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."
I hung up the phone and returned to the parlor. Mrs. Fairmont was still sitting in her chair, but her head was tilted forward, her eyes half-closed. She yawned when I entered.
"I'm not much of a hostess," she said. "Especially for a young woman like you."
"No, this has been a great evening, just what I needed after all the pressure of my first day at work. I'm ready to go downstairs and read. But we should test the intercom connection between the basement and your room."
"I don't think I'll ever use it."
Mrs. Fairmont stood up and told Flip to go outside.
"Can we check it anyway?" I asked.
"Suit yourself."
I followed Mrs. Fairmont as she slowly climbed the stairs. Flip rejoined us and scampered past.
"He seems happy that it's bedtime," I said.
"He's always happy. That's one reason I'm glad he's with me."
We entered the bedroom. A sudden urge to hug the older woman came over me. I leaned over and gave her a quick embrace. She remained stiff.
The intercom was on a bureau covered with personal items expected of an elderly woman like Mrs. Fairmont, who was meticulous about her appearance. On the corner of the bureau was the intercom unit. I found an outlet, plugged it in, and set it to "A."
"I'll run downstairs and call you," I said.
I went to the basement and checked the white box beside my bed. I set it on the same channel and pressed the Call button. I heard it beep, but there wasn't any answer. I pressed the Talk button and spoke.
"Mrs. Fairmont, press the Talk button and say something if you can hear me."
I heard Flip barking.
"I'm here," she said.
"Now press the Call button," I said.
I waited a second, then heard the double beep signaling a call. I pressed the Talk button. "Hello."
"Hello," Mrs. Fairmont responded.
"We're connected." I hesitated a moment. "Could I say a goodnight prayer? My family does it every night when I'm at home."
There was a scratchy silence, and I wondered if I'd gone too far too fast.
"Are you praying?" Mrs. Fairmont said. "I can't hear you."
"No ma'am. If it's okay, I'll start now."
I said a simple prayer of thanksgiving and blessing.
"Good night," I said when I finished.
There was no response. The static of the intercom continued for a few seconds, then stopped.
I put on my pajamas, read Romans, and prayed. It had been a long time since my prayer list had grown so much in a single day. When I laid my head on the pillow the creaks and pops of the old house didn't disturb my sleep.
14
I LOVED ROUTINE, AND MY EARLY MORNING RUN PROVIDED A comfortable beginning point for the day. Savannah's historic district offered many interesting places to see, and I didn't want to settle into the same route. So, I included a longer loop along the river before climbing a set of ancient uneven steps to the plateau on which the city was built. I ran down Bay Street to Bull Street and turned into the heart of the town's old section. I went around some unfamiliar squares before winding my way back to Mrs. Fairmont's house.
Flip greeted me inside the door, but Mrs. Fairmont didn't make an appearance before I left for the office. I brewed coffee and left her a good morning note. My route to the office wouldn't vary. Shortest was best. I wore a casual khaki skirt, a blue blouse, and white sandals. The sandals were much more comfortable than the low heels I'd worn the previous day. I passed the same people walking their dogs and arrived at the office a few minutes before 8:00 a.m. The door was locked, and I slid my card to open it.
I went to the library, but Julie wasn't there. I picked up the folder for State v. Jones. The door opened. I glanced up, expecting Julie, but it was Vince Colbert.
"Good morning," he said. "Ready for another day?"
"Yes."
He handed me several sheets of paper. "My notes from the meeting with Gerry Patrick and a pictorial directory of the firm I put together from the website."
He'd cut and pasted every partner and associate's picture along with a brief personal summary and description of practice areas.
"Thanks, this is great. Do you have a copy for Julie?"
"I only did it for you, but I'll run another for Julie. Where is she?"
"Not here yet."
Vince glanced down at the floor. "Do you have lunch plans?"
It wasn't even 8:15 a.m.
"No, but don't you think we should be flexible in case one of the lawyers asks us out?"
"I'm flexible," he said, looking up. "Just let me know if you can't make it. I'll be working on a project for Mr. Appleby in the main conference room."
"Okay."
Vince left, and I went upstairs. The clerical staff was milling around, and I saw more coffee mugs than computer screens switched on. The door to Zach's office was closed. I knocked.
"Come in," a voice answered.
Zach, his tie loosened around his neck, was facing his computer. He was wearing the same clothes from the previous day.
