Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope (30 page)

I couldn’t stifle a smile.

“Why is that funny?”

“I can’t figure out whether I’m supposed to be a couple with Zach or Vince. Trying to fit you in the picture makes it really crowded.”

AFTER WORK, I spent a half hour playing with Flip in the garden. As I was coming inside, the phone rang. I ran into the kitchen and checked the caller ID. It was Mrs. Bartlett.

“Tami?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mother needs to finish her supper. She’s having trouble swallowing, so they have her on a thick liquid diet that requires supervision. I’ve got to be at a reception for a friend who returned from six weeks in France. I’m going to be late as it is. What time are you going to be here?”

“I haven’t eaten, but I can come anytime.”

“Make it now. I’ve been waiting for a nurse’s aide to help. It doesn’t look like anyone is going to show. You can be here in five or ten minutes and get Mother through mealtime. She’s not talking to me because I won’t put up with her foolishness. I knew it would come to this eventually, but that doesn’t make it any easier.” Mrs. Bartlett lowered her voice. “You almost wish the stroke had taken her to avoid all this.”

The “you” referred to by Mrs. Bartlett didn’t include me. I’d seen pathetic situations of failed health. Mrs. Fairmont’s condition wasn’t one of them. Not yet.

“I’m on my way,” I said and hung up the phone. I didn’t want to listen to anything else Mrs. Bartlett might have to say.

Mrs. Bartlett’s attitude toward her mother, me, and life in general had deteriorated since I first met her. If she’d been so negative then, I might not have agreed to stay with Mrs. Fairmont. That thought brought me up short. Both my parents and I agreed living with Mrs. Fairmont was probably one of the main reasons God had brought me to Savannah. Compassion for the elderly woman flooded my heart. When I entered Mrs. Fairmont’s room, a nurse’s aide was, in fact, helping her eat.

“Thanks so much,” I said to the aide. “I’ll take over from here.”

“Are you her granddaughter?” the aide asked.

“No, but I wish I was.”

“That’s nice,” Mrs. Fairmont said as soon as she swallowed a bite.

“I went to sleep on you last night while you were here. I’m afraid I wasn’t a very good hostess.”

“No, ma’am, I’m just so glad you’re better.”

I’d fed patients who needed to use a thickening agent to help them swallow. Mrs. Fairmont had almost finished, and I helped her with the final bites. To my untrained eye, she seemed to be doing well.

“A sip of apple juice would be nice,” the elderly woman said. “Even if it’s not as good as an after-dinner port wine.”

The apple juice hadn’t been thickened. I started to stir in the powdery substance.

“No, let me try it straight. I’ve been able to handle a few sips of water.”

I held the cup close to her mouth so she could use the straw. She took a sip and coughed slightly.

“I’ll be cutting into a rare steak before you know it,” she said.

“I hope so. What’s the doctor telling you?”

“That I have a choice to make.”

A hollow feeling hit me in my stomach. I knew what was coming before she said it.

“They can only keep me here a few more days. You know how hospitals are about kicking you out as soon as possible. After that, he recommends either a nursing home or an assisted-living facility.”

Mrs. Fairmont reached up with a hand that trembled slightly and picked up the photo of Flip I’d brought the night before.

“After the doctor left, I stared at that picture and wondered what to do. I really want to go home and sleep in my own bed with Flip curled up at my feet. I could have a stair elevator installed and promise to wear my lifeline all the time. I even considered turning the den into a bedroom and using the guest bath on the main floor. That would be totally against the decor of the house, but—” She stopped.

“It’s your house,” I finished.

“Tell that to Christine.”

“What does she want you to do?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

“Move out so the house can be sold and the furnishings distributed. Christine has her own things, but there are a few items that would fit in her house. Some of the antiques are museum quality and can be donated before my death. The rest would be placed with dealers on consignment. Is there anything you’d like to have?”

Mrs. Fairmont’s question caught me so off guard that I couldn’t stem my emotions. It was impossible to keep two tears from racing down my cheeks. I quickly rubbed them away, but she’d seen them. She reached out her hand and touched my arm.

