Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  “Yes, but why would she go to all that trouble? Researching me doesn’t make any sense. Sister Dabney didn’t know we were going to be in the congregation this morning. And what she said about Mr. Callahan was positive, not negative.”

  Zach took a deep breath. “Look, you jumped into Reverend Dabney’s little pond this morning and felt right at home. If God showed her something about Mr. Callahan, I think that’s great. However, that doesn’t change how she’s treated our client, which looks more like harassment than the conduct of a sincere minister.”

  Of course, Zach had a point about Sister Dabney. I also sensed he was more negative about the meeting than he let on. It had been different from my home church, but similar enough that I liked it. Sister Dabney and most of the people in attendance were serious about their faith.

  “What are you going to say to Mr. Carpenter?” I asked.

  Zach shrugged. “It would be entertaining to play the recording, or at least the part where Dabney talks about Mr. Callahan, but Mr. Carpenter isn’t interested in a sociological study of religion. I’ll prepare a brief memo that will disappear into the file.”

  We turned along the riverfront.

  “Where would you like to eat?” Zach asked. “There are a couple of good restaurants ahead on the left.”

  “Thanks, but I have something at Mrs. Fairmont’s house.”

  Zach slowed to a stop at a light.

  “No eating out on Sunday,” he said. “I forgot.”

  I knew we were thinking similar thoughts. Two many jagged edges of belief could rip compatibility to shreds.

  “The firm will expect you to bill the time spent in church to the case,” he said.

  I’d been so caught up in the drama of the morning I hadn’t thought about time and billing for work on Sunday. Would it be wrong to bill a client for attending a church service?

  “He’ll notice if I don’t?”

  Zach nodded. “Absolutely. He’s meticulous about that sort of thing.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’m not your conscience. Because I was there on law firm business, I’ll bill the time.”

  “Maybe I could work extra tomorrow and make up for it.”

  “He’ll want you to bill that, too.”

  Zach stopped in front of Mrs. Fairmont’s house.

  “Are you enjoying my predicament?” I asked in frustration.

  “No, but if this is a conviction for you, it could become an issue at the firm later. Situations arise with clients or cases that force all of us to go into the office on Sunday. It doesn’t happen a lot, but you can’t entirely rule it out.”

  I thought for a moment.

  “Okay, bill my time since we were there mostly for work reasons, especially to hear what Sister Dabney had to say about Mr. Callahan.”

  Zach drove off, leaving me with frustration at him and lingering guilt about Sunday morning billing.

  When I called home, my family hadn’t returned from church. I wanted to let Daddy know what Sister Dabney told me about Oscar Callahan. Sitting in the kitchen, I ate a salad I’d fixed the night before. It wasn’t that hard honoring the Sabbath; it just took a little preparatson and planning. After I ate, I phoned home again. Still no answer. Either the morning service had lasted longer than usual or my family was spending the afternoon away from home.

  I left a few minutes early for my meeting with Mrs. Bartlett. I’d gotten used to driving the big car. I knocked quietly on the door of Mrs. Fairmont’s hospital room. No one answered so I peeked inside.

  The room was empty, the bed ready for a new patient. Mrs. Fairmont’s flowers, clothes, and the photo of Flip were gone. I hurried to the nurse’s station.

  “I’m looking for Margaret Fairmont.”

  “She was discharged this morning,” the nurse on duty answered.

  “Where did she go?”

  The nurse turned to another woman sitting at a different station.

  “Louise, do you know where they took Mrs. Fairmont? She was in 3426.”

  “A spot opened up at Surfside Manor,” the woman answered.

  “What’s that?”

  “A brand-new nursing facility south of town.”

  I was stunned.

  “Do you have the address?”

  The nurse pulled a folder from a small cabinet and handed me a brochure.

  “This has the contact information and a map to locate it.”

