finished, all Amy added was “Amen.”

“If you write as well as you pray, your book isn’t going to need much editing,” Amy said.

“Are you ready to see it?” Natalie asked, her eyes lighting up.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to see the illustrations first or read the text?”

It was a question Amy hadn’t thought about. She hesitated.

“Let me see the pictures. If they tell the story well enough, the words aren’t going to be as important. Where should we sit?”

“Right here is fine.” Natalie hurriedly left the table.

Almost every time she sat in Natalie’s kitchen, Amy saw something that gave her an idea for her own home. A new napkin holder that turned a routine object with a mundane purpose into an artistic piece caught her eye. Natalie returned with a large leather portfolio. Beige-colored papers peeked out from its sides.

“This is exciting and scary at the same time,” she said. “And you’re my friend. I can’t imagine what it’s like to show something you’ve created to a total stranger.”

“Much worse.”

Natalie laid the portfolio on the table. She lifted one corner of the folder and slid out a single sheet of paper.

“This is my concept for the cover.”

It was a beach scene with a house in the background and three children running along the top of a sand dune toward the ocean. It was a windy day, and the sea grass bowed before the breeze. The two older children were boys. The youngest was a girl whose long blond hair trailed along behind her. In the children’s hands were buckets and nets. The boys were in shorts and shirts, and the girl was wearing a blue and yellow dress.

“I love it,” Amy said simply. “And not just because I’d like to hang it on the wall.”

“Why?”

“I love that you don’t show the children’s faces. Often it’s best to ease into the characters and setting and give the reader’s imagination a chance to kick in. That way they own the story, too. And your images are so generic that children who read the book can see themselves in the picture.”

“That’s good?”

“Yes.”

“Yea!” Natalie responded.

Amy smiled. “I assume that’s what you intended. How much physical detail do you give later?”

“Some, but the children remain images, not portraits. Watercolors allow soft edges. I tried not to cross the line of artistic ambiguity.”

“Okay. And I like that they’re wearing regular clothes. Children who spend a few days at the beach aren’t in bathing suits every chance they get. Those who stay for weeks or months dress more like they do at home.”

“Is it okay for the little girl to wear a dress?”

“Yes, especially for the cover. Also, it tells me she likes to think for herself.”

“Yea again.”

“Let me see another one.”

One by one, Natalie brought out the paintings. Not only were they beautiful to look at, they told a visual story.

“I get it,” Amy said after she saw the final image, a sunset similar to the cover, only from the perspective of the beach looking inland. “I especially love the pictures where the children are building the imaginary pirate boat from driftwood, and Sarah’s encounter with the jellyfish.”

“That makes me feel great.” Natalie paused.

“Now, the part I’m nervous and not excited about—the text.”

“Don’t be.”

Natalie pulled a thin stack of papers from the portfolio. “I’m going to leave the room and clean the toilet in the boys’ bathroom while you read it. I know you can’t tell me everything that needs to be
fixed on a first reading, but I’d at least like your impressions. There are pencil sketches of the illustrations on the pages where I think the words should appear.”

“Are you really going to clean the boys’ toilet?”

“Or find something to do. If you hear me pacing back and forth upstairs, try to ignore it.”

Natalie left the kitchen. Amy picked up the pages. She knew her friend’s anxiety was misplaced.

Until she read the first page.

The lighthearted serendipity of the paintings never made the leap to the printed words. Some sentences were stiff. Others were way too long for a children’s book. Worst of all, the words didn’t open a window to the innocent imaginations of the children that were the heart of the story. Amy started reading faster, hoping the writing would improve. But it didn’t. She found only a handful of phrases that vibrated with vitality. She took a pen from her purse and put a star beside each one.

Amy could hear Natalie’s footsteps as she walked up and down the hallway on the second floor. Not sure what to do, she read the story again. It didn’t improve the second time, but Amy’s lowered expectations helped her appreciate the effort Natalie put into it. She put down the final page and looked again at the wonderful paintings. When she looked up, Natalie was standing in the doorway.

“I didn’t hear you come downstairs,” she said.

Natalie held up her shoes in her right hand. “I crept down quieter than Noah stealing an after-bedtime cookie.”

It was the kind of sentence Amy had hoped to see a lot more of in the story but didn’t.

“How bad is it?” Natalie continued.

“It has its moments,” Amy responded, and immediately regretted her choice of words.

“But there aren’t many of them.” Natalie finished the thought before Amy could continue.

“I marked some of the sentences that really sing,” Amy said,
trying to keep a positive expression on her face. “But overall, I think it needs work.”

Natalie stepped forward and slumped down at the table.

“Can you fix it?” she asked with a forlorn look on her face.

“It’s a different genre. But I’m sure I can toss out a few ideas that might help.”

“Anything you can do would be awesome. Did anything come to you as you were reading?”

“Yes.” Amy nodded. “Every time I looked at one of the paintings, it sparked an idea. The visual message is there. All that’s lacking is to sync up what you’ve created using watercolors with the words on the page. In an illustrated book, less can be more. It’s common for the narrative to be very sparse for several pages, then the writer tosses in two or three paragraphs that fill in the blanks and add texture to what the reader’s mind has already visualized with the images.”

“I read a bunch of children’s books but never noticed that,” Natalie replied.

“And it’s necessary to resist the urge to explain everything. Make the reader, even a child, work a bit to follow the story. Overstating things slowed me down more than anything else. For example, building the pirate ship needs very little explanation once the children get started. You show it happening. The words come in when the kids are in their places, and Peter hoists the flag made out of their father’s old Hawaiian-print shirt. That’s the point where you show the children’s imaginations in action. One of the best lines is at the end of that scene when you encourage readers to tell their own pirate story. It will segue into a nice discussion between parent and child.”

“I tossed that in as an afterthought.”