Deeper Water (12 page)

I went to the kitchen, moistened some of the paper towels, and while the two women watched, cleaned the floor, pushing the bits of glass into a single pile.

"You missed some glass beneath Mother's chair," Mrs. Bartlett said.

I turned on my knees so that my rear end was facing Mrs. Bartlett to hide the laughter threatening to explode. I didn't mind cleaning up the mess, but Mrs. Bartlett's bossiness was a comedy of the absurd.

"I need to moisten some more towels," I said as I stood and left the room.

I reached the kitchen, a compact room at the rear of the house, and let myself giggle for a few seconds.

From the kitchen sink I could see more of the small formal gar den with its carefully manicured shrubbery and an array of spring flowers. A brick walkway wound through the garden that featured a fountain in the middle-a great place to read the Bible and pray. I turned off the water along with my daydream. I had no idea whether I should live in the house or not.

At the entrance to the parlor, I heard Mrs. Fairmont say, "What on earth gave her that idea? To presume after one visit that I would want her to live-"

"Oh, Tami," Mrs. Bartlett interrupted. "Thanks so much for helping us clean up this mess. You're a dear to do it and come to the aid of two helpless old women."

"You're welcome."

I resumed my work without any desire to laugh. I didn't mind being a servant, but Mrs. Bartlett's deception and supercilious statements about helplessness after she'd bragged about her golf game and long walks on the beach made me mad. I used the broom and dustpan to scoop up the broken pieces. Mrs. Fairmont didn't speak a word. A few more wipes of wet paper towel across the floor, and no sign of the morning's disaster remained. I looked up and saw Mrs. Bartlett mouthing words to her mother. I wanted to stuff a washcloth into Mrs. Bartlett's mouth.

"What should I do with the dirty cloths?" I asked icily.

"There's a clothes drop at the end of the hall," Mrs. Bartlett said. "Follow me."

As soon as we left the room, Mrs. Bartlett turned to me. "Give me a few minutes alone with Mother. She's ecstatic about the idea of you staying with her, but we need to work out the details in private."

"That's not what ... ," I began, but Mrs. Bartlett was gone.

I found the dirty-clothes drop. Mrs. Bartlett's subterfuge was an out-and-out lie, and I had to set the record straight. If honesty destroyed the chance to stay rent-free in a beautiful house, then there had to be a low-rent apartment on a bus line somewhere in Savannah. I returned to the parlor. The two women were sitting in silence. I could feel the tension. I moved to the edge of a cream sofa and started to sit down.

"Stop it!" Mrs. Bartlett cried out. "Don't sit down."

I jumped to my feet and looked around.

"Your dress is drenched in coffee," Mrs. Bartlett said. "It might bleed onto the sofa."

"Get a towel for her to sit on," Mrs. Fairmont said.

Mrs. Bartlett looked at her mother. "But I thought-"

"Get a towel from the upstairs linen closet," her mother insisted.

Mrs. Bartlett turned to me. "We won't be staying long. I'm sure you'd like to change out of that dress and into something clean."

Mrs. Bartlett left the room. As soon as her footsteps could be heard going up the stairs, I spoke rapidly.

"Mrs. Fairmont, I didn't come here to invite myself to live in your house. That's not the way I was raised. The office manager at the law firm gave my name to your daughter because I've helped take care of people with health problems in the past. I talked on the phone with Mrs. Bartlett, and she was kind enough to arrange my trip to Savannah. She even rented a car and put me up at the bed-andbreakfast on Abercorn Street last night. I completely understand if you don't want a houseguest for the-"

"Ken arranged for the car and lodging," Mrs. Fairmont interrupted. "If you ask me, he's a saint for putting up with Christine. Fortunately, the boys take after their father."

"Yes ma'am. But I want to be completely honest with you. This meeting was a setup."

Mrs. Fairmont eyed me as she had at the door upon my arrival.

"Do you like Flip?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am."

"More important," she said with emphasis, "he likes you. I've never seen him take to a stranger like he has to you."

"I'm used to being around animals. They know a lot more than we give them credit for."

"Yes, they do. How long will you be in Savannah this summer?"