  In the elevator, I speed-read the brochure. The pictures made it look like a resort, but there weren’t any patients in the photos. From experience I knew the rooms wouldn’t look so inviting if occupied by someone with severe dementia or end-stage cancer. Mrs. Bartlett had obviously been able to coerce her mother into doing what she wanted.

  I backed out of the parking space, intending to return to Mrs. Fairmont’s house, but after paying the parking fee, I turned south instead. The nursing home, even though it was named Surfside Manor, was on the Abercorn Expressway, closer to the Little Ogeechee River than the Atlantic Ocean. Sure enough, the only surf in sight was a cresting wave painted on the sign at the entrance. I entered a sparkling clean lobby exactly like the picture in the brochure. I asked about Mrs. Fairmont.

  “She checked in earlier today,” a woman at the information desk told me after checking a computer screen. “Your name, please?”

  “Tami Taylor, Mrs. Fairmont’s caregiver before she was hospitalized a few days ago.”

  The woman took out a diagram of the complex and drew a line showing me the location of Mrs. Fairmont’s room. As I walked down a long hallway, I glanced from side to side. Most of the rooms were empty. Mrs. Fairmont’s room was at the end of a short hall, which meant she probably had an extra window. The thought of such a tiny bonus made me sad when I considered the beauty of the elderly woman’s home. The door was closed. I knocked.

  “Come in,” a familiar voice responded.

  Mrs. Fairmont was sitting up in bed, watching TV in a large private room with a separate sitting area and a shiny coffee table. I recognized several items from her house. The photo of Flip was prominently displayed on a shelf near the bed. I took it all in with a glance. Sure enough, she had an extra window.

  “This is nice,” I said, trying to sound appropriately enthusiastic.

  “Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Fairmont replied, turning off the television. “It’s a gilded cage. Better than one with iron bars, but still a prison.”

  She was wearing a nightgown with an IV still attached to her hand.

  “Sit down,” Mrs. Fairmont said, pointing to the chair closest to her bed. “You weren’t around to represent me so I had to do it myself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Christine brought in a lawyer to talk to me. I listened for a few minutes, then pretended to go to sleep. They didn’t leave, so I told them I needed to call Sam Braddock about any legal matters. That took care of the lawyer.”

  “What did he want you to do?”

  “Sign a paper so Christine could take care of all my business.”

  “A power of attorney?”

  “Probably, I didn’t even read it. She already has one that gives her the right to make decisions about my medical care if I turn into a vegetable, but as long as I have a few lucid moments, I want to handle my own affairs.”

  I was so relieved that Mrs. Fairmont seemed to be doing better. It made me feel happy even though we weren’t sitting in the blue parlor at her home.

  “This really isn’t a bad place,” I said. “It smells nice, and looks more like an apartment than a hospital room.”

  Mrs. Fairmont sniffed. “This is a compromise Christine and I agreed to after listening to Dr. Dixon. He says I need to be monitored closely for a few weeks and then I may be able to go home. I didn’t want to hear the part about being monitored. Christine didn’t want to hear the part about me going home. This place agreed to let me pay a month’s rent. The sales agent who showed us around hopes I’ll want to come back when I really can’
t look after myself.”

  “And Christine brought some things from your house?” I said, pointing to a familiar vase.

  “No, Gracie stopped by the house this morning before coming to see me. She said you weren’t there.”

  “I went to church with Zach.”

  “Which one is he?”

  “The one with the ponytail and the motorcycle.”

  Mrs. Fairmont nodded. “He’s all right, but I like the boy from Charleston better. What’s his name?”

  “Vince.”

  It was the first time Mrs. Fairmont had expressed a preference between the two men.

  “And a little competition is good for their egos,” she added. “There are too many girls chasing boys these days. I think the flower should attract the bee.”

  I smiled at the old-fashioned image.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Fairmont closed her eyes for a moment. I sat quietly, not sure if she was dozing off or not. After a couple of minutes she opened her eyes.

  “Will you bring Flip to see me? I miss him.”

