Broken Code

© 2009 Don Levin. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 12/2/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4343-0666-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-8605-9 (ebk)

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

Epilogue

A Final Note to the Reader

About the Author

DON LEVIN

AUTHOR OF

THE CODE,

KNIGHT’S CODE

Life is a fragile set of scales that require constant balancing…

- Douglas John Long, Attorney and Counselor at Law

BOOK ONE

THE LIFE THAT HAD BEEN

1   

Fatherhood is not a matter of station or wealth; it is a matter of desire, diligence, and determination to see one’s family exalted in the celestial kingdom. If that prize is lost, nothing else really matters.

- Ezra Taft Benson

Small remnants of the black crepe paper and scotch tape that Peg had generously spun like a web across his office library a year ago in honor of his fortieth birthday still hung conspicuously from where they had been pulled down from the tops of bookshelves or near the ceiling. It had been a mad dash to clean up the place once all of the party goers and well wishers had gone in order that they could get to the Marriott for their night away from the kids. Afterwards, it had never really seemed important to pull them down. They really weren’t noticeable unless you were looking for them. Now, they looked as large as the mountains out in Utah, as they loomed over him, the heat coming out of the vents near the ceiling, causing them to slightly and quietly flap in the breeze.

At the ripe old age of 41, Douglas John Long, Attorney at Law, had what appeared to be the perfect life. A beautiful wife, seven wonderful children, a nice home, a comfortable solo law practice, and a calling at church as the Young Mens President that provided him ample opportunity to stay tuned in to his older kids and their friends. By playing ball with the kids and their friends, and competing with his friends at church during basketball, volleyball, and softball season, he had managed to stay in reasonable shape. At 5’10, he was still within five pounds of his 170 lbs. college graduation day weight. A slight softening around the middle was evidence of the contentment he felt in his marriage and at the dinner table. His dark brown hair was now streaked with gray, but Peg and the girls all thought that it was just the right amount to give him the necessary credibility he needed as an attorney. His piercing brown eyes could freeze an adversary or alternatively soften into pools of liquid chocolate so as to comfort a weeping client or fellow church member.

But life is a fragile set of scales that require constant balancing. Satan as an adversary knows that it takes very little to tip these scales out of balance, and to slowly bring unsuspecting victims over to his darkness. Satan is subtle, Satan is slow, but his effects are no less damaging from an eternal perspective.

It had taken very little for him to begin his slide. John, their first born, had gone off to his first semester at BYU while waiting for his mission call. Karen, their resident overachiever, had followed him out there a semester later and amidst all of the celebrating and congratulations of having the first two of his posterity going off to this prestigious institution of higher learning came the realization that he simply did not make enough money to support the family and these educational pursuits. They had always been careful about what they had spent, attempting to save as much as they could, while following the Brethren’s counsel to use it up, wear it out, or do without, but nothing could prepare him, or their bank account, for the huge drain of having two kids go off to college, while still supporting five more children at home.

He had always made a decent living as a solo practitioner. Some of his classmates who had gone on to fame and fortune as part of the big firm life, or as downtown litigators, still teased him about having an ostensibly bread and butter practice. What this meant is that he was rarely in real court, because probate and divorce was considered to be the minor leagues, and he worked in his office a great deal. Residential real estate and real estate related work for the builders and developers that he represented, provided the largest portion of his income, followed closely by estate planning, wills, and probate, a smattering of partnership and corporate work, with an ever increasing amount of uncontested divorce and family law.

At first he had resisted the move to family law, but the work was plentiful and could often be quite lucrative. The uncontested divorce had become quite routine to him after a few dozen, and so the move to the more difficult and time consuming contested divorce arena had seemed like a natural progression to follow.

His secretary Sally Johnston had rolled with the punches and as the years went by, had either attended a course offered through the local college’s legal technology program, or called her friends at the firms downtown to get smart in the new areas of law that he sought to become proficient in.