"Have you been here all night?" I asked in surprise.
He stretched and rubbed his eyes. Strands of light brown hair had escaped from his ponytail. His eyes looked tired.
"Yeah. Sit down. I had to catch the Norwegians first thing Oslo time. One of their ships was scheduled to leave Gdansk in a few hours bound for New York or here. We just wrapped up a deal memo a few minutes ago to keep the business."
"Did Mr. Appleby stay up too?"
Zach smiled. "No, he talked to our client yesterday afternoon and gave me the guidelines I had to work within. The rest was left up to me."
It was a lot of responsibility. I looked at the young associate with new respect.
"Are you going home now?" I asked.
"For a few hours. Then I'll come back and draft the long form agreement. The deal memo is solid, but I'll feel better when everything is tied up."
"Did they agree to the right kind of arbitration clause?"
"You remembered. Yeah, any disagreements will be resolved through a dispute resolution firm of maritime experts based in London."
I started to leave.
"No, wait," he said. "Why did you come to see me?"
"I won't bother you. I wanted to talk to you about the case assigned to me yesterday at the luncheon, but it can wait."
"Let me see the file," he said.
I handed it to him. He read the charges.
"Moses Jones," he said. "Drawn out of the water by the local police and thrown in the pharaoh's prison. How many counts of trespassing?"
"Twenty-four."
Zach handed the file back to me.
"Should I file a motion for bond?" I asked.
"No, go to the jail and talk to Mr. Jones. They usually set bond in cases like this when the person is arrested. Advise him not to give a statement to the police." Zach yawned. "I could give more help if he'd been abducted from a Portuguese freighter in the Malaysian Straits. We have a firm that knows the exact amount of ransom to offer. I just don't have time to do much with you until I catch a break in my caseload. Until then, you're on your own."
I left Zach's office hurt and confused. When I returned to the library, Vince was giving Julie her copy of the materials he'd prepared for me. Julie was wearing black slacks and a tight-fitting top. She smiled when I entered.
"You should have gone with me last night," she said. "There was a great blues band at one of the clubs along the river."
She turned to Vince. "Vinny, does blues music make you happy or sad? I think it can go either way. For me, hearing about someone else's problems puts my own in perspective. But it makes one of my friends sadder."
Vince glanced down at his laptop and didn't answer.
"Isn't it the same with Sou
thern gospel music?" Julie asked me. "You know, lyrics describing life as a peach pit until Jesus spits it out so that it can grow into a tree that reaches to heaven."
I wanted to tell Julie to shut up, but before I spoke, I saw a spark in her eyes that let me know she was baiting me.
"That's the worst idea for a song I've ever heard," I responded. "And you're confusing the Gospel of Matthew with `Jack and the Beanstalk.' I'm not a big fan of Southern gospel music, but it's nothing like the blues. In Southern gospel, hardships are real, but sorrow is not the final destination."
"That's poetic," Vince said.
"I need to get to work," Julie said, rolling her eyes. "You can continue the music theory discussion without me."
"I'll check with you about eleven thirty," Vince said, moving toward the door.
After he left, Julie turned to me. "Sounds like a lunch date. Did he call you last night and ask you to go out with him today?"
"No, first thing this morning."
"I may be wrong about gospel music, but I know men. All the world's greatest matchmakers are Jewish."
"That's why I'm praying to Jesus and asking him to find the right husband for me. You know Jesus is Jewish, don't you?"
"Yeah, a lot of Jews have a touch of the messiah complex in them," she replied. "Let's work on Folsom v. Folsom. A dose of divorce will keep you balanced as you go forward with Vinny."
We spent most of the morning sorting through financial documents and memos to and from Mr. Carpenter and J. K. Folsom. The business dealings were as confusing as a shell game at the county fair, but one thing became clear-Mr. Folsom didn't want his estranged wife looking in every place he'd hidden money. Julie contacted the law firm she'd worked for in Atlanta, and a paralegal e-mailed research and pleadings Julie had prepared in two other cases.
"Are you sure this is okay?" I asked. "The agreement I signed with the firm said it owned my work product."
"I didn't sign anything in Atlanta." Julie shrugged. "Beth is a friend who wouldn't do anything wrong. It's mainly research and sample questions, not facts about an identified client."
I had to admit that the information was very helpful. Julie had done a good job.
"Did you make up all these interrogatory and deposition questions?" I asked.
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