The Living Room (45 page)

“It was a good one.”

Natalie rested her elbows on the table.

“I’m overwhelmed,” she said.

“Don’t be. Here’s what we’ll do,” Amy said. “Make copies of the paintings on a color copier. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if the
originals were at my house. And I’ll take the text and begin to play around with it.”

“What about your own book?”

“I can do this during my lunch break at work. And this will be a fun diversion at home that will perk me up when I need a break from my novel. Your book isn’t the sort of thing that warrants several hours of writing at a sitting. Short spells may actually be better.”

“And you’ll take credit for the story.”

“Maybe. It depends on how many of my changes make it into the final version.”

“I know they will.”

Amy smiled. “That means we’ll split the million dollars received in royalties fifty-fifty. We could use the money to go in together and buy a fabulous house at the beach. Your family can use it for two weeks, then we’ll come down for a joint week, followed by two weeks on our own.”

“I like that idea.” Natalie perked up. “And it’s only right that it would be the beach since a beach story made it possible in the first place.”

Driving home, Amy hoped Natalie’s lighthearted comments at the end of their conversation didn’t give way to tears as soon as her friend was alone. Insecurity crouched on every writer’s shoulder. Amy knew its condemning voice well.

When she pulled up to the house, Jeff hadn’t returned yet. Amy went inside. There was no sign of Megan, either. She went upstairs. The door to Megan’s room was closed. Amy turned the knob and pushed it open. Megan was lying on the bed, fast asleep.

“Megan!” Amy said. “Wake up!”

Megan rolled over and barely opened one of her eyes for a second, then closed it again. Amy shook her.

“Wake up! What did you take that made you fall asleep?”

“Take?” Megan mumbled. “Take what?”

“That’s what I’m asking you!” Amy repeated in a loud voice.

Megan rubbed her eyes and opened them. It looked like she was having trouble focusing.

“Tell me what you’ve done, or I’m going to take you to the hospital.”

Megan unsteadily forced herself to sit up.

“I was sleepy,” she said.

“No, you were unconscious, passed out. What did you do, and where did you go after dance class?”

“Uh.” Megan hesitated for several moments. “Mr. Ryan dropped off Molly at her house, then we went to get a burger and shake for lunch.” Megan yawned. “There were a bunch of people there who’d been at the school working on decorations for the prom.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did you know any of them?”

Megan brushed her hair out of her face and yawned again.

“They were mostly juniors and seniors.”

“Was David Springsteed there?”

“No, why are you asking about him?”

“Who did you talk to?”

Megan opened her eyes wider. “I mostly watched and listened. They were more interested in Mr. Ryan than me.”

Amy took a deep breath. “Did anyone give you anything?”

“Give me something? Like what?”

“A pill.”

“You think I took some kind of drug that made me sleepy?” Megan asked incredulously.

“Why else would you pass out on a Saturday afternoon? This wasn’t a normal nap. There’s a reason why it was so hard for me to wake you up.”

“You think I would take a pill that someone from school gave me?” Megan repeated, shaking her head in disbelief.

“What am I supposed to think? You’ve never answered my question.”

Megan stared hard at Amy. There was now no doubt she was fully awake.

“I didn’t take any pills and never would. I can’t believe you think I’m that stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid, but I know how peer pressure works, especially with older and younger high school students.”

“Mom, you’re crazy. Or what’s the word? Paranoid.”

Amy felt steam about to boil out of her ears. If Megan were Darla Connor’s age, Amy would apply a paddle to her bottom. But you couldn’t spank a teenager who just used the word
paranoid
.

“I was sleepy,” Megan said, perhaps sensing she’d pushed her mother too hard.

“So what’s your explanation? Was dance practice hard?”

“Not really. Maybe it’s my hormones.”

It was such an unexpected answer that Amy’s jaw dropped. She was speechless.

“If I’m paranoid, I guess you have the right to blame your hormones,” she managed. “That’s always a woman’s prerogative. But if this keeps up, I’m going to take you back to Dr. Simmons for more tests.”

“Fine. I’ve not done anything wrong, and I don’t have anything to hide.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why you’re so sleepy.”

“Then I wish you’d stick to things that don’t involve accusing me of being a terrible person. Now that I’m awake, would you please leave me alone?”

The last thing Amy saw as she left the room was Megan picking up her cell phone to send a text. She started to ask her not to send any text messages about their conversation to her friends, but that was an unrealistic request. Teenage girls were going to talk. It was as much a part of their DNA as emerging hormones.

Amy went to her bedroom and closed the door. Taking out her own cell phone, she punched in the number for Greg Ryan.

“It’s Amy Clarke,” she said as soon as the teacher answered.

“Hey, Mrs. Clarke—”

“Call me Amy. We’ll save the formalities for the school campus. I came home a few minutes ago and found Megan passed out in her room. It was almost identical to the other day. After I got her awake and talking, I asked her if she’d taken any kind of drug. She got offended and denied it. She mentioned you ran into a group of older students while you were eating lunch. What did you see? Who did she talk to? Was she ever out of your sight? What sort of condition was she in when you dropped her off at the house?”