The year before John headed off to the Y, he had determined that there was more work than just one attorney could handle, so he had decided to take the plunge and bring an associate onboard. Liz Garvey had proven to be a great choice, even though she was fresh out of law school. A rare combination of brains and beauty, the blonde hair blue eyed beauty was an inch taller than himself, and had prompted a great deal of ribbing down at the health club from other attorneys who met her. Fortunately, Peg liked Liz, and recognized the true measure of her contributions to the office. For the first six months, everyone that he assigned to her was quick to call or poke their head into his office door and compliment him on his choice of associates. This had led to even more business, and the arrival of Linda Shaughnessy, a divorced mother of two who was struggling to make ends meet before she had graduated from the legal technology program of which he was an occasional adjunct faculty member. Now an accomplished paralegal, Linda could run circles around most of the attorneys who came into the office for real estate closings or other simple matters.

Things really were looking very promising. The presence of Linda and Sally in the office full time, coupled with Liz there to handle the court calls or the real estate closings out of the office left him even more time to concentrate on being a rainmaker, as well as devoting time to the tribe at home, and to doing all the little extras that he had wanted to do, but never had the time, for the boys at church during the first couple of years that he was the Young Mens President in the Ward.

A particularly difficult divorce that was beyond what Liz was comfortable dealing with, had prompted his personal appearance at Daley Center in downtown Chicago. It had been a difficult debate before the bench, but he had prevailed. His client was pleased, and promised that he would have the balance of his five thousand dollar fee within a week. He had left the courthouse on the corner of Clark and Washington Streets on a cloud of air. He had crossed Washington, and then wandered down past the old Chicago Title and Trust building, enroute to the train station. The train was a refuge of sorts because he refused to use his cellular phone on it, and for that reason, it was an hour of solitude with either the Scriptures or with a good book. A current thriller that he was reading was on his mind as he passed the entrance to the building, which was why his old roommate from college and law school had nearly run him over as he came flying out of the revolving door.

I saw you from across the street, and had to grab you before you got away, gasped Bill Fields, his friend of twenty years. At an even 6 feet tall, and a burgeoning 230 lbs, Fields looked even jollier than he had when they had roomed together. With reddish blonde hair and fair skin, his arms, neck and face turned into a giant freckle whenever he was out in the sun.

Why? Do you have another psychotic client that you want to get rid of and stick me with, joked Douglas, making reference to a client that he had completed a divorce for when it appeared that it would have been a conflict of interest for Fields to take the case given some corporate work that he had successfully performed on behalf of her husband’s corporation.

No. Actually I was going to drag you back across the street to watch me bury a jerk on the 10:30 call, and then buy you lunch over in Greek town like the old days, just to be a nice guy, said Fields, the sun glinting off the red that topped his head.

I’d like to, but I had planned on catching either the 10:30 or 11:30 train at the latest.

Aw, come on. Call your office, and let one of those beauties do what ever you have to do in the office. I mean it is so rare that you venture out of your little castle these days, cajoled Fields.

Hey, that’s not fair.

Sure it is. While us real attorneys are battling to the death over at Daley, you sit out there in your colonial hideaway, reviewing contracts, drafting wills, and setting up dummy corporations for dummy clients, said Fields.

Oh is that right Counselor, said Douglas, attempting to paint a fierce warrior-like countenance on his face.

Hey, the only reason that I am not jealous is that I can’t see how you do it for the fees that you do, said Fields.

Hey, I charge what the market will allow. We all don’t pay seventy five bucks a square foot in rent for a view of this concrete jungle, said Douglas, waving his arms around in a panoramic sweep.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Any way, man, come with me, let me buy you lunch, and we can tell each other some lies, said Fields.

Okay, you win. I’ll take a later train, said Douglas.

It had been as simple as that. After watching his former roommate successfully debate the merits of a contractual dispute before the judge, and prevailing on the pre-trial motion for his client, they had in fact gone to lunch, and talked a great deal about the differences in their practices. Fields lived in the spot light of trial work, and he had literally tried or settled thousands of cases over the years since they had graduated together comfortably in the middle third of their law school class. He lived on the edge, always juggling cases and women. Twice divorced, he had settled on the life of a workaholic. Seldom seeing either of the two children he had sired during the second marriage that he grandly dubbed ‘the great adventure,’ he was an occasional visitor in the Long residence when he needed a taste of ‘domestic tranquility and family stuff.’ A feature article in Crain’s Chicago Business and another in the Law Bulletin after a particularly surprising victory had established his reputation and helped him feather his nest. In fact, it had helped to make him a wealthy man over the past few years.