“Tami, you’re a good girl, as sweet as anyone I’ve met in a long time. I didn’t think young people like you were still being made in this day and age.”

Her words weren’t helping me calm down. I sniffed loudly and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

“There’s tissue on the windowsill behind you.”

I reached back and grabbed a couple, then blew my nose.

“Would you be able to go home if you had a sitter who could stay with you twenty-four hours a day?” I asked through my sniffles.

“I don’t know if it’s worth the trouble to try and put that together. Friends who’ve used agencies to staff that sort of thing have had lots of problems. That’s why I was reluctant to let you stay with me when Christine brought it up.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Me, too.”

Mrs. Fairmont closed her eyes. “If I shut my eyes, I can pretend that I’m sitting in my chair in the den with Flip at my feet and the TV tuned to a station I don’t really care about watching.”

“I wish I could take care of you.”

“You already have, but you have your own life to live. It’s going to take more than you can offer to keep me going.”

“Would Gracie know someone?”

“We’ve talked about it before. She has a great-niece who needs work, but she’s not reliable.” Mrs. Fairmont looked at me. “You know, I can’t talk to you like this when my brain short-circuits.”

“Yes, ma’am. But even when you’re confused you have a good attitude. You just ask a lot of questions and have an active imagination.”

“Like what?”

I remembered the time she was convinced a bird had flown into the house.

“I’d rather not bring that up.”

“All right.” She nodded, closing her eyes again. “Tell me how Flip’s doing.”

She listened with a smile on her face as I told her what she already knew about the little dog’s routine. When I finished, Mrs. Fairmont turned her head slightly and made better eye contact with me.

“May I tell you something?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She put her hand on her chest. “Something has happened in here. I think I’m more like you and Gracie.”

“How?”

“I’ve been thinking about my life. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but I know God has forgiven me and loves me anyway. Isn’t that why Jesus came?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I could hardly believe my ears.

“I knew there was something different about you and Gracie. But I couldn’t put my finger on it until now. I tried to explain all this to Christine. She wouldn’t sit still to hear me out.”

“She’ll think about it even if she walks away.”

“I hope so. She believes it’s an old woman’s crutch. I told her it’s better to go into heaven limping than not at all.”

“There won’t be any limping in that place.” I smiled as my eyes watered again.

“For a few seconds when I was watching myself in the den, I felt so healthy, so alive—and I wasn’t even dead.”

I beheld the elderly woman, her body failing, yet God’s mercy coming to her before it was too late. And believed.

“You’re right,” I said as tears flowed again. “And there won’t be any crying either.”

All the way to Mrs. Fairmont’s house from the hospital, I repeated, “Thank you,” softly under my breath.

Each time I said the words, another wave of gratitude swept over me. When I got home, I called Mama and Daddy.

“We’re proud of you, Tammy Lynn,” Daddy said when I finished. “Proud in the right way.”

When I awoke in the morning, I didn’t hear Chester crowing, but my heart cried out in greeting to the new day. The more I thought about my conversation with Mrs. Fairmont, the more amazed I was at God’s grace. During my morning run, my feet sprouted wings and I almost flew down the street as I circled Chippewa Square.

I DIDN’T TELL JULIE what had happened to Mrs. Fairmont. She couldn’t have shaken my faith, but she might have tried to under-mine my joy. God’s ability to reach Mrs. Fairmont, after a lifetime of her indifference, gave me hope that the same could happen to Julie. Vince was right. More prayer was needed.

With the complaint in
Paulding v. Dabney
on its way to the court-house, Julie and I scrambled to complete other projects that had been pushed aside. Late in the morning I quietly hummed as I scrolled through a court of appeals decision to determine if I should print out a hard copy of the opinion for a research memo.

“I can’t name that tune,” Julie cut in.

“You don’t know it. It’s a Christian praise chorus.”

“Is God in a good mood today?”

“Probably. I know I am.”

“What happened? Did you figure out which bachelor is going to receive a rose?”

“What?”

Julie rolled her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s from a TV show. I’m sure you’ve never watched it.”

“I don’t own a TV.”

Julie held up her hand. “Okay, don’t start in on the evils of TV. I know there’s a lot of trashy stuff, but there are shows that help numb my brain cells worn out from staring at case law all day.”

