Deeper Water (21 page)

I GAVE HER A STARTLED LOOK.

"Don't act so innocent," she responded. "Anyone with half a brain could tell he was interested in you."

"How?"

"Did he ask you out?" she repeated.

"He mentioned lunch, but I didn't commit."

"Yeah." Julie nodded with satisfaction. "He's nerdy but nice, and tall enough for you. The chemistry is explosive when two loners get together. I wondered about the scar on his hand. Do you think his whole body is scarred? Usually something like that is the result of a childhood burn. It may explain why he didn't play any sports."

"I'll let you ask him personal questions."

"Oh, he'll tell you when he's ready. Guys like him are waiting for a sympathetic ear to pour out their innermost thoughts and feelings."

"How can you be so sure?"

Julie sniffed. "My family spends a lot of time psychoanalyzing our relatives and friends. All the best psychiatrists are Jewish. It's part of our cultural DNA. Some study Freud and get a fancy diploma and charge hundreds of dollars an hour for what the rest of us do for free."

"Then why aren't you in medical school?"

"Organic chemistry, and I'm more of a talker than a listener. At least once a week, I want you to tell me to shut up."

"I don't tell people to shut up."

"You will if you want to help me become a better person. Plus, I'm bound to get on your nerves. We'll both need to regularly vent and clear the air." Julie pointed at the folder in my hand. "That looks heavy. Drop it on the table and let's see what's going on in the dirty corners of the Folsom household."

We spent the rest of the afternoon dividing our time between Julie's project and mine. The selfishness and sin that had brought the Folsom family to the place of breakup was depressing. I focused on the financial data. Julie read the file like it was a cheap romance novel.

"I can't believe what he did to her ownership in this company," I said as I reviewed the minutes from a corporate meeting. "He bought back her shares at a fraction of their fair market value."

"Shares that he gave her in the first place," Julie responded. "Folsom transferred the stock to his wife so she could put it up for collateral against a construction loan for the North Carolina mountain house titled in her name. Then, he let his mother-in-law stay in the house every summer for five years. Mr. Folsom is a prince who should be protected from his gold-digging wife."

A few minutes later I handed Julie a memo attached to a financial statement. "A wicked prince with a harem. He's paying five thousand dollars a month in child support for a little boy his wife doesn't know about."

Julie read the memo. "What a jerk! I guess it's better than dodging his responsibilities, but I'm not sure how Mr. Carpenter intends to camouflage those payments. The accountant labeled it `Miscellaneous Benevolence,' but that won't get Folsom through a deposition."

Mid-afternoon we switched to Julie's project. After an hour of online research, I helped her draft a memo about the competing parties' interests in the collateral. I located a Georgia Court of Appeals decision that really helped our position. No one else came into the library. Late in the day, Julie stood up and stretched.

"This is a good place to take a nap."

"Shut up and get back to work," I said from my place at the worktable.

Julie looked surprised.

"I wanted to get it out of the way," I said with a smile. "It's been hanging over me all afternoon."

Julie shook her finger at me. "That's not the way it works. It has to be said with feeling in the right context. I won't cater to your Protestant guilt trip."

"I've never told anyone to shut up in my life."

"There's a lot you've probably never done. This summer is going to be a space trip into the unknown."

I sat back in my chair. "Can I ask you something serious?"

"Yes, but only because you found the Paxton case."

I waited. Julie sat down across from me.

"Okay," she said. "I'm listening."

I put my hands against the edge of the table. "People are always trying to pressure me to do things that violate my Christian beliefs. When that happens it creates stress and awkwardness. Problems build my character, but I'd like to be able to relax around you and not have to defend myself all the time. Would you let me be who I am without trying to change me?"

Julie was silent for a moment. "Would you let me be who I am without trying to change me?"

I was caught. It was my privilege and duty to tell Julie about Jesus. My inner conflict couldn't be hidden from my face. Julie continued.

"Several Christians have tried to prove to me that Jesus is the Messiah and get me to pray to him. But it never made much sense to me. Jews don't try to convince everyone to agree with them. We rarely agree ourselves. It's the way life is lived, not the words spoken, that is important."