“Let’s back up a bit,” the teacher said. “Yes, we went to Jackson’s Shake Shop after I took Molly Prichard home. During the drive and when we first got to the restaurant, I asked Megan to give me a rundown on her friends. I already knew most of them, of course, but I wanted to find out if there was someone on the list who would be a red flag. Megan considers a lot of people friends.”

“Yes, she’s much more social than I ever was.”

“I don’t know all the kids at the school, and a couple of names came up that I wasn’t sure about. Both of them were boys. One was Keith Nelson, and the other was Bruce Peabody.”

“She’s known both of them since they went to Broad Street Christian School together. I’m surprised Megan considers them friends. Bruce is so shy that he usually keeps to himself. That may be why he’s unfamiliar to you. And Keith’s mother tells me that he’s more interested in video games than girls.”

“That’s true of a lot of boys at the high school.”

“Was Keith at the burger place today?”

“No. That was a group of juniors and seniors who’d been at the school getting the gym ready for the prom tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s what Megan told me.”

“And to answer your questions, Megan didn’t leave the booth where we were sitting except to go to the bathroom with a mob of other girls. I don’t know what happened during that time. Other than that she was sitting across the table from me while students came by to chat. During the drive to your house, she mentioned she was going to take a nap because nobody was at home and the house would be
quiet. I let her out and waited in the driveway until she went inside, then left.”

“She didn’t have any problem walking into the house?”

“None that I could tell. She looked normal to me.”

“What time was that?”

“Oh, about one fifteen. We spent a little over an hour at lunch. I’m sorry there’s not more to tell. I know you’re concerned, but it may simply be that her body is craving sleep right now.”

“Yeah. Megan mentioned hormones.”

“I don’t know much about that. I grew up in a family of boys.”

thirty

B
y the time Jeff came home, Megan was sitting in her room listening to music, texting on her phone, and reading a book—all at the same time. Jeff listened to Amy’s story.

“It sounds like she took your question about using drugs better than I expected,” he said.

“How can you say that? We haven’t talked since.”

“She could have left the house without telling you where she was going.”

When she was a little girl, Megan ran away from home twice. But like Hansel and Gretel, she left a series of breadcrumb clues that made the incidents more cute than scary.

“I didn’t even think about that.”

“If she was connected to a bad network of kids, that could have been one of her first responses. She would flee to her ‘friends’ for support. Sending Bethany a text message telling her how terrible you are is probably a good thing.”

“I’m not sure that’s what she did. And why would that be good?”

“Because if Megan is telling her best friend that she isn’t using drugs, it’s the most reliable evidence we have, short of a drug test, that she isn’t doing anything wrong.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Amy admitted. “But how am I going to repair the damage between us?”

“I don’t know. Women are complicated when it comes to getting upset with each other and sorting it out. Guys are more direct.”

“Are you trying to blame it on hormones?”

“No way,” Jeff said. “I’ve been married long enough not to fall into that trap. But I’ll make sure Megan knows that if I’d been here, I would have asked her the same questions. She needs to realize that you and I are in this together.”

“That would make me feel better.” Amy looked at the kitchen clock. “Any word from Ian?”

“Unless he has to make another trip to the hospital, he should be here in an hour and a half.”

“Why would he need to go to the hospital?”

“Sorry. That was a lame attempt at male humor.”

Ian arrived home an hour later with his cast intact and a headful of stories about his day in the woods. There were bits of leaves in his hair, and the knees of his jeans were dirty.

“When Bobby and me are twelve, Mr. Pickens is going to let us go deer hunting with him.”

“Hunting?” Amy responded, so surprised by the news she didn’t bother to correct his grammar.

“We won’t have guns or anything, but we can sit in the tree stand with him and wait for the deer to come close enough for him to get a clean shot.”

“What about all the other hunters?” Amy asked. “They might see you and think you’re a deer.”

Ian held his hands up to his head. “Mom, I don’t have any antlers. And we’ll wear orange camouflage coats and hats. That’s what I want for Christmas next year. Did you know deer can’t tell the difference between green camouflage and orange camouflage? Mr. Pickens told me deer see a lot better at night than people do, but they don’t see colors the same as us. But he says the most important thing for a hunter is to ‘be still and not smell.’”

“What about deodorant?” Jeff asked with a straight face.

“I don’t think Mr. Pickens uses it when he goes hunting,” Ian replied. “But he probably takes a shower as soon as he gets home.”

“I’m sure Bobby’s mom appreciates that,” Amy said.

Megan’s appearance at the top of the stairs interrupted Ian’s explanation about deer hunting.

“Go upstairs and take a shower,” Amy said to Ian. “You brought home part of the woods in your hair, and I want you to smell good to people, not animals.”

Megan and Ian passed each other on the stairs. Megan came into the family room.

“Did Mom tell you what she said to me?” she asked Jeff.

“Yes, and I would have asked you the same questions if I’d been here.”

“None of my friends can believe you are treating me like this.” Megan’s voice got louder. “What have I done to deserve this? And who else have you talked to about it? How am I going to face Grandma and Grandpa Clarke and Granny Edwards?”