Julie glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m going to have lunch with Maggie Smith. Do you want to join us?”

I’d met Maggie when I worked on the Moses Jones case. Several years before she’d been a summer clerk at Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter but hadn’t received a permanent job offer. Now she was one of the chief assistants in the Chatham County District Attorney’s Office.

“Why are you having lunch with her? You’re not working on any criminal cases.”

“Girls have to stick together. We’ve met for drinks a couple of times. It’s been helpful hearing her perspectives on life and the law.”

“You’re not going to drink at lunch, are you?”

“No,” Julie sighed. “Unless you can get a buzz from water with a twist of lemon. This isn’t an invitation to debate. I’m just offering you a chance to spend an hour with a woman who’s been practicing law for five years. In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t any female attorneys at this firm. The last time I saw Maggie, she asked me about you.”

“I only saw her when we appeared in front of Judge Cannon. I’m surprised she remembers me.”

“Who knows, you might be under criminal investigation, and it’s a way for her to check you out before serving you with a grand jury subpoena.”

I smiled. “Okay, at least I’ll have my lawyer with me.”

“It would be fun representing you. Then you’d have to take my advice.”

Julie drove to a small restaurant that catered to a female lunch crowd. The only men in the place were with women who’d probably dragged them along. The decor was feminine, with lacy tablecloths, small chairs, and real china with a flowery design around the edges. Maggie Smith arrived a minute behind us. The assistant DA was about Julie’s height with short brown hair and dark eyes. Smith had the confident demeanor of a lawyer who spent a lot of time in the courtroom. I remembered she’d not tried to hide her interest in Zach when the three of us talked for a few minutes before the judge called the Jones case.

“How’s your boat man doing?” Maggie asked in a soft Southern drawl after we exchanged greetings.

“I haven’t heard from him, so I hope he’s only tying up at Mr. Fussleman’s dock.”

“Probably, or a new case would have come across my desk. You did a good job representing him.”

We sat at a table near a window. A few rays of sun penetrated the leaves of a large birch tree next to the building. I felt very grown-up. In another era we might have been three young women discussing what dresses to wear at the summer ball. In the twenty-first century, we were professionals crafting a career.

“I recommend the quiche of the day,” Maggie said. “It’s the best in Savannah.”

“Tami loves anything to do with chickens,” Julie said, “especially fried chicken livers.”

“I haven’t had any good chicken livers since I left Montgomery,” Maggie answered with a grin. “My great-aunt knows how to fry them crisp and light. There’s nothing like a fresh chicken liver with a touch of hot sauce on it.”

Julie’s mouth dropped open.

“I’ve handled a few hundred thousand livers,” I said.

Maggie shot me a curious look. The waitress came. We all ordered quiche with fresh fruit on the side. I described my summers working at the chicken plant with my father. I left out the more graphic anatomical details of how a chicken is processed for the human food chain.

“My daddy worked as a plant manager in a sock factory,” Maggie said when I reached a stopping point. “He was there almost forty years. He started out as a sorter and worked his way up.”

“My father is an ophthalmologist,” Julie said. “He wears socks except when he’s at the beach, and he eats chicken at least twice a week.”

“Everyone has their role to fill in society,” Maggie answered with a sweet laugh, then looked at me. “Tell me about your summer at the firm.”

So much had happened. I was momentarily stymied.

“It’s been a growing experience, both legally and personally,” I answered slowly.

“Sounds like something you’d put on an evaluation form,” Maggie replied. “What have you learned about yourself?”

Something in the lawyer’s face told me she really wanted to know the answer to her question. I glanced at Julie.

“If you don’t tell her, I will. I’ve psychoanalyzed you enough I could recognize your brain if someone put it in a jar.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen the evidence in some of the cases I’ve worked on,” Maggie said. “I’ve had to put pictures of body parts into evidence that looked a lot worse than a plate of chicken livers.”

“I’ve gained a lot of confidence that I can really be a lawyer.”

The words popped out of my mouth, but as soon as I spoke, I knew it was the truth. I quickly searched my heart for the dark glint of pride.