"That last part is the truth," I said.

"Okay. Do we have a deal? Neither of us tries to change the other."

I thought about my parents and what they would say. "No. I can't do that."

Julie stared at me for a second, then reached across the table and patted my hand. "Good. We'll have more fun if nothing is off-limits. I'll try to corrupt you, and you can try to convert me."

Ms. Patrick came into the library. "Mr. Carpenter left the office for a meeting earlier this afternoon and asked me to check on you at the end of the day."

Julie told her what we'd done, giving me extensive credit for helping her.

"That's good," Ms. Patrick replied. "I told Mr. Carpenter you were working together, and he gave his permission. However, the lawyers will also want to see how you handle assignments on your own." She looked at her watch. "You can leave anytime after five o'clock. It's five thirty now, so be on your way."

"Can we leave our work in here?" I asked.

"Yes. We're in the process of creating a cubicle space for both of you on the second floor if you want it, but this is a better research environment."

Ms. Patrick left. Julie and I put everything back in our files. It seemed like I'd been at the firm a week, not a day.

"Do you want to grab a beer?" Julie asked when we finished. "There are several nice pubs along the river. I'll buy the first round."

"No, thanks," I replied nonchalantly.

"That would have been a good place to say shut up," Julie responded. "You'll catch on."

We reached the reception area. Julie headed toward the door. I hesitated at the base of the stairs. Julie turned around.

"Aren't you leaving?"

"In a minute. I need to talk to Zach Mays about my criminal case."

"It can wait."

I glanced up the stairs, then followed Julie out the door. It was sticky hot.

"Can I give you a ride?" Julie asked. "Not to get you drunk along the river, but to the house where you're staying."

I didn't relish a hot walk in my business clothes. "Thanks."

Julie drove a new compact car. She had a yellow plastic flower taped to her dashboard. A scent wafted from it.

"It's an air freshener," Julie said when I reached out and touched it.

"Reminds me of the mountains."

"Your new boyfriend is still working," Julie said as we passed Vince's car. "If the firm is only going to hire one new associate, you and I should probably consider this a summer vacation. Vince is a lock."

"That's a lot more likely than the boyfriend part."

"How many serious boyfriends have you had?" Julie asked as she turned onto Montgomery Street.

"Less than you."

That's all it took. During the short ride to Mrs. Fairmont's house, Julie told me more than I'd wanted to hear about her love life. She'd even been engaged for two months when she was a senior in college.

"But I caught him with one of my sorority sisters when he thought I was out of town for the weekend. That's when I decided to go to law school."

"Here it is," I said, pointing to the curb.

"Cool," Julie said, peering through the windshield. "I'm in a garage apartment. You're in the mansion."

"My apartment is in the basement," I said. "But it's very nice."

Julie stopped the car. "Call me if you change your mind about grabbing a beer."

I got out without responding and walked up the brick steps. I could hear Flip barking inside. Unlocking the door, I stepped into the foyer.

"Mrs. Fairmont. It's Tami! I'm home."

Saying the word home touched me in a soft place. This place wasn't home, but the English language didn't provide an alternative that fit. There was no response from Mrs. Fairmont. I checked both parlors then walked down the hall, past the kitchen, and to the den. The elderly woman was sitting in her chair, her eyes closed.

"Mrs. Fairmont," I repeated.

She stirred in her chair and slowly opened her eyes. She appeared disoriented.

"I'm Tami Taylor," I said. "I'm living in the basement apartment."

"I know that," Mrs. Fairmont replied, touching a tissue to her nose. "And you just finished your first day as a summer law clerk working for Sam Braddock's firm. Gracie has fixed a nice supper for us, and while we eat, I want you to tell me all about it."

There was a small pot roast with carrots and potatoes in the oven. It was still warm. A simple tossed salad was in a metal bowl in the refrigerator. I took out the food and fixed two plates while Mrs. Fairmont set the table in the dining room.

"What kind of dressing do you want on your salad?" I called out.