I gave her the dates of my employment with the law firm.

"Would you be willing to stay in the downstairs apartment?"

"Yes ma'am," I said, startled.

Mrs. Fairmont leaned forward. "If you stay downstairs, it means Flip will have to sleep with me."

"Yes ma'am," I replied, smiling. "It would be a sacrifice on your part, but you would have no other reasonable option."

"And you're not wanting to be paid anything?"

"No ma'am. Although I'll be willing to help around the house."

"You've proven that this morning when you didn't have to."

Mrs. Bartlett returned with a peach-colored bath towel in her hand. "Will this one do? It was underneath the nice ones."

Mrs. Fairmont nodded. "Yes, and Miss Taylor and I have agreed that she will spend the summer with me."

Mrs. Bartlett's mouth dropped open. "But you were adamant-"

"Oh, that was the multi-infarct dementia speaking," Mrs. Fairmont replied lightly. "I'm in my right mind now. Miss Taylor, didn't you say your first name was Tami?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I can see how it will be positive for Tami and me if she spends evenings and nights here. I suggested the downstairs apartment, and she agreed."

"What about the dog?" Mrs. Bartlett asked.

"I'll find a comfortable place for him." Mrs. Fairmont winked at me.

I spread the towel on the sofa and sat down.

"Tell me more about your family, especially your twin sisters," Mrs. Fairmont said. "I went to school with twins, and we've been friends ever since."

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER Mrs. Bartlett patted me on the arm as we left.

"Well, you're going to be a successful lawyer if you can manipulate people like you did my mother."

"I didn't manipulate her. I told her the truth."

"I'm sure. And nothing but the truth." Mrs. Bartlett sniffed. "Somehow, you got Mother to do what we wanted and made her think it was her idea. That's hard to do."

I didn't try to argue. We made a jerky trip back to the bed-andbreakfast. Mrs. Bartlett stopped the car in front of the inn and called her husband.

"Ken can't meet us," Mrs. Bartlett said after a brief conversation. "He's had something come up. But Mother already called him and told him that you were going to be her guest for the summer. Can you imagine her being that excited about it?"

"I'm looking forward to staying with her too."

"I'll be running on my way," Mrs. Bartlett said. "I wouldn't want to bore you with my activities of the day."

"From now on should I contact you or your mother?"

"Try Mother first; here's her number." Mrs. Bartlett took a card from her purse and wrote it down.

"Mother's first name is Margaret, but her close friends call her Maggie."

"I'm sure I'll be more comfortable with Mrs. Fairmont."

"Of course. She can be contrary at times, but after your performance this morning, I doubt you'll have any problems with her. The fact that you could handle that vicious dog of hers was very impressive."

I opened the door of the car and got out. "Please tell Mr. Bartlett how much I appreciate the arrangements you made for my trip."

With a wave of her hand, Mrs. Bartlett sped away from the curb. I went to my room, cleaned up, and changed into a long blue skirt, yellow short-sleeved blouse, and white tennis shoes. I packed my suitcase and garment bag and carried them downstairs.

"Do you know where the law offices of Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter are located?" I asked the hostess on duty.

"It's on Montgomery Street." She drew a map. A different porter than the young man who'd helped me the previous evening carried my luggage to the car.

It took about five minutes to reach the law firm. A prominent, brick-framed white sign in front announced "Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter-Attorneys at Law." I pulled into a parking lot covered with ornamental pavers. Several nice cars were in the lot, but none as fancy as my convertible.

The office was a two-story structure built of old brick with a slate roof and lots of windows framed by dark shutters. Two balconies were inset at either end of the second floor. The entrance was guarded by a set of small stone lions in front of large wooden double doors. Everything about the place spoke of prosperity and attention to detail. Mr. Callahan's chipped white office in Powell Station couldn't have served as a storage shed for this building. I wanted to peek inside, but I wasn't dressed for success and didn't want to give a wrong first impression.

The reality of what lay ahead hit me.

