Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  Mrs. Fairmont then described a monthlong junket they had taken to the Mediterranean that dwarfed the three-day stopovers at Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, typical for newly married couples from Powell Station. The elderly woman’s recollection was extraordinarily clear; however, in the midst of a detailed account of their stay on a tiny Greek island, she stopped and stared at me for a few seconds.

  “Please, tell me your name again.”

  “Tami Taylor.”

  “Rambling about my honeymoon crowded out that memory.” Mrs. Fairmont yawned without covering her mouth, then reached across the table and patted me on the hand. “I’m sure you’ll find your true love. I bet you’re already praying about it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If your prayers are as effective as my mother’s matchmaking skills, you’ll get your man.”

  I chuckled. “I hope so.”

  After Mrs. Fairmont went upstairs, I let Flip scamper around the formal garden to the rear of the house for a few minutes before running upstairs to Mrs. Fairmont’s bedroom, where I knew he’d sleep curled up near the elderly woman’s feet. After cleaning the dinner dishes, I went downstairs and read in the quiet until my eyelids grew heavy. Following the hectic activity of the weekend, solitude wasn’t a bad companion.

  12

  MOST CLERICAL AND ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANTS AT THE FIRM worked on a second floor reached by either a back stairway or a sweeping staircase in the reception area. I enjoyed the staircase, which had a plantation feel to it. Upstairs there was a large open area of cubicles. It was known in the firm as the “bull pen,” even though most of the workers were women.

  A few of the hourly employees had arrived. Opposite the bull pen were small offices for associate attorneys, senior paralegals, and Ms.

  Gerry Patrick, the office administrator. Zach’s office door was closed.

  I knocked lightly and waited. No one answered so I peeked inside.

  There were papers on his desk, but he wasn’t there. I went over to his desk and picked up the photograph of his older sister, Rebekah. They shared the same light brown hair, blue eyes, and square jaw.

  “Tami,” a female voice said.

  I jumped, dropped the picture, but managed to catch it before it hit the floor. I turned around. It was Gerry Patrick.

  “Do you make it a habit to snoop around in the attorneys’ offices when they’re not there?”

  “No, ma’am. I was just going to tell Zach good morning. In the car yesterday he mentioned an early morning conference call.”

  “Were you at a firm social function?”

  “No, we spent the weekend together.”

  Ms. Patrick raised her eyebrows.

  “At my parents’ home,” I added quickly with a nervous laugh. “They were there, along with my younger brothers and twin sisters. It was an opportunity for everyone to meet.”

  Ms. Patrick didn’t smile. “Normally, what you do outside the firm isn’t any of my business. Julie has told me about the photographer she’s dating. But I can tell you from experience that it’s not wise for a summer clerk to become romantically involved with one of the attorneys. It’s not a question of morals; it’s a matter of professionalism.”

  “We’re not romantically involved,” I said, feeling my face redden.

  Zach came into the room. He had a cup in his hand.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said cheerily. “I just spent a couple of hours on the phone with a solicitor in New Delhi that put me in the mood for a cup of tea. The Indian lawyer sounded more British than people I’ve met from London.”

  “Tami was telling me about your weekend together,” Ms. Patrick said.

  “Has she gotten to the part where I was attacked by a killer cat-fish?” he asked, holding up his right hand.

  “No, but I was informing her that it’s not professional for sum-mer clerks to become romantically involved with the attorneys. Tami reassures me that you’re not dating.”

  “That’s what she said?”

  “No, I was about to explain that we’re courting.”

  “You’re what?” Ms. Patrick asked.

  I looked at Zach and appealed with my eyes.

  “I know it sounds like trial practice,” he said, casually taking a sip from his cup. “But it’s just another term for a heightened level of friend-ship within the proper boundaries for lawyers and summer clerks.”

  “Where do you draw the line in this friendship/courtship/ dating?”

  “So far on the side of innocence that no one should have a problem with it,” Zach answered in a tone of voice that signaled an end to the discussion.

  Ms. Patrick turned to me. “Tami, your religious beliefs and terminology are a mystery to me, but common sense and the power of hormones indicate this may not be the best way to advance your future at the firm.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I appreciate your concern.”

  “And, Zach, you know I’m just doing my job. If Mr. Carpenter doesn’t find out about personnel issues from me, he wants to know why I didn’t tell him. I’ll give you a few days to address it before I do.”

  “Okay.”

  Ms. Patrick left the room.

  “Is she right?” I asked.

  “About what?”

  “That the firm will frown on our heightened level of friendship, which, by the way, sounds like something a government official would say after meeting with representatives of another country to discuss foreign trade.”

  Zach laughed. “That’s probably a holdover from my conference call. But I don’t think the partners would consider what we’re doing important enough to discuss.”

  “Will you talk to Mr. Carpenter anyway?”

  “I’m not going to rush down to his office in the next half hour.

  I’ll get to it.”

  “Should I be with you?”

  “No, that would keep us from being able to talk man-to-man.”

  “You make it seem like a joke.”