I don’t know why you don’t give up that little Mom and Pop stand you have out there in the hinterlands, and come down here and be my partner, said Fields, as he wiped the beer foam from his lips, with the back of one of his large well manicured hands.

Come on Billy, don’t start that again. You know I like what I am doing, and things are really going pretty good right now, said Douglas, taking another swig of the grape juice that he favored.

It’s just a waste. You were probably one of the most gifted trial guys, next to me of course, to come out of Marshall. I mean, every competition that we entered, we won. Remember our last year when we beat Notre Dame, Northwestern, DePaul, Loyola, and U of C, all in the same competition, asked Fields, taking another savage bite of his gyros sandwich.

"I remember. State v. Livingston," said Douglas quietly.

"Exactly. Five wins as the prosecution, five more when we were defense. We were awesome. No one could touch us. We were the team of teams," said Fields.

I know man, and it was great, said Douglas, forcing a smile to his lips.

So what happened? We were going to take the world by storm, right every wrong, kick some serious butt, and both retire when we were forty with a few million bucks in the bank, said Fields.

Guess things changed.

Come on Dougie, every time we talk about this, you clam up. Don’t clam up on me now. It is never too late to grow and try something else.

Hey, I like what I do, and how I do it, said Douglas, taking another swig of juice.

Okay. So you like what you do. Is it paying the bills? When was the last time that you took a real vacation with your wife, or girl friend, or both, said Fields, a large smile spreading across his handsome ruddy features.

You are a real pain in the butt, do you know that Fields, asked his friend.

Hey, what are friends for, asked Fields.

You make me laugh though. You always have, said Douglas, sitting back in the booth, relaxing for the first time all day.

How’s Peg and all of the brilliant, beautiful, and gifted offspring, asked Fields, mentioning the topic he knew would cause his friend to become animated.

They are great. And that is all that I am going to say, said Douglas with a twinkle in his eyes.

Yeah right. Like I really don’t expect to hear the litany of scholastic, athletic, and civic honors accrued by that tribe of yours, said his friend. I mean, really, I have an extra half an hour, let’s hear about the latest Eagle Scout, or scholarship winner.

Nope. If you want to know what is going on, either wait for the Christmas letter at the end of the year, or do something novel, and accept one of our dinner invitations. The kids really do wonder what ever became of Uncle Billy, said Douglas.

Hey, can I help it if I am always busy with a trial or a beautiful woman when you extend invitations to dine at the homestead, pleaded Fields.

Okay, you’re forgiven. I simply tell them that you were killed in a bus accident, and they believe it, any way.

Nice. Real nice. But be that as it may, I am glad that things are good at home. At least one of us scored on that scene.

I scored big. And a day does not go by that I don’t realize it, said Doug.

Seriously though Dougie, how’s business, asked Fields.

Hey, no complaints. Liz is great with clients, and is learning what to do. Not developing the bad habits that I have observed in some attorneys. Linda and Sally keep the office humming, so I have no complaints.

Making enough money, asked Fields.

Sufficient for my needs as the old saying goes, said Douglas.

Even after you insist on forking ten percent over to the Church, asked Fields, making reference to the practice of tithing that Douglas and Peggy had strictly adhered to from the time of their marriage.

"Even after I return the ten percent to the Lord," corrected Douglas.

Don’t start with the Mormon Bible thumping, said Fields.

"Oh, you mean like ‘and after that, those who have thus been tithed shall pay one-tenth of all their interest annually; and this shall be a standing law unto them forever, for my holy priesthood, saith the Lord,’ or words to that effect," quipped Douglas.

Just out of idle curiosity, who said that, asked Fields.

The Lord.

You know what I mean. Where did you pull that from?

Oh. It was a revelation given to the Prophet Joseph Smith. It can be found in our Doctrine and Covenants.

Uh huh.

What does ‘uh huh’ mean, you rascal?

"I figured it was one of your books," quipped Fields.

"Oh? Then how about Jacob’s promise to the Lord in Genesis? Genesis is still one of your books isn’t it?"

What promise?

