Letters in Time, Reiss Susan [read me a book TXT] 📗

I have. Are the physical therapy sessions working well for you?”

“Yes, sir.  I feel stronger every day. The therapist said I am doing well.”

But the recovery isn’t fast enough for me.

"I'm glad, but there's no reason to rush things. Your return to normal activities should be tempered." He stopped and cleared his throat. "I want you to progress, of course! But…" His voice trailed off. I knew he was thinking about the case and the proposed settlement amount. "You're not planning on going back to work yet, are you?" A tinge of worry was in his voice.

"No, not at all. I'm still taking some painkillers that don't make me behave well for little children. Also, I don't have my strength back. It will be a while, I'm afraid."

He tried to hide his relief by clearing his throat. “Tell me, how are you spending your time? Resting all day, I suppose.”

“No, I get out and about. I don’t need a long afternoon nap anymore.” I paused, feeling unsure if I should let him in on my secret. Then, I figured, he was part of my life, at least for the time being. It might even improve our interaction. “Mr. Heinrick, I decided to do something while I’m here that I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.”

“And what is that, Emma?”  He was tolerating me as an uncle humors a little girl. When I didn’t answer immediately, he repeated, “Emma?”

"I'm going to write a book." There it was. I found myself holding my breath for his reaction.

“A book?” he burst out. “What kind of book?”

“A story for children.”

“Oh, a book for children. That’s all. You—”

“What do you mean, that’s all?” My back straightened as my defenses went up.

“Well, I—”

“Writing a book for a child shouldn’t be something slammed together.” I was climbing on my soapbox about something dear to my heart. “A children’s book deserves the best effort of the writer and I…" I wanted to say something more about writing a book, one a child deserved.

“Yes, yes, I understand. But I wasn’t talking about the quality of the book. I was thinking about money. You don’t expect to make a lot of money from writing this book, so if you want to do it as a hobby, that’s fine. It won’t have a bearing on the case or the settlement amount.”

I was right. His priority was money. There was no reason for him to see my lack of confidence in my writing skills. Let him make the case, get the settlement, and I'd say good-bye.

“Now, my dear Ms. Chase. You must consider that your brush with death and all the mind-altering drugs they’ve given you have taken a toll. Please consider. Sit back and read a book. Don’t write one.”

Bravo, Mr. Heinrick, I thought.  Your bucket of ice water certainly hit the mark.

“Thank you for that thought. I will keep them in mind. And now, I’m sure you have important things to do. Thank you for calling. Good-bye.”

I should have felt a certain level of satisfaction when I ended the call, but I didn’t. He had stoked the flames of self-doubt I’d been battling. I promised myself that I wouldn’t discuss my goal with a naysayer. I hoped I could put a copy of my book in his hands someday. Of course, to do that, I needed a story and that was eluding me.

I touched the horn to let TJ know I was finished with the call.  He walked back to the truck and got in.

“Let me guess,” he said, starting the engine. “That was your favorite attorney.”

“How did you know?” I feigned surprise.

"Well, your clenched fist was a giveaway. Forget about that guy and let Mr. Saffire and me take care of things on this end for now.”

Relieved, I leaned back in my seat. TJ might have put his finger on the reason why I had no patience with Mr. Heinrick. He was the active connection with the accident that had almost taken my life, caused daily pain, and changed the way I lived. No wonder he had become a target of my wrath, though he was a pompous…

I saw TJ’s quick look of concern. “You look all done in.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you say such flattering things to all the girls?”

“No, I mean it. What with the move and physical therapy, you—”

I couldn't let him finish. There was one more thing I wanted to do before we leave the town center. "Could we please make one more stop? Please. I promise to stay in the truck. You could go in and purchase two little items for me."

He looked at me from the corner of his eye, filled with suspicion. “You don’t need some girly-girl thing or…”

I stifled a giggle. “No, nothing like that.” He breathed a little sigh of relief. “Stephani said there’s a craft store by the Amish Market wherever that is. I want to get a calligraphy pen and a bottle of black ink.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you taking up calligraphy now? You’ll have internet access soon.”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” I tried a sweet voice to persuade him. “I only want to try something.”

He shook his head as he put the truck in gear. “I swear I’ll never understand women,” he muttered almost to himself. “She’s exhausted, but wants to stop for a pen and some ink.”

He might not have approved, but minutes later, he handed me a paper bag with the items I wanted in it. He reminded me in typical easy-going TJ-style that he’d promised to make my life on the Eastern Shore