  “If I keep the discussion laid-back, the level of scrutiny goes down. Mr. Carpenter has more important things to think about than whether you and I have a heightened level of friendship.”

  “But Ms. Patrick said she would report it to him and—”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I guess I’ll have to trust you.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Zach set his cup on the desk. “What are you working on today?”

  I counted on my fingers. “Interrogatory answers in the Folsom divorce case, Bob Kettleson has given me a couple of research projects, and I should begin my investigation in Paulding v. Dabney. Mr. Carpenter wants to file suit quickly, but he’ll want the facts nailed down so he can evaluate the chances of a counterclaim. And there could be something unexpected waiting for me from Moses Jones. I didn’t go to the library before coming here.”

  “Has Jones been in touch with you?”

  “Not since the last day in court, but I’m still praying for him.”

  “Meeting Moses was one of the highlights of my summer.”

  “Until I introduce you to Reverend Dabney. She sounds like an unusual person.”

  “It’s an intriguing case, but at least Moses had a rickety boat he poled along the river. Ms. Dabney’s property won’t have anything to do with admiralty law.”

  “You won’t help even if I get into deep water?”

  “I could take you out to dinner tonight and discuss it further.”

  I hadn’t considered how frequently Zach and I might be seeing each other away from the office. Being asked out to dinner felt nice. I smiled.

  “I have to make sure Mrs. Fairmont is okay. My first obligation during the week is to take care of her.”

  “Sure, let me know.”

  DOWNSTAIRS IN THE LIBRARY, Julie was at one of the computer terminals. She spun around in her chair.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “Upstairs talking to Zach.”

  “You had to see him first thing, didn�
�t you?” Julie snickered.

  “Not really.”

  “Don’t lie to me or keep anything back that happened this weekend.”

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  “That’s depressing. But I still want to know everything. It must have gone okay, or you wouldn’t have been running into his arms before logging on to your computer.”

  “I wasn’t running into his arms. Gerry Patrick was there to chaperone.”

  “Why?”

  “She informed us that the firm frowns on fraternization between lawyers and summer clerks.”

  “She should know how Ned Danforth treated me on his boat. I thought I might have to throw him overboard to cool him off.”

  “Maybe you should tell her.”

  I sat down across from Julie at the worktable.

  “No way.” Julie tilted her head to the side. “He’ll be out of my life as soon as I finish this securities law memo, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he bothered me. But I’ve got to have every juicy detail about the weekend with your family. Did your parents freak out when they saw Zach’s cute little ponytail?”

  “It was an issue,” I admitted.

  “I’ll bet it was. Were there arguments about the Bible and all the strange stuff you believe?”

  “Zach believes the Bible.”

  Julie waved her hand in dismissal. “Nobody but my Hassidic cousins in New York takes it as seriously as you do. Don’t make me drag it out of you a word at a time. Tell me all the juicy stuff.”

  “There wasn’t any.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “Not my level of juicy. Imagine I’m in your world, where a meaningful glance or the slightest touch sends shock waves to the core of your being.”

  “We held hands around the kitchen table when we prayed,”I said, leaning in, “and I felt shock waves to the core of my being.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Julie clapped her hands. “We have twelve minutes until we have to start charging clients for our valuable legal knowledge. Cram everything you can into that time.”

  “With or without interruptions?”

  Julie zipped her lips shut. “I’m here to listen.”

  I enjoyed telling Julie about the weekend. Sharing it with another person made it more real to me. I included some of the funny and embarrassing moments, but I left out what happened in Mr. Callahan’s kitchen and the effect it had on my family and the church. Julie wouldn’t believe a miracle unless she saw a paralyzed person get out of a wheelchair and run across the room. She made a face at my description of the different ways to clean catfish.

  “I’m glad you didn’t drive a nail through its head. That’s a brutal way to enter the afterlife.”

  “Jesus hung on the cross with nails through his hands and feet. Then a Roman soldier jabbed a spear in his side.”

  Julie’s mouth dropped open. It was the oddest way I’d ever brought up the gospel, but it was also the first time I’d seen her at a momentary loss for words.

  “What happened next?” she asked.

  “They took him down and put his body in a tomb. The Roman governor sent a troop of soldiers to guard the tomb, but it didn’t do any good. Three days later, Jesus rose from the dead. Eventually, over five hundred people saw him alive.”

  “No, with you and Zach,” Julie protested. “I don’t want to talk about Christianity.”

  I didn’t press the issue. I felt I’d made my point.

  “That’s the night Zach and I held hands during the blessing and tingles ran all over my body.”

  “Did he feel anything?”

  “He didn’t seem to at the time, but later he said something that makes me think he did.”

  Julie shook her head. “Men are incredibly obtuse about the subtleties of life.”

  “Then we ate fresh corn on the cob and salt-and-pepper catfish.

  When he’s hungry, Zach can eat as much as my brother Kyle.”

  Julie brushed her hair back with her hand. “Anyone would have been starving after all that physical activity. Your home sounds like a boot camp for urbanites. You should have asked Zach to sign a waiver of liability. He could have gotten stepped on by a cow or maimed by a wild creature.”