And this stone, which I have set for a pillar, shall be God’s house: and of all that thou shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee.

Uh huh, said Fields again.

We like to think of it as modern day fire insurance too, teased Douglas.

What?

"He that is tithed shall not be burned at his coming," said Douglas.

Uh huh.

"Or how about ‘he may tithe his people, to prepare them against the day of vengeance and burning…"

Come on. I mean it. Are you making enough to send the kids off to school and all that, or could you use some help, asked his friend.

Hey, we are doing fine. But I’d be lying if I said that I couldn’t use some more money. Tuition is expensive. I think that instead of children, that I am really raising seven walking stomachs with feet that refuse to stop growing, all with an insatiable yearning for higher education, said Douglas.

"My point exactly. Not to be cruel or anything, since you know that I love you like the brother that I never had, but do you realize that on average, that I take three or four times the number of vacations that you do, enjoy a higher standard of living, and probably make ten to fifteen times what you do in any given year," asked Fields.

What’s your point, asked Douglas, as he felt the wind going out of his sails, knowing that what his friend was saying to be true.

"The point is that neither one of us are kids any more. We’ve both crashed through the big four-oh barrier, and we have to work smarter rather than harder."

Meaning, asked Douglas, allowing the one word to form the basis of several questions.

Meaning that we both need to work smarter, and let clients who think we are great shower us with large sums of money, said Fields with a wolfish smile.

I don’t want to be a trial lawyer downtown, working the hours that you work, always being away from the family, and never having time for my callings at church, said Douglas.

I knew you were going to say that, and so I want you to know that I no longer harbor any hopes of getting you down here to share the office. But, for the sake of Peg and all of my nieces and nephews, at least start working smarter. After all, you aren’t a kid any more, and if you truly don’t want to put more hours in, and you need more money coming in, then you really do need to work smarter, said Fields.

And what do you suggest I do in order to work smarter, asked Douglas.

For starters, build on what you’ve done over the past year. Become the first downtown firm out in the suburbs, or if you don’t want to grow much more than you have already, just pick up a couple of more subject matter areas, and you could clean up out there, said Fields.

I’m not disagreeing with you. Picking up probate has been great. All of the real estate guys that I know send me their probate and a lot of their divorce work now, said Douglas.

Exactly. But what you want them to send you now is their DUI and defense work, said Fields, using the acronym for driving under the influence.

I have a problem with that, said Douglas.

Wait, hear me out, said Fields, raising his hand, with the palm towards his friend.

Okay, speak, said Douglas.

First of all, not everyone who gets caught is a criminal. I mean, if I have two beers with you now and jump in the car and were to get stopped, they could charge me with DUI.

And you’d be guilty, said Doug.

Hey, two beers doth not a drunken sot make, said Fields.

Be that as it may, if your blood level is high enough, you shouldn’t be driving.

"Fine. You’re right. But, the bottom line is that someone has to represent people who are stopped and arrested," said Fields.

Great. But it does not have to be me.

Why not you, asked Fields.

Because I don’t particularly want to get drunks out of jail so that they can get behind the wheel of a car and potentially kill somebody like one of my kids, said Douglas.

I think you are being very narrow minded old friend, said Fields bristling.

Why? Because I choose not to put a drunk back on the road?

You are looking at it all wrong.

Am I?

People socialize or attend a business lunch, they have drink or two, and they get back into the car to drive home or back to the office. It does not mean that everyone who gets stopped for a broken tail light or for going five over the speed limit and has the misfortune of not having popped a breathe mint should end up in jail, said Fields.

Fine. So represent these people. I choose not to do so.

Why? Because you don’t drink or smoke, or do anything like that?

No. I just choose not to practice this form of law.

Because you find it morally reprehensible that people would drink, pressed his old roommate.

Hey, you know me better than that. My beliefs have nothing to do with it. I don’t represent murderers either; does that mean that because I believe in the sixth commandment that I am being a moral or religious snob?

Okay, you got me with that one. But the bottom line is that someone has to do it. Everyone has the right to have legal representation in the court room. Remember legal ethics with Old Man Powell? The ethical code. The Canons of Ethics. Constitutional rights.

I remember. And I choose not to practice DUI law just as I don’t practice personal injury or worker’s comp, said Douglas.