  “Yes. There are benches near the entrance where we could sit outside.”

  “Bring him to my room. I asked Dr. Dixon if spending time with Flip could be part of my therapy, and he put it in my chart.”

  “You’re better at getting your way than your daughter.”

  Mrs. Fairmont smiled. “Even though Christine can be hard to deal with, I see her differently now. And it’s not that I’m getting senile. It has to do with how I feel about life.”

  Mrs. Fairmont reached out and took my hand. We’d never had contact like that.

  “Promise me one thing,” she said, looking directly into my eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That you’ll bring Flip to see me tomorrow.”

  I laughed and released her hand.

  “We’ll both look forward to it.”

  I left Surfside in a much lighter mood. Back at Mrs. Fairmont’s house, I called home. One of the twins answered the phone. When I wasn’t around the girls every day, it was hard to distinguish their voices until I heard more than a simple greeting.

  “Tell me who,” the girl on the phone replied when she knew I was on the line.

  “I can’t in three words. What was your memory verse last week?”

  “‘For You are my hope, O Lord God; You are my trust from my youth. By You I have been upheld from birth; You are He who took me out of my mother’s womb. My praise shall be continually of You.’”

  The words washed over me. No poetry could be more beautiful.

  “That’s wonderful, Ellie. Where is that?”

  “Psalm 71:5–6. Emma and I liked it, too. We used it to practice our calligraphy. It made it so easy to remember.”

  “Are Mama and Daddy there?”

  “No.”

  “How’s Mr. Callahan doing?”

  “He’s going to be okay. Daddy said he was stiff, but should get better.”

  “Amen,” I said with relief.

  “You sound like a preacher.”

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING I was working alone in the library. The door opened and Gerry Patrick entered. I immediately sat up straighter in my chair.

  “Mr. Carpenter wants to see you in his office. Zach is already waiting there.”

  I swallowed.

  As a homeschooler I’d never been summoned to the principal’s office, of course, but I suspected this was how it felt. I walked a step behind Ms. Patrick, too numb with apprehension to ask her a question. I brushed my hair behind my ears, knowing it would immediately fall back into place. Mr. Carpenter’s secretary didn’t look up as I passed—the reaction of a bystander not wanting to have eye contact with the condemned.

  Zach was sitting across from Mr. Carpenter’s desk. Both the senior partner and the young lawyer had serious expressions on their faces. Ms. Patrick sat in a chair behind me in the corner.

  “Sit down,” Mr. Carpenter said to me. “I asked Gerry to be here since she has administrative responsibility for you as a summer clerk.”

  I scooted my chair away from Zach’s before settling in.

  “Primary responsibility for this problem lies with Zach,” the older lawyer began. “But you also played a part.”

  “Yes, sir,” I managed weakly. “But the whole thing has been com-pletely innocent. There hasn’t been anything improper—”

  “Would you call not following my instructions proper conduct?” Mr. Carpenter asked, his voice rising.

  “No, sir.”

  “And you have to learn to take responsibility for your mistakes.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry and apologize. I should have come to you before now.”

  “You knew?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why didn’t you contact me yesterday or first thing this morning? Did you think I wouldn’t learn about this?”

  “No, sir. I knew you would eventually find out.”

  Zach turned to me. “How?”

  “You knew, too,” I responded with a puzzled expression. “We were together.”

  Mr. Carpenter, his eyes blazing, turned toward Zach. “This is making me wonder if we have a more serious problem than failure to follow instructions. Explain yourself.”

  Zach pulled his ponytail before he spoke. “Mr. Carpenter, I’ve told you everything. I don’t know how Tami found out about any-thing else.”

  I kept my voice as level as possible. If nothing else, I could try to divert the attack away from Zach. I was expendable. I looked directly at Mr. Carpenter.

  “I understand that you’re upset because Zach and I visited my parents for the weekend and went to Hilton Head together for a few hours this past Saturday. But it isn’t as it appears. We’re different. Both of us.”