"French," she responded.

I carried the food into the dining room. Mrs. Fairmont was already sitting in her seat with Flip on the floor beside her.

"What would you like to drink?" I asked reluctantly.

"Water with lemon would be nice."

I brought two waters and joined her at the table.

"This has been a good day," she said. "After Gracie finished straightening up the house, we spent the afternoon organizing some of my papers and memorabilia. Christine may throw everything away when I die, but at least she'll know what she has. But all the work made me so tired that I fell asleep and didn't hear you come in."

"I didn't want to startle you."

"Don't worry about it. Let's eat."

"Could we pray first?" I asked.

Mrs. Fairmont returned her fork to its place. "Go ahead."

I prayed a simple prayer of thanks for what we'd been able to accomplish and a blessing on Gracie for fixing our supper. The pot roast was fork tender and very juicy.

"Gracie was in a singing mood," Mrs. Fairmont said as she nibbled a piece of carrot.

"What kind of songs?"

"Anything you want to hear. She knows show tunes from way before you were born, songs from her church, the blues. I accuse her of making up her own songs, but she won't admit it. Flip follows her around the house when she's singing. He doesn't want to miss a note."

The normalcy of Mrs. Fairmont's thoughts and speech made me want to squeeze in as much conversation as possible. She had other ideas.

"But my life is dull and almost over. I want to hear about your day."

She listened attentively. When I mentioned the luncheon at the Smith House, she interrupted me.

"My husband owned that building years ago and rented it to a printing company. The printing company moved to a bigger location, and Harry sold it to the people who redid the interior. The last time I was there was for a wedding reception."

"Was it for the Colbert family? Vince Colbert is one of the other summer clerks. He's from Charleston, but his sister had a reception at the place where we ate lunch."

"Do you know who married his sister?"

"No ma'am."

While I talked, Mrs. Fairmont ate a good supper. I nibbled in between sentences and ate faster when she left the table for a few minutes. We carried our plates into the kitchen.

"You'll have to invite Julie over for supper," she said. "Let me know, and I'll ask Gracie to do something special. She cooks a very nice pork loin topped with a cranberry sauce."

"That might not be the best choice. Julie is Jewish, but I'm not sure she follows any dietary laws."

Mrs. Fairmont raised her eyebrows. "Gracie doesn't know much about kosher cooking."

I fixed Mrs. Fairmont a cup of decaf coffee.

"Let's sit in the blue parlor," she said. "I promise not to spill a drop."

It was pleasant in the peace of the parlor. More than any other time since my arrival in Savannah, it reminded me of Powell Station. Mrs. Fairmont sat in a chair contentedly looking at interior decorating and antique magazines. From time to time, she would mark a page with a Post-It note. I curled up in a corner of the sofa and read my book about the Puritans. Flip hopped onto the sofa and let me scratch his neck.

"I'd like to call my parents before it gets late," I said after time had passed.

"Go ahead."

I used the phone in the kitchen. Mama answered then let me talk to the twins before they got ready for bed. After I finished with them, Mama held the phone so she and Daddy could both listen while I told them about my day. They were very interested in the conversation with Mr. Appleby about the merits of a tutorial education and Zach Mays' homeschool background. I felt a twinge of guilt in revealing Zach's history as new information. I didn't give details about my work projects, focusing on the people instead. As I talked, I realized the anxiety I'd felt in the morning when I arrived at the office had subsided. It was a new world, but at least I'd established a beachhead.

"It sounds like you're off to a good start," Daddy said. "Take it each day at a time."

"Yes sir."

"Can you tell us more about the cases you're working on?" Mama asked.

"No ma'am. The confidentiality rules are strict. But as a clerk I won't have much contact with clients. I think most of the day will be spent doing research and getting to know the lawyers in the firm."

"Don't compromise your convictions," Daddy said.

"Yes sir."

"And we'll be praying for the Jewish girl," Mama added. "They're the vine; we're the branch."

"Yes ma'am. I'm going to read Romans 9-11 before I go to sleep."