I can understand why you don’t do that stuff; it’s all pretty much still downtown work. All I am saying is that DUI defense is a necessary evil, and not everyone is a stone’s throw from the Third District Courthouse like you are.

What does that have to do with anything, asked Doug.

You can make a cool five grand, cash, in a morning, out at your courthouse. It is a virtual bonanza waiting for you, said Fields.

That’s fine. But speaking of ethics, I don’t think that I could zealously advocate for a client who knowingly broke the law.

You don’t believe in divorce, but you’re in court everyday busting up homes, reminded his friend.

"Hey, that is a civil matter," exclaimed Doug.

And as I recall, you swore that you would never get sucked into doing divorce work either.

Hey, it was downtown, and that was before we had irreconcilable differences to go into court with as a basis, said Doug.

Oh, so now that we have the no-fault statute and you don’t have to leave the suburbs it’s okay, said Fields, springing the trap.

I, I, stammered Doug.

It’s okay Counselor. I know you are one of the good guys.

I guess I never thought about it quite that way.

This reminds me of the conversation when you rationalized starting to do the divorce work, said Fields, taking the opportunity to take another large bite from his sandwich.

I just don’t think I could do it, said Doug.

What if all lawyers were Mormon teetotalers? Would we have to strike down the laws because legal representation was unavailable to these poor misguided people, asked Fields.

Oh give me a break.

Look, I don’t want to see you drop dead of a heart attack because you have to work monster hours to make ends meet. I know that you won’t let me help the kids out at school even though I don’t need the money, so at least take my advice. Doing DUI work does not make you a monster. You are an attorney. People pay you for your expertise as same. Whether it is closing on a house, drafting a will, putting a partnership together, or busting up a marriage, or covering some guy’s butt in a DUI, it is how you make your living.

A lawyer’s time is his stock and trade, said Douglas.

Old Abe couldn’t have said it better, said Fields, with a broad smile.

So why don’t you do it any more, asked Douglas.

No time. Even my big DUIs pale in comparison to most of the trials I am involved in now. But for you, they would be a very nice addition to the practice. Train that blonde beauty of yours to do it if you don’t want to do it personally. But tap in.

Uh huh, said Doug, imitating his friend.

Hey, would I give you a bum steer? I guarantee that it is the easiest money that you will ever make. These people need you bad and they will pay you anything to help them out. And you don’t have to wait for your money like you do with some of your divorce clients. When it is a choice of losing the license, or especially going to jail, they find the money, cash on the barrelhead.

Hmm. Food for thought, said Douglas as nonchalantly as he could, hoping to end the conversation before he was convinced by his friend.

Well, if that is school for thought, consider one of your own scriptures, said Fields.

Oh, and which one would that be, asked Doug, always amused, and touched, when his friend went through the effort of studying his scriptures in order to make his arguments, as he had on several occasions over the years.

I guess you would refer to it as Dee and Cee 75:28, said Fields, now draining his beer.

I’ll look at it on the train, promised Doug, slapping his friend on the shoulder as he left the restaurant enroute to the train station. Thanks for lunch, he said over his shoulder.

By the way, if you do drop dead of a heart attack, I’m going to marry Peg, and convert all of your children back into the heathen that you used to be, said Billy, returning the slap. Love you man.

"And again, verily I say unto you, that every man who is obliged to provide for his own family, let him provide, and he shall in nowise lose his crown; and let him labor in the church."

Son of a gun, muttered Doug under his breath after reading the passage of scripture that Fields had mentioned, as he settled down in the seat to sleep until he reached his stop.

2   

"Let families put themselves in possession of all the good they can –

[and] be in a position to do right, and be continually

in the path of exaltation and glory."