  “What?” Mr. Carpenter asked.

  I motioned over my shoulder at Ms. Patrick.

  “Ms. Patrick said the firm frowned on dating between lawyers and summer clerks. Only we’re not dating. It’s just a way to get acquainted that has my parents’ approval. The closest we sat to each other was at Sister Dabney’s church.”

  I heard an explosion of laughter and turned to see Ms. Patrick with her hand over her mouth.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Carpenter,” she said.

  I glanced quickly at Zach and Mr. Carpenter. Zach was trying to suppress a grin. Mr. Carpenter appeared bewildered.

  “Why are we here?” I asked.

  Zach spoke. “Because we left Reverend Dabney’s church before she held a congregational meeting to discuss the Paulding lawsuit.”

  “She was praying for people,” I said. “That’s usually the last thing to happen.”

  “I know,” Zach said, “but not this Sunday. A new employee of Paulding’s company was also visiting the church. He’s a laborer who didn’t know anything about the lawsuit but stayed and reported what happened to Paulding when he came to work this morning. Apparently Reverend Dabney made some inflammatory remarks that would have helped us if we’d gotten them on the recorder.”

  “Oh,” I replied, looking at Mr. Carpenter. “So Zach and I aren’t in trouble for fraternizing?”

  “That’s a fancy word choice for whatever you’re doing in your personal lives. But right now I’m upset because you missed an opportunity to obtain valuable information in pending litigation. One of the mistakes lawyers often make is giving up just before they uncover a key piece of evidence.”

  “I wanted to stay—,” I started, then stopped. “But only because I was interested in seeing what happened to the people receiving ministry. I wasn’t thinking about the case.”

  “Which is another lesson,” Mr. Carpenter said. “Don’t get side-tracked. I’ve attended sporting events with clients or other lawyers and had to block out the game so I could concentrate on business. It’s the same principle.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure it’s the same on the golf course.”

  “Yes.” Mr. Carpenter raised his eyebrows. “Do you play golf?”

  “N
o, sir, but it seemed analogous.”

  “Right.” Mr. Carpenter put his fingers together in front of his face. “And while you’re both here, I don’t think it’s a good idea for associates to date summer clerks. You should get to know all the lawyers in the firm, not pair off like two kids at summer camp.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, are you and Zach dating?”

  I took a deep breath.

  “No, sir. We’re courting.”

  Mr. Carpenter shook his head. “That’s an archaic word to go with your fraternizing.”

  “Yes, sir, but the important thing is that we’re not violating any firm policies. Wherever I am, I always try to obey the rules.”

  Mr. Carpenter turned to Zach.

  “What do you have to say?”

  “Tami is right. We’re spending time together but not dating. I intended to talk to you about it. We’ve been so busy I hadn’t gotten around to it. I encourage her to take advantage of every opportunity to interact with the other attorneys for the reasons you mentioned.”

  Mr. Carpenter looked past me. “Gerry, do you want to wade into this conversation?”

  I didn’t turn around but felt the skin on the back of my neck tingle.

  “Tami has some unusual ideas,” the office manager replied crisply. “I’ve been taking a wait-and-see approach. This needed to be mentioned. I accept Zach’s explanation.”

  “Okay,” Mr. Carpenter said to Zach. “Keep it casual and don’t monopolize her time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And at some point you’ll need to interview Jason Paulding’s employee. Do it before we take Dabney’s deposition.” Mr. Carpenter sat back in his chair. “That’s it. At least Gerry got a good laugh out of this meeting.”

  Once we were away from Mr. Carpenter’s office, Ms. Patrick chuckled.

  “I know that wasn’t an act,” she said to me, “but it was probably the best thing you could have done. Mr. Carpenter couldn’t chew you out after I lost it.”

  “I was worried, especially after I heard about the problems Maggie Smith had when she clerked for the firm.”

  Ms. Patrick’s eyes widened. “You know about that?”