Gracie had been Mrs. Fairmont’s housekeeper for years. Flip, a Chihuahua, was the love of Mrs. Fairmont’s life. I could hear Flip barking in the background.
“It’s Tami Taylor,” Mrs. Bartlett called out. “Can’t you keep that dog quiet while someone is on the phone?”
There was momentary silence, then the barking resumed.
“I’ll ask her,” Mrs. Bartlett continued as an aside, then spoke into the phone. “Mother wants to invite you for a visit. I know you’re busy at school and probably don’t have time to run down here for a weekend. I’m not sure there’s still a bus that connects Athens and Savannah. Ken and I could rent a car for you like we did when you came for your interview to see if you and Mother were compatible. But this time it would have to be something simple. I never told you, but I couldn’t believe he selected a convertible for someone who—”
“Would next weekend be convenient for a visit?” I asked quickly. “I can make my own arrangements for transportation.”
“Next weekend?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ken and I are going to be out of town in West Palm Beach. You know, south Florida is so overrated, especially for people from Savannah, but these friends of ours insist on going down for a few days when the weather gets chilly. It’s not like we live in Michigan or Ohio, trying to escape the snow and ice—”
“I’m sorry I won’t get to see you,” I interrupted, “but I could spend time with your mother.”
“Uh, let me ask her.”
Mrs. Bartlett put her hand over the receiver. I could hear a muffled voice. There was silence then more muffled talking.
“She’d love to have you,” Mrs. Bartlett said.
I gave an estimated time of arrival on Friday.
“Mother might be asleep. Or awake. You never can tell about her schedule. When my father was alive they lived like normal people, but this multi-infarct thing has messed up more than Mother’s mind. I’ve tried charts, reminder notes stuck all over the house, random phone calls to see what she’s doing; nothing seems to work. She has enough mental capacity to be stubborn—”
“I still have my key in case I need to let myself in,” I said. “Thanks for letting me come. I hope you and Mr. Bartlett have a nice time in Florida.”
After an earful of Mrs. Bartlett, the silence of my apartment was sweet. I waited a few minutes then phoned Zach. His excitement made me feel slightly giddy.
THE WEEK PASSED QUICKLY. WHILE I PACKED FOR THE TRIP TO Savannah, I reminded myself that the main reason I was leaving town for the weekend wasn’t to see Zach, but to figure out where I ought to work.
I was peeking out the window when Zach arrived in his small white car. I quickly checked my appearance in the bathroom mirror and commanded my heart to slow down. It hadn’t pounded as fast at the end of my morning run. There was a knock on the door.
The young lawyer had light brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail that had mesmerized the twins. I’d gotten used to it. Tall, with blue eyes that could be kind one minute and penetrating the next, Zach leaned forward and gave me a quick hug that ended before I had a chance to decide whether it felt right or not.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, beaming.
I met the look in his eyes with an uncontrollable grin that spread across my face.
“You, too. Thanks for coming.”
Zach peered over my shoulder into the apartment.
“Efficient,” he said.
“That’s why they call it an efficiency apartment. There’s not much to see. I’m ready to go.”
We both reached for my suitcase. Our hands touched. Zach’s felt warm. I let him pick up the suitcase while I grabbed a jar of Mama’s peaches as a gift for Mrs. Fairmont.
Zach and I had talked on the phone quite a bit but hadn’t seen each other for two and half months. However, it took only a few minutes to make it seem like we’d been apart for only a couple of days. Driving southeast on two-lane highways, we passed through small Georgia towns with English names like Farmington, Madison, and Eatonton. Zach peppered me with questions about my family, not about school. As I talked about the twins, I stopped and turned sideways in my seat.
“Are you really this interested in my family or is this the book you mentioned talking?”
“If I want to know you better, I need to know more about them.”
“Was that in the book?”
Zach smiled. “Yes and no. The book said women like to talk about family matters, but I’d already figured that out.”
“Then what have you learned?”
“That I need to know more about your mother. A woman is influenced the most by her mother; a man patterns his behavior after his father.”
“You’ve been around my mother; what did you think about her?”
“She has a lot of good qualities.”
“Name one.”
Zach tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. “Okay. Remember how much I praised your mother as a teacher?”
“Yes.”
“She’s passed that gift along to you. Whether advising a client or arguing a case to a jury, a lawyer is a teacher and has to explain new or unfamiliar concepts to people in a way they can understand.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“It depends on the concepts. If the practice of law ends up boring you, it’s the wrong profession.”
“I could always go back to the chicken plant. I can eviscerate a chicken moving down the line and clean it out as fast as anyone.”
“I’m sure you’re among the best with a sharp knife.” Zach nodded. “But I see you carving up hostile witnesses, not dead birds. Don’t worry. It took me over a year to settle on admiralty law. You’ll find your niche in law practice.”
“That’s what one of my professors told me. He said to be patient in picking a specialty because I might end up doing it for the rest of my career.”
“And it’s just as important to work with people you like, coworkers who will challenge and encourage you.”
“Who might that be?” I asked.