- Lorenzo Snow

The house was large, but had been old the day they bought it. With each passing year it only became older, the repairs more frequent, and seemingly more expensive. From the day they saw it together, it had served as the source of many an argument. From the first time that he laid eyes on 629 Hunters Lane, it had looked like a bad dream about to become a nightmare. Even though the sales ad had portrayed it as a ‘handyman’s special’ that needed some ‘tender loving care’, he knew in his bones that it was nothing more than a money pit that would forever keep his wallet empty, and his hands full of wrenches, hammers, and paint brushes. To his starry eyed bride, it showed ‘promise’ and had the allure of a challenge to her creative side as well as the large open space, both indoors and out, that their ever growing brood would require in the years to come. It was actually the third home that they had owned as husband and wife. As the years had passed and the family grew in number, they had outgrown their first home, a modest three bedroom duplex that they had shared with a crotchety old lady and her cats. Douglas had liked that place, as it had been virtually maintenance free. What with the landscaper handling the lawn and even the snow removal, he had time not only to squeak by law school, but also to serve as a very young Elders Quorum President.

Their second home had been described by one and all that saw it as a dollhouse. With the arrival of baby number four, they had determined to move, and had built a brand new home. A brand new home with pristine white walls, unscarred baseboards, and plumbing that did not moan like a dying moose whenever someone turned on a shower without regulating the hot water. The purchase of the new lawnmower had been his reality check. The arrival of baby number five had been a curve ball for them, but Peg turning up pregnant with number six had prompted the for sale sign to go in the lawn. There simply was not enough room at the inn. And so for the past seven years, and the arrival of baby number seven, this had been home. As the years came and went, so did the repair bills and any savings. A new furnace, new air conditioner, new roof, new windows, a new driveway, carpeting, bathrooms, flooring, countless gallons of paint, and yards and yards of wallpaper did in fact keep his wallet empty and his hands full. But it was home. As his daughter Katie, the romantic in the crowd, had said just the other night as they had walked the dog together, this was home and it was cozy. Coming from a twelve year old this was high praise indeed for the old barn.

The afternoon at the office had been uneventful, and he had to admit to himself that part of him was intrigued at the prospect of doing something new again, and if the money really was as easy as he was being led to believe, why shouldn’t he cash in? After all, it was not as if he was contemplating representing murderers, kidnappers, and rapists. Maybe, just maybe, the time was right for him to try his hand at this new game, and put themselves back into the black for a change. Tuition was already a challenge, and it was not going to get any easier. In fact, it was going to be a good long time before he hit a year that he did not have at least one in college or on a mission for the Church. When the regulator clock on the wall in the reception area had chimed five o’clock, he had wasted no time in following the girls out the door, ending yet another day in the proverbial salt mines.

Greetings one and all, Daddy is home, he proclaimed as he walked through the foyer and into the large kitchen, already the center of activity as homework was being piled up in order to make room for the dinner plates and glasses.

Well hello tall, dark, and handsome stranger, said Peg as she attempted to brush back a lock of hair as she continued to knead the dough for the bread that she was making for the Relief Society Dinner tomorrow night. Two years younger than her husband, Margaret (Peg) Stevens Long, was still a beautiful woman. At 5’6 and an undisclosed weight that only her doctor and the clerk at the Department of Motor Vehicles knew, but that Doug guestimated as being 130 lbs, her auburn hair and green eyes still turned many a set of eyes as she walked through the mall with her girls. With an effervescent smile, and a heart as big as all outdoors, it had taken only three dates for Doug to know that this Mormon girl was the one for him. To have found her on the University of Illinois campus, as opposed to one of those church schools out West, was what Doug later referred to as his own personal miracle.

A devout member of the Church all of her life, Peg had been instrumental in Doug taking the lessons from the missionaries in her parents’ living room. Her father, Bishop Gene Stevens, a gregarious bear of a man, and a retired Navy Captain, had always told her that if she wanted to be happy that she needed to marry a young man in the Temple. That meant that he had to be a member of the church and worthy of both the blessings of church membership as well as her. Dating became courtship, missionary lessons led to baptism and activity in the church, and then the engagement. Married when Doug was twenty one and fresh out of college, and she herself a nineteen year old sophomore, they had recently celebrated their twentieth anniversary of marriage.

Weren’t you doing that this morning when I left, asked Doug as he walked around the kitchen’s large center island to wrap his arms around her from behind, and taking the opportunity to nuzzle her neck.

Umm. That feels nice, said Peg in a whisper.

Does your husband suspect anything, asked Doug.

No, he’s clueless, she responded.

Can I be your bread boy for ever, asked her husband.

We’ll see.