I wasn't admiring just another nice building. I was parked at the place where I would be working in a few weeks and, if God granted me favor and success, be employed for many years to come. I imagined myself walking into the office wearing the blue suit I'd worn to Mr. Callahan's office. But a blue suit wouldn't banish fear. Inside the beautiful office would be people smarter than me, more sophisticated than me, and better able to excel in the legal community than me. My mouth suddenly went dry.

I'd made a terrible mistake. I needed one more summer at the chicken plant before venturing into the world on my own.

I heard the sound of a motorcycle turning into the parking area. It was bright red with a fat rear tire. The rider crouched over the handlebars, circled in front of my car, then drove directly toward me. I reached over to start the engine, but the rider held up his hand. He was wearing a red helmet with white Mercury wings on either side. He turned off the motorcycle. I didn't want to get into a conversation with a member of a local motorcycle gang. The rider took off his helmet and approached. To my surprise, he was a nice-looking young man in his twenties with blue eyes and light brown hair bound in a very short ponytail. He was wearing blue jeans and black boots.

"I'm visiting and about to leave," I said.

"Who were you visiting?" he asked.

"No one. This is where I'm going to be working in a few weeks. I've got to go."

"Then I'll see you soon. I'm one of the lawyers."

"You're a lawyer?"

The man released the band that held his hair and ran his fingers through it.

"And a motorcycle rider," he replied. "Nice car."

"It's a rental."

"It's still a nice car." He stuck a tanned hand over the side of the car. "I'm Zach Mays, an associate with the firm."

I remembered his name on the letterhead. Zachary L. Mays. He was near the bottom of the list of attorneys. There was an asterisk beside his name and a reference indicating that he was also licensed to practice law in California.

"Tami Taylor, one of the summer clerks."

"I heard the firm was bringing in a clerk or two. What did you think of the offices?"

"I didn't go inside. I just wanted to know how to find it."

"I can give you a tour. One of my jobs as an associate is to make sure summer clerks have a positive experience with the firm."

"No, thanks. I'm sure you have a lot of work to do."

"There's always work to do. Come on." He pointed to the other cars. "None of the named partners are here. And there isn't anything on my desk that can't wait a few minutes."

I still wanted to drive off, but he reached out and opened the car door.

"No, Mr. Mays," I said. "I'd rather not."

He laughed. "Call me Zach. Save that title for the real bosses."

The young man didn't let go of the car door. I had no options. Self-conscious about my clothes and hoping my face wasn't red, I got out of the car.

"Okay, but I won't take much of your time. I don't want to impose."

"It's not an imposition. I know how tough it is to come from law school into an environment like this. It hasn't been that long since I was a summer clerk."

We walked across the parking lot. Beautiful flowers, bushes, and ornamental trees surrounded the building.

"Did you clerk here?" I asked.

"No, Los Angeles. I went to law school at Pepperdine and worked for a firm in the city with a big admiralty practice."

I'd heard of the law school but didn't know anything about it.

"I've been in Savannah for two years," he continued.

"How do you like it?"

"It's different from Los Angeles."

We passed the guardian lions. Zach swiped a card through a security device, and I heard the door click. He held it open for me.

We entered a high lobby open to the top of the building. The floors were covered in dark wood, and a curving staircase led to the second floor. Oriental rugs and ornate furniture were arranged throughout the area.

"This is amazing!" I exclaimed.

"And from what the partners tell me, it's paid for. Follow me. Downstairs is where the elite hang out."

Zach led me through the lower level that contained the partners' offices and two conference rooms. After seeing the lobby, I wasn't surprised at the opulence at every turn.

"Where is your office?" I asked.

"Upstairs. Do you want to take the elevator or the stairs?"

"I think the stairs are more elegant."

"Tell me about yourself," Zach said as we made our way back to the lobby.

"I'm a second-year student at Georgia and grew up in a rural area in the northern part of the state."

Zach glanced at me. "When you're asked that kind of question this summer you need to open up a lot more. People want to learn about you so they can decide whether you'll be a fit for the firm after you graduate."

"That makes sense."

The staircase was designed for a woman wearing a regal gown. However, the upstairs was a different world. In both directions there were open areas divided into small cubicles. It was like a beehive.