Читать книгу Merciful Law - Darby Sr. Rae - Страница 9

As I sat in the hotel room sipping coffee and anticipating my day, I couldn’t believe my excitement. At 5 am I was completely packed and ready to leave. When Emmet said “anytime is good” I didn’t think he meant before sunrise. My plan was to go after 8:00 Mass. I just couldn’t sleep anymore.

Susan was the only one at the house when I arrived. She was fixing a special dinner for my first night even though it was her day off. How welcoming. Susan looked to be in her mid-fifties. She had shoulder length gray hair, a warm smile, and tired eyes that indicated life had not been kind to her.

The kitchen was her kingdom. She prided herself on being a gourmet cook and admitted she was addicted to the cooking channel, soap operas, and crossword puzzles. She had a laugh that was contagious and a quick sarcastic wit. I could tell we would get along famously even though I did not share any of the addictions she confessed.

Monday, Emmet set up a one-hour window to answer any questions I had. I spent time last night compiling a comprehensive list. I had a feeling I wouldn’t get this chance again. The bus arrived at 8:21 daily. Emmet accompanied the boys to the end of the driveway and waited until the bus departed. We were to start our meeting promptly at 8:30.

I woke up early and ran for thirty minutes. It completely rejuvenated me. I was back at the house with plenty of time to shower and have breakfast ready for the boys and Emmet. I wished them a good day and sat at the kitchen table with my cup of coffee and note pad of questions. I was positioning myself in the kitchen in hopes we could meet here in a more equitable environment instead of sitting in his office—Emmet at his big desk and me in the small uncomfortable chair that leaned toward its short leg.

Emmet entered the kitchen at 8:29. I waited for him to sit, crossing my fingers so he wouldn’t motion to the office. Although Emmet was clearly more comfortable being in control, I wanted him to know I was no shrinking violet. I was careful not to sound formal in my communication, wanting to sound like a day care provider and not an attorney. Without the children present it was more difficult than I had anticipated.

“Thanks for the time this morning, Emmet. Since we only have about an hour I have some questions to run through so I can understand the guidelines. If you can be patient giving me guidelines, I can make better judgments on how you want me to handle your affairs.” Affairs, that wasn’t the right word. I should have said household…or home.

“Go on,” he said, looking intrigued by my take-charge attitude.

“The first and most obvious question is boundaries. Please tell me either what you do or don’t want me to stick my nose into, whichever list is shorter.” That sounded informal; not at all like an attorney during a cross-examination.

“Not much is off limits to you, Annie. After all, you do live here now. Rooms first; if my office door is closed and you need me, just knock and come in. Don’t wait for an answer. If my bedroom door is closed and you need me, knock and wait for an answer. No need for any embarrassing situations. I’ll reciprocate for your privacy of course. Susan uses a bedroom on the first floor when I travel. For your own safety, you should avoid it.” He smirked.

“My computer is off limits to everyone. That’s to protect me from losing data. There is a family computer for the boys in Josh’s room. Susan has her own. I have another laptop for you to use if you need one. My assistant at the office, Amanda, handles all my business emails. She’ll email anything personal requiring your attention. You’ll need to provide your email address to me.”

“Email address? I’ll have to set one up…”

“You don’t have email?” He asked, furrowing his brow.

I’m Amish? “Oh, I um well…I’m…I’m more of a text messenger than an e-mailer. You know, too much spam.” Well that was smooth. I’ve gone from informal to inarticulate in less than six minutes. Who doesn’t use email, I thought! Vagrants and comatose patients, that’s who…even incarcerated criminals have email. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe the spam excuse.

“I’ll have Amanda set up a company email account for you. It will be more efficient having you on the distribution list.”

“Expeditious, I agree.” There I go, swinging back to my ten-dollar words. I need to watch it or Emmet is going to think I have multiple personality disorder!

He raised his eyebrows momentarily and then continued. “There is one locked drawer in my office, three safes, and one locked dresser drawer in my bedroom. Everything else you have access to.”

“Where do you keep all the service agreements, household contracts, warrantees, et al?”

“Those are all in the lower file-cabinet in my office.”

“Any pet peeves I should be aware of ?”

“Yes, answering detailed questions and I’m not a big fan of oatmeal.” “Very funny; you gave me an hour remember.”

“Continue.”

“Is the security guard armed?”

“You have an interesting order to your questions, Annie.”

“No order. I just wrote them down…stream of consciousness.”

“The security guard is armed, but he is there mostly for privacy.”

“Mostly?” It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Next question, Annie.”

“Is there anyone I need to be aware of that shouldn’t be on the grounds or around the boys?” I could tell he realized this was just a follow-up question to find out what “mostly” meant. He didn’t look annoyed that I didn’t let it go. Maybe he even respected my tenacity.

“Interesting question. Annie, you aren’t from here so let me share. My law firm works with many high-profile clients in corporate espionage and competitive intelligence. At times, the cases become highly publicized which puts me in the paper and on television. Occasionally, that attracts the attention of people I wish it wouldn’t, including the press. When they can’t reach our clients, they invade my privacy, which unfortunately brings the children into the public eye.”

