Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2) (26 page)

~Eighteen~

Professor Cummings claps his hands as he stands at the podium begging for attention from the group of students spread before him. “Class, I’d like you to welcome back a former member of our class, Amy Maxwell!” He offers a broad smile as he sweeps his hand toward the side of the room.

I enter through a red velvet curtain. I am wearing a chic slinky black number I saw in the window of
Black and White
. My arms are magnificently toned; my back and ab muscles are tight and taut. My hair is professionally styled, shiny, loose curls bouncing happily on my bare shoulders and a fashionable side swept bang lightly brushing my right eyebrow (which has also been professionally plucked and arched). My light foundation, blush, and eye shadow is hiding any wrinkles and fine lines I might have. But these kids will never know. My make-up is flawless. To them, I look like a game show hostess as I breeze into the room and take my spot next to Professor Cummings at the podium.

“Perhaps you remember Mrs. Maxwell,” Professor Cummings is saying as he beams excitedly at me. “She used to be in this class. But that was before she so valiantly and heroically saved her sister’s life by jumping in front of a car that was speeding away with her kidnapped sister inside!”

The class collectively gasps. I see one young lady flutter her hand in front of her face.

“Her brilliance has not been overlooked by the local authorities. She has been accepted directly to the police department so there is absolutely no need for her to continue her studies here.”

I blush demurely as the class applauds.

“Take a look at Mrs. Maxwell, ladies and gentleman and let her be a shining example to you all! This is what you should aspire to be!”

I continue to blush as Professor Cummings invites the students to the podium to shake my hand and have me sign a copy of my newly released autobiography, “
The Life and Times of Amy Maxwell”
which is a bestseller, by the way.

As the students shake my hand, many pull me in for an embrace…

The jostling that I am feeling is not from a throng of students congratulating me on my brilliance. It is from my youngest child.

“Mama, up!” He is urgently pointing at the TV that is blaring one of his super dee duper happy vomit inducing sing-along shows.

“Huh?” I rub my sleepy eyes and glance around after staring at him for a moment. I must have fallen asleep on the couch as I am now in the abyss at the back of the couch. (It’s amazing how fast these people in this house can completely misshape a couch…this one is less than a year old).

“Lexie! Colton!” Evan tells me with vigor as he continues to point to the TV where the loud “goodbye” music is playing over the hue drenched credits. In one hand he is clutching his jacket and with the other he is pulling at my arm to remove me from the couch.

“Alright, alright!” I tell him as I rise to my feet and smooth down my wrinkled shirt. Then it dawns on me what he’s trying to tell me.
I have to pick up Colt and Lexie!
The end of Evan’s show signals to him that we normally get in the car and pick the kids up at school!

I glance at my watch and see that this is indeed the case. “Good boy,” I say as I pat my genius child on the head. “Let’s put your jacket on.”

I bet you’re wondering why Evan and I are home during the day and why we are on our way to pick up the kids.

Yes, really, Amy, shouldn’t you be in school? Why aren’t the kids taking the bus? Why isn’t Evan at day care or Beth’s house? And why are you taking a nap in the middle of the day????

All very valid questions, my friends. You see after I arrived home from the hospital after my surgery on my foot, I had very limited mobility. I contacted the college to see if I could take my classes from home. After explaining the situation, all of my professors were more than gracious about letting me attend class via FaceTime or some other method. All of them except for Professor Cummings,
of course
.

Professor Cummings rejected my request on the basis that I did not give enough “detail” regarding the situation. Fuming, I wrote him a seventy seven page document outlining my ordeal. I even included dialog and psychological theories about my sister’s psyche and state of mind. I expected him to acquiesce and allow me to continue with the course from home just like my other teachers. Instead, three days later, I received the document in the mail in a manila envelope with red pen marks struck across all my spelling and grammatical errors. In the margins were notes on what I did wrong in each situation we encountered that night. With my jaw hanging open, I flipped to the last page. At the bottom, Professor Cummings had scrawled a note.

It read: “
While I can appreciate the gravity of this situation, I don’t feel it merits your continuation in this class from home. In fact, based on this account, I don’t think you should take this class even when you are able to physically attend class. You are NOT
(the
not
was underlined five times)
cut out for police work. However, you are a fantastic story teller and I think you should consider a career in journalism or some other creative endeavor. My sister is an editor at a small press in the city. Here is her email address. Please tell her I recommended you and also that I will see her at Christmas. And to please
not
bring her beagle this time.”

Yup. That was the message from my dear professor. I wasn’t sure whether to be irate or ecstatic. So I chose a little bit of both and ripped up the professor’s note and tossed it in the air like confetti. Until of course Roger pointed out that I had torn up the sister’s email address. I then had to tape the entire thing together.

So long story short (yes, I know, it’s too late for that), I got in contact with the Professor’s sister who was, believe it or not, the most darling individual I have ever met. They must have been raised on opposite ends of the earth or something. She read my story and told me how much she enjoyed my voice and my storytelling ability, but how the manuscript was way too short for publication. I was incredibly disappointed after being completely buoyed by the possibility of an actual writing career but I managed to thank her for her time graciously. I expected that to be the end of it; I was done with law enforcement and my very short writing career at the same time. I never expected to hear from her again.

Then a week later, out of the blue, the Professor’s sister (whose name is Pricilla, by the way) called me on the phone (gak!) and suggested that I add to the story with other accounts of “
Life With the Maxwells
” and see what I could come up with. I didn’t think that I would really have much to write, but when I started writing down the crazy things that have happened to my family, including the ordeal that Allie and I went through last year, I realized, I have
a lot
to say. Much to my family’s dismay, I might add.