  “He assumed the risk when he drove up to the house.”

  “Other than the hand-holding thing, what other romantic fire-works did you set off? Did he try to kiss you?”

  “No.”

  “But you wish he had.”

  I started to deny her words but hesitated.

  “I knew it. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s natural.”

  “I don’t want to kiss anyone until my wedding.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “That’s insane, but it makes total sense coming from you.”

  “And my parents gave permission for us to court.”

  “What?”

  The look on Julie’s face was similar to Ms. Patrick’s response.

  Even after I tried to explain, Julie remained puzzled.

  “Is it like going steady? That’s what my mom used to do, although her definition of steady probably lasted seven to ten days.”

  “Not really. There’s no commitment except to spend time together to explore the relationship.”

  “What comes after this exploration period?”

  “If we believe it’s God’s will, the man can ask me to marry him. After he gets my parents’ permission, of course.”

  “Wow. Does Zach know this?”

  “Which part?”

  “That you’re considering marriage.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “He didn’t grow up in the backwoods where you’re an old maid if you’re not married to your third cousin by the time you turn eighteen. Have you considered a brief period of fun before settling down to a lifetime of boring monogamy?”

  “I can have fun without sinning.”

  Julie held up her hands with her palms out. “Remind me not to touch you with my sin-stained fingers.”

  “That’s not the point. Courting is about getting to know another person, not manipulating a relationship for selfish reasons.”

  “And you can share a milk shake through separate straws, but if you want to take the tingles up a notch, you’ll have to graduate from holding hands while you pray. I think you should have encouraged him to kiss you, and if you need pointers on how to reel him in faster than a hungry catfish, I’m your expert.”

  I decided to shift the topic of conversation.

  “Do you like Joel?” I asked.

  Julie shrugged. “Yeah, he’s a talented photographer, a nice sum-mer diversion, and a better-than-average kisser.”

  “Have you thought about marrying him?”

  “Not really. I’m in no rush to populate a minivan with a load of fat babies.”

  “Which is fine. And I’m not entirely focused on that with Zach, but at our age it would be naive to ignore the possibility that the next man we meet might be our husband.”

  Julie nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. The old biological time clock is ticking, and if we don’t find a soul mate soon, we could end up eating dinner alone in a nursing home.”

  I laughed. The door to the library opened. It was Myra Dean. She pointed at me.

  “I hate to break up the party, but Mr. Carpenter wants to see us about the Paulding case in the main conference room.”

  “Could Julie come, too?” I asked. “She wrote a research paper in school last year about libel and slander.”

  “Tell me more, Julie.”

  “I worked on it an entire semester. One of my professors is writing a book on tort law in Georgia and needed background material for the section on defamation. I think he’s going to mention me in tiny print after he praises the person who typed the manuscript.”

  “Do you have access to your work?”

  Julie opened the drawer in the middle of the table and took out a sheaf of papers.

  “Here are four copies.”

 
Myra took two of them. “Okay, both of you meet me in the conference room in five minutes. Mr. Carpenter will decide if you’ll become part of the team.”

  Myra left.

  “Go team,” Julie said as she handed me a copy of the paper.

  I flipped through the section headings. I could see the research was heavily annotated.

  “This is impressive.”

  “Don’t suck up to me. I’m proud of my legal analysis. But how can that compare with someone like you who has two men panting after her? I’d trade with you any day of the week.”

  “Two men?”

  “Don’t think Vinny has given up. He’ll want to hold your hand while you pray and see how he registers on the tingle meter.”

  I blinked.

  “Yeah, it’s the eyes that lure them in.”

  JULIE AND I WALKED together to the conference room.

  “Will the client be there?” she asked.

  “I hope not. He’s kind of creepy.”

  “Don’t be judgmental. Remember, he’s the victim.”

  Mr. Carpenter was sitting at the end of the shiny table with Myra to his left.

  “I’ve looked over Julie’s research paper,” Mr. Carpenter said, placing the report on the table. “I know Professor Hamilton. We played golf last year at Wild Dunes near Charleston.”

  “How was his golf game?” Julie asked.

  “Not as good as your writing. Given your recent review of the topic, it makes sense for you to work on this case.”

  Julie and I sat down next to each other.

  “Do you still need me?” I asked.

  Julie kicked me under the table.

  “Of course,” Mr. Carpenter replied. “You’re going to give me insight into the twisted religious motivations of Reverend Dabney.”

  “That will be second nature for Tami,” Julie said.

  Mr. Carpenter stared at Julie for a second, then laughed. “I get it. That was a joke.”

  “Yes, sir,” Julie replied with a smile.

  I kicked her under the table.

  “You can use Julie’s paper to prepare interview questions for the witnesses,” Mr. Carpenter continued. “Divide the names and find out who can provide the best testimony. It’s not just about finding friendly faces but people whose testimony will support an element of the case. Someone can be hostile, yet helpful.”