Zach pointed at his chest. “You’re in the car with one. And my loyalty to the firm requires that I work hard to attract the best legal talent available. Believe me, when the talent is as attractive as you are, it’s not an unpleasant assignment.”
I wasn’t used to playful flirting. But I liked it.
“What else stood out in your mind about my mother?” I asked.
“She has a strong commitment to her religious convictions and believes genuine Christian faith affects every day conduct. That’s a good thing, if the convictions are right.”
“Are her convictions right?”
“Mostly.”
I stared out the window at the rural countryside that was becoming flatter as we neared the coast.
“There are differences between Mama and me,” I said.
Zach glanced in my direction. “Tell me more.”
“Mama’s focus is on building and protecting the family. When I have a family of my own, I may be the same. But that’s not where I am right now. This past summer in Savannah changed me. Representing Moses Jones, meeting Sister Dabney, working for Mr. Carpenter, and living with Mrs. Fairmont stretched me in ways I didn’t know I could be stretched. And getting to know you was—” I stopped.
“The best thing that’s happened to you in years,” Zach said with a grin.
“A very good thing,” I responded. “A lot better than being trapped every day in the library with Julie Feldman.”
“Which is a snapshot of your future if you go to work for Maggie Smith and Julie.”
“Julie and I wouldn’t share an office.”
“Do you think that’s going to keep her quiet?”
“No.”
Zach held his right hand out in front of him as if reading a billboard. “Put the three of you together and you have the plot for a TV show—conservative Christian attorney and liberal Jewish lawyer create all-girl law firm with a hard-
nosed former DA and square off in a three-way ideological cage fight.”
“You’re determined to convince me that I should work for Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter, aren’t you?”
Zach nodded. “Yep. You’re not the only one who’s been praying about your job.”
BUILT IN 1860, MRS. FAIRMONT’S HOUSE WAS A TWO-STORY, SQUARE, brick structure with tall narrow windows on the first level and broad front steps. On the side of the house was an attached screened porch. Two large live oaks were planted between the house and the sidewalk. An iron railing extended from the steps down the street on either side then turned toward the rear of the house. The original owner was killed at the battle of Cold Harbor during the Civil War and never got a chance to enjoy the house.
Zach parked alongside the curb. “Do you want to come in?” I asked.
“No, thanks. What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You could sit on the park bench where Tom Hanks sat when they filmed Forrest Gump.”
“I never saw the movie.”
Zach winced. “It probably wouldn’t help you make up your mind. Can I call you?”
“Sure. How about three o’clock?”
Zach carried my suitcase to the front door. I could hear Flip barking in the foyer.
“Thanks again for coming to get me,” I said as I looked for the key in my purse.
I felt Zach’s right arm around my shoulders. After a slight squeeze he released me.
“Good night,” he said. “It’s great to have you back, even if it’s only for the weekend.”
“Thanks,” I said, my head lowered. “Good night.”
As Zach descended the steps to the street, I turned the key in the lock and pushed open the front door. Inside, Flip charged toward my right foot then stopped in his tracks. The next instant his body began shaking in excitement. I leaned over and scratched him in his favorite place behind his head.
“More than one of us is glad to see you,” Mrs. Fairmont said, coming into the foyer.
The petite, elderly woman had dressed up. Diamond rings glittered on both hands. Her white hair was nicely coiffed. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed so hard that I apologized when I released her.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, dear.”
“You look beautiful.”
“Gracie helped me get ready when I told her you were coming. Where would you like to sit?” Mrs. Fairmont asked formally.
“The blue parlor is my favorite.”
The house had mirror-image parlors separated by a foyer that faced the main stairway to the second floor. Mrs. Fairmont’s bedroom was upstairs. To the right was the pale green parlor, to the left, one painted an ephemeral blue. Both rooms contained beautiful furniture and original paintings. An antique rug rested on the floor in the blue parlor. Mrs. Fairmont sat in a feminine side chair and I chose the end of a sofa near her. Flip jumped up onto the sofa and crawled into my lap.
“He remembers you.” Mrs. Fairmont smiled. “I’d be jealous if I didn’t know his little heart was big enough to love both of us.”
I ran my fingers under the dog’s collar.
“Have you forgotten your promise to take care of him if anything happens to me?” Mrs. Fairmont asked.
“No, ma’am,” I answered, continuing to scratch Flip’s neck.
“Good,” the older woman said, nodding. “I talked it over with Sam Braddock. He agrees with you that it wouldn’t be a good idea to change my will. He suggested I write a short note that he’d put in my file requesting you become Flip’s guardian after I’m gone.”
“You met with Mr. Braddock?”
“I called, and he came to see me. I know lawyers don’t make house calls anymore, but he made an exception. He talked quite a bit about the young man from Charleston who came with you to the hospital after my stroke and read that beautiful psalm.”
“Vince Colbert.”
“Yes. Sam says he’s going to bring him into the firm.” Mrs. Fairmont lowered her voice. “You know, Sam’s old enough to retire, but Eloise Braddock has expensive taste. If she bids on an item at an antique auction, she always gets it. There was a painting one time that would have fit perfectly in the green parlor . . .” Mrs. Fairmont’s voice trailed off.