“Do you have any weapons in the house? Guns, knives, hand grenades?”

“Seriously?”

“Well, partially seriously. Emmet, I am in charge of the safety of your children at least some of the time. I need to know what is around the house that is potentially dangerous. I’m doing my due diligence.” Due diligence—what daycare worker uses that kind of phrase? I need to practice being conversational…think daycare worker; kid-friendly communication.

Emmet cleared his throat before he answered. “Yes, I have weapons. They are all secure in my wall safe in my bedroom. I’ll show them to you if you like.”

“I don’t need to see them, thank you; just as long as they are locked up and out of sight.”

“As far as other dangers, realizing my boys can make anything dangerous, the only two inherent dangers are the pond at the back of the property and Romulus. The boys are never allowed at the pond without an adult and currently nobody cares for Romulus but me.”

“What’s a Romulus?”

Emmet’s quick burst of laughter startled me. “You didn’t notice the 130-pound Rottweiler in the breezeway yesterday?” He asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No, he didn’t bark when I drove up and I didn’t see him out on the lawn at all.”

“He’s an attack dog, Annie,” Emmet said sternly. “He doesn’t bark and he doesn’t bound around the yard like the family pet. Once you hear him, it’s too late. I let him out at night at 10 p.m. and put him in at 6 am. He roams the grounds at night. If you have to go outside during that time, you will need to let me know. I should have told you about him last night. Come downstairs at 10:00 this evening, I’ll introduce you.”

“I’ll pass.”

“He will be friendly toward you when I am around,” he said, ignoring my protest. “But don’t ever forget he is an attack dog. Over time, I will help him get used to you. He is used to the boys of course, but they know not to try to play with him. He isn’t the family pet. For the record, Susan steers completely clear of him.”

I paused for a moment saying a prayer of thanks; I went running this morning at 6:15. “How do I reach you in an emergency?”

“Consternation over the dog?”

“No,” I smiled weakly. “It’s just the next question,” I said, tilting my paper toward him, though my body language contradicted my words.

“Cell phone. How many more questions are there?”

“That’s the last one actually. The others are for Susan. Could we spend the last fifteen minutes in your office? It would be helpful to have you point out where things are located.”

We both warmed our coffee and I followed Emmet to the office. He pointed out my in-box, his in-box, to be filed, where the mail goes, the checkbook, list of stores he has accounts with, list of logins and passwords, list of weekly errands, list of service providers…he had a list, file, or basket for everything; and everything had its place. Only the ‘to be filed’ basket had more than a few papers in it…and it was overflowing.

“I don’t file.” Emmet declared in explanation as he left his office.

After two hours of filing, the basket was empty. The most difficult task was matching health insurance EOB’s to the receipt from the doctor’s office. Tomorrow I would have to run the list of errands and pick up office supplies. Susan offered to come early and run errands with me. I planned to do some laundry for her…but first I had to see her room. Emmet’s comment made me curious.

It looked like a tornado had whipped through it, which was funny since she only stayed over when Emmet traveled. I tidied it a bit, but didn’t want to make my efforts too noticeable. The rest of the house was spotless…except the laundry room…Susan’s domain also. I spent about three hours doing laundry. I would tell her it was an equitable trade for her time tomorrow if I thought she was offended…better yet; I would just call it a trade…drop the word equitable.

I put away all the laundry I could, ending in Emmet’s room. His bedroom was much like his office; everything in its place. I’m sure he appreciated having his bed made military style—so you could bounce a quarter off it. His closet was extremely organized. It looked like the racks from a clothing store. Everything arranged by color. The towels in his closet were folded differently than the ones hanging. I spent a few minutes refolding the ones in his closet in thirds and then in half like the hanging ones.

Emmet was obviously very structured. Although it was comfortable for me because it was familiar…and I like structure…I was hopeful he wasn’t a control freak like Lawrence. I planned on asking Susan a lot of questions the next day…including why she steered clear of Romulus.

At 10 p.m. sharp Emmet took me outside to meet Romulus. I stood pressed against the back door yards from the breezeway while Emmet freed the beast. He waved me over—and I waved back resisting the risk of becoming dog food. It was a momentary delay to the inevitable, because Emmet and the killer walked toward me. Romulus’ continuous growl was replaced by an intrusive sniff when he reached me and completely invaded my personal space.

“Not a dog person,” I squeaked, focused on not wetting myself.

“Good boy,” Emmet said rubbing the dog’s head. Why did he feel the need to comfort the dog when I was panic-stricken? Wordlessly he took my arm and led me to the back lawn while Romulus followed suspiciously behind us. I stood like a mannequin for thirty minutes while Emmet exercised him by playing fetch. Finally torment time was over and Emmet led me back into the house.

“Tomorrow night, ten o’clock…goodnight, Annie.”