Oh gross, said his ten year old son Jeffrey.

It is not, said his eight year old sister Eliese. It’s romantic.

It’s gross I said, because now they’ll play tonsil hockey, said her worldly brother.

You’re so immature, said his equally sophisticated sister.

Hmm. Sounds like these two have been hanging around their older siblings, said Doug. May I, he asked as he simultaneously brushed back the lock of his wife’s hair and used his finger tips to remove the swath of flour that she had deposited when she had attempted to brush the errant lock back herself.

Thanks. Is it six o’clock already, asked Peg.

No, it is only five fifteen, but I have to be at church early tonight because the Priests are in charge of the joint activity, he said, making reference to the sixteen and seventeen year old boys quorum.

What’s the activity, asked Peg, as she arched her back, slowly stretching her neck and shoulders.

We’re having an etiquette dinner, said Doug.

Oh that is rich. Sixteen year old boys in charge of an etiquette dinner, she chortled.

Excuse me, but sixteen year old boys know just as much about etiquette as do sixteen year old Laurels, said Doug with an artificial air of indignation.

Yeah right. Getting your boys to eat with silverware would be a trick in itself. Shoot, it took me years to re-train you, she said, carefully wrapping her flour covered arms around his neck. Besides, everyone knows that at that age girls are just naturally more genteel and cultured than boys.

Oh, is that right. I suppose that those were live bullfrogs that I heard up in Jenny’s room the other night, he said, making reference to their sixteen year old daughter’s slumber party during which the girls had sat on each other and farted and had engaged in a belching contest.

Touché, counselor, said his wife with a smile.

Of course none of them could match you in your prime, he said with an impish grin.

"Douglas John Long, you know darn well that I never do that sort of thing," said his wife.

Except when you are pregnant, said her husband quietly.

Does not count, she said, as she began to organize her bread pans.

So what crises have we to face tonight, asked Doug, loosening his tie and throwing it over a chair.

Oh the run of the mill homework and I-need-to-be-here-at-this-time problems, said Peg, leaning against the counter. Since two-thirty I have driven Jenny to work, picked up Phil from practice, and have had two kids I have never seen before here to do homework.

Let me guess, at least one of them was with Eliese, said Doug, acknowledging the most social of all of their children.

"Your daughter is always cooking something up, that one is, said Peg, falling back into her Irish way of talking. She would most assuredly talk to tree stumps if there was nary an ear to listen to her."

You are right about that. Why couldn’t Johnny drive for you, asked her husband, inquiring about their oldest offspring.

He and Karen stopped fighting long enough to go to the mall together in the third car, said Peg. After having been very close as little children, their oldest children had gone their separate ways and were more often antagonists than allies these days. It had taken them both being out at school in Provo to heal high school jealousies.

Well that is progress, said Doug.

I think our talk at Family Home Evening about Johnny’s leaving on a mission pretty soon has finally hit Karen, and I overheard her telling him that she was going to miss his teasing her and her friends.

Oh, life as a teenager, he said with his characteristic smirk.

I think it is sweet, said Peg.

I do too, he said affecting an effeminate pose.

Stop that, said his wife. And quit teasing me.

Speaking of sweet, I had lunch with your second favorite attorney today, said Doug, munching on a carrot.

And how is our esteemed Counselor Fields, asked Peg.

"Oh, same old, same old, you know him. There are some constants in this world."

Did he bug you about coming downtown and joining him yet again, asked Peg, knowing the constant pressure that Fields exerted on her husband to join him downtown in his more upscale and lucrative practice.

Actually no. He was pretty cool about things today. Very mellow and trying to be a real person.

That must have been something new and different for you, said Peg.

Actually he was very genuine today. I think Greg Tandy’s heart attack sort of hit him harder than I thought at first, said Doug, referring to a fellow law school classmate who had suffered a major heart attack at age 43, prompting an early retirement.

So what did he have to say, asked Peg.

"Umm. He asked about the kids, and then went on about how we should have gotten together years ago, and how I should be making more money now by working smarter rather than harder. Seems like he does not want me to drop dead of a heart attack while I try to earn enough to support the family, said Doug. Which, if it happens, you don’t have to worry, because he’ll marry you, kids