“Did Mr. Braddock say anything about me?”
Mrs. Fairmont gave me an odd look.
“Why would he talk about you? Did you ever go to their house?”
“No, ma’am. Joe Carpenter was my supervising attorney, but Mr. Braddock knows who I am. The firm offered me a job, too.”
“Of course they did. Sam would be a fool not to see your potential. Then you and Vince can work together.”
“Don’t forget about Zach Mays.”
“Who?”
“The young lawyer with the motorcycle and ponytail.”
Flip opened his mouth in a wide yawn.
“Yes, yes. I think I remember him.” Mrs. Fairmont rubbed her temples. “But make sure you remind me if I meet him again. Sam wouldn’t let me set up a doggie trust. He didn’t think it necessary. What if Flip gets sick and has a big veterinarian bill or has to have a surgery? Who’ll pay for that? Christine thinks he’s a nuisance.”
“You’ll outlive—,” I started then stopped. The Chihuahua was eight years old and might live another ten years. Each day could be Mrs. Fairmont’s last. “But whatever happens, I’ll take care of him and always ask myself what you would want to do for him.”
Mrs. Fairmont’s eyes watered.
“You’ll never know how much that means to me.” She waved her hand at the room. “I’m surrounded by all this, but it doesn’t mean a thing if no one loves you.”
“That’s true.”
Mrs. Fairmont blinked her eyes and stared at me. “Did you know I love you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I leaned over and placed my smooth right hand on her wrinkled, gnarled one.
“I told Gracie the same thing.” Mrs. Fairmont touched her heart.
“She’s worked for me almost thirty years. It was about time I let her know how much I cared for her.”
“I’m sure that meant a lot to her. She loves you, too.”
“She cried like a baby and told me I was like a second mother to her.” The elderly woman lowered her voice. “And I made arrangements with Sam to give something special to Gracie when I’m gone. He didn’t try to talk me out of that one.”
“But there’s no substitute for words spoken now.”
“That’s right. You’re young, but you’ve taught me a lot.” Mrs. Fairmont dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Do you remember helping me write out a prayer list?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Some days I fall asleep before I get through it or forget why a name is on there. But it’s made me believe there’s a reason why I’m still here. I’ve been reading the Bible, too. Will you get it for me? It’s in the den.”
I left the parlor and went down a short hallway. The den was a combination study-library with wood-paneled walls, comfortable leather furniture, bookshelves, and a TV. Mrs. Fairmont spent a lot of time in the den, often asleep with the TV blaring and Flip curled up at her feet. Her Bible was on a narrow wooden stand beside her favorite chair. I returned to the parlor and handed it to her. It was a blessing seeing the book in her hands.
“I’ve heard this passage read for years at weddings,” she said, putting her finger on a bookmark and opening the Bible.
I leaned forward. She was looking at 1 Corinthians 13.
“It talks about faith, hope, and love,” she continued. “Have you read it recently?”
I’d memorized the chapter but simply nodded.
“My idea of love was too small,” Mrs. Fairmont continued, then began reading in her soft coastal accent: “‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does no
t delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.’”
Mrs. Fairmont looked up from the page. “God’s idea of love is greater than mine. When I tell you and Gracie that I love you, my love should include everything I read. Isn’t that one of the most amazing things you’ve ever heard?”
To hear a woman in her mid-eighties lost in the wonder of newly discovered truth was amazing in itself.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Fairmont closed the Bible. “I’ve put ‘Greater Love’ on the top of my prayer list. I’m praying it for myself and everyone else I know. Do you think that means being so unselfish that you’re willing to die for someone else?”
She yawned before I answered.
“When I get tired there’s no use fighting it,” she said. “If I don’t get to bed in a few minutes, I won’t trust myself to climb the stairs.”
“I’ll let Flip outside for you. Where should I sleep?”
“Gracie cleaned your room for you.”
Flip obediently followed me to the veranda then pattered down a winding wrought-iron staircase to the formal garden. After sniffing around for a few minutes, he climbed the steps in short hops then ran upstairs to Mrs. Fairmont’s room. I carried my suitcase downstairs.
Mrs. Fairmont’s home was three stories in the rear. My bedroom was in a garden apartment that looked out into the garden where Flip had been minutes before. A dog bed surrounded by chew toys lay in the middle of the living area, evidence that Flip had been temporarily banished to the basement room during social events. I crossed the small living area into a bedroom with French double doors that opened onto a brick patio. Gracie had turned back the freshly laundered sheets and placed a small chocolate on my pillow. Moonlight shone in through the double doors.
Beside the bed was an intercom connected to Mrs. Fairmont’s room. It had been installed by Mrs. Bartlett to make sure I could keep tabs on her mother. I pressed the button.
“Good night, Mrs. Fairmont. Everything downstairs is perfect. Thanks again for letting me stay with you.”
I waited. In a few seconds there was a scratchy reply.
Greater Love Page 4