“
Life With the Maxwells
” has become a blog. Yes, I never thought I’d be blogging…heck, a few months ago I didn’t even know what a blog
was
, but with Pricilla’s guidance, it’s become a very successful one. We are hoping to compile all the stories and create a novel by the end of next year. Meanwhile, I’ve begun to work on a mystery series for kids, an idea that I had been tossing around in my head ever since Allie and I stumbled upon poor Mrs. Collin’s body. My books are about a thirteen year old girl Amelia and her eleven year old sister Lily who solve neighborhood crimes. And no, they’re not really anything like my own girls. These two are sweet and nice to their mother. (Hehehe)

I bet you’re wondering about Beth. Well, after review of the video footage in the car, it was pretty clear that Beth was acting completely in self-defense. Claudia would have killed or maimed her for sure (considering she threatened to at least a half a dozen times). My sister didn’t even have a trial and no criminal charges were brought against her. Claudia is now permanently disabled from the gunshot wound to her lower back and wanted to sue Beth. Fortunately, her lawyer advised against it explaining that she was opening herself up for a civil suit filed against
her
by Beth. And Beth’s lawyer also advised her to file a civil suit and sue Claudia for pain and suffering and all that jazz, but Beth really wanted to put it all behind her and move on.

As far as Beth and Derek are concerned, they’re trying to work things out. They’re seeing a therapist twice a week. (Man, would I love to be a fly on the wall of that office). I’m sure neither party in that situation is willing to completely shoulder the blame…not that they should. They are both responsible for the marriage falling apart; Derek for straying to begin with and Beth for putting up with it.

Beth claims that she is over Kevin; I guess it makes it easier that he’s not alive. One day, not too long after I was allowed to drive again for the first time, I was on my way to Beth’s house and I saw her car going in the opposite direction. So I followed her. Yeah, yeah, I know. I gotta stop being a busybody and getting myself into trouble. But anyway, this time, I followed her to the cemetery. She parked her BMW and got out of her car dressed like some cliché mobster’s wife in a movie with the wool coat that she wrapped around her body, hair swept dramatically off of her face with a headband, and the ginormous sunglasses covering more than half of her face. Even though we had just had a snowstorm, she was traipsing through the cemetery in four inch kitten heels. I watched as she crossed to a fairly fresh grave, knelt down and dropped a single yellow rose on top, and then proceeded to sob silently for a good ten minutes before she wiped the corners of her eyes with her gloved fingers and headed back to her car.

Even though I didn’t need to look to see whose grave it was, after she left, I did anyway.
Kevin
. I felt a lump rise in my throat just then as I stared at his name so elegantly etched into stone. I didn’t know the guy and the way he went about his last few months (and moments) on earth were pretty shady as far as I was concerned. But heck, there had to be a better way, right? He left behind kids and a wife (even though she was a total tool), not to mention parents and other family. And my sister. Even though he and Claudia claimed that his relationship with Beth was all a ploy, I am certain there was something there deep down; at any rate, it was enough to make my sister feel better about herself for a short amount of time.

Jillian is none worse for the wear. Apparently after Claudia “kidnapped” her, she dropped her off at a mutual friend’s house. After Derek paid the ransom, the police were directed to the friend’s house to pick up Jillian. The poor woman had absolutely no idea what was going on when the cops swarmed her property with lights and sirens. They arrested her, but eventually let her go a short time later when the true story came out and it became clear that the friend had no idea that ransom was being paid for Jillian’s release. Jillian was fascinated with the lights and riding in the back of the police car, but didn’t experience any trauma whatsoever, thank God.

Roger, dear Roger (yes, I actually wrote that), was so distressed by the idea of losing me (again) that he spent the entire first week of my recovery waiting on me hand and foot. He took the children to their activities (enlisting the help of Beth and my mother, too, but he made all the arrangements). He made sure everyone had dinner so I never had to hobble into the kitchen to stand at the stove. Well, he cooked once and then the pity casseroles came rolling in from neighbors and friends, but he did go to the grocery store for beverages and snacks. He called six times and texted me fifteen times while in the supermarket with things like, “where do they keep the apples”, “milk costs how much???” and “what should I do if I drop the eggs?” He also spent about $250 more than I would have because he apparently does not understand the concept of coupons or sales. But whatever…at least we didn’t have eat the stale cheese nips that have been sitting in the back of the pantry for six months.

The novelty apparently wore off after six and a half days of total devotion (also, his fall break was over and he needed to go back to work and he was not able to work full time and function as a mother…hmmm). It was then that Beth swooped in and took over. She brought me new outfits and cupcakes from the trendy boutique bakery in her neighborhood. I got a brand new flat screen TV with built in Blue Ray player for my bedroom (we never had a TV in our room and I probably will never use it, but Beth doesn’t have to know that). Not only did she send me to an expert plastic surgeon to fix my nose (which was most certainly broken), she had her dentist fit me with a new veneer at no charge to my insurance. She fawned over me and had a “cosmetologist” come in to do my hair and make-up. Yes, I was disappointed to discover that a cosmetologist was not an expert in cosmos and would not be mixing me drinks, but it was nice that she made such an effort to cheer me up.

I realize that most of the reason that Beth was showering me with gifts and affection was to ease the overwhelming sense of guilt that she undoubtedly felt, but still, it was nice to have that attention. Especially since she sat with me most days and we actually talked; about books and movies and dreams and goals and what it was like to grow up in our family. I never realized what pressure my parents had put on her to be perfect; I always assumed it came naturally to her. We laughed, we cried, we hugged.