Greater Love

by Robert Whitlow

  “Who’s handling the cases?” Vince asked.

  “Mostly Maggie. I’m learning the ropes, but it’s not in Tami’s contract. She’d rather be run ragged researching the areas of the law we don’t know anything about.”

  Julie kept the conversation on the practice of law. As I watched Vince’s face, I began to wonder what, if anything, Zach had told him about the discussion at the gazebo. Toward the end of the meal, Julie went to the restroom.

  “How are you really doing?” Vince asked as soon as Julie was away from the table.

  “In what way?”

  “At work.”

  “Oh, there are a lot of adjustments to make, but Maggie is a good boss. And Julie, well, she’s Julie. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to work with her. She jokes around a lot, which—” I stopped, not wanting to criticize Julie behind her back.

  “Is a by-product of her insecurity.”

  It wasn’t the way I would have finished the sentence, but Vince was probably right.

  “We all have areas of vulnerability and different ways to protect ourselves,” he continued.

  I glanced across the room to make sure Julie was still out of sight.

  “Did Zach tell you about our conversation the other night on Tybee Island?”

  “Yes,” Vince replied, looking me in the eyes. “I’m not trying to cause a problem, but I have to be honest with you, Zach, and myself.”

  My insides turned over.

  “And it’s up to me to decide?” I asked. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “I’m not that smart. But for now, you’re committed to spending time with Zach. If that doesn’t lead where you believe it should, I’m waiting.”

  Julie returned and plopped down in her chair. “Were you able to carry on a conversation without me being here? I ran into a girl in the restroom I met at a bar a couple of weeks ago. We’re going to get together for dinner later in the week. She works for the head of the convention bureau and has access to all kinds of free stuff. Can you think of anything you’d like to see or go to?”

  Both Vince and I gave her a blank stare. Julie rolled her eyes.

  “It’s hard for either one of you to imagine having a good time. I’ll choose and make it a surprise.”

  After we finished eating, Julie and I walked with Vince to his car.

  “Have fun in Atlanta,” Julie said. “If one of the young heiresses is cute, don’t forget to get her phone number as well as her Social Security number and bank account information.”

  Vince got in his car and waved as he drove away from the curb.

  “Well?” Julie asked as we continued down the sidewalk.

  “What?”

  “Did you get the tingles? I didn’t peek under the table to make sure, but it looked like Vince slid his leg next to yours and bumped you several times. It reminded me of a fish checking out the bait before it strikes.”

  “The only leg touching me belonged to the table. You had me squeezed in so tight there wasn’t any place for me to put my legs.”

  “You could be wrong. Vince is muscular, kind of lean and sinewy. His leg is as hard as a tree.”

  “When did you touch his leg?”

  “Bunches of times, but he never touched back.”

  We got in Julie’s car.

  “You haven’t answered the important question,” Julie said. “What kind of vibe did you pick up from Vinny?”

  “He’s interested in me.”

  “Duh.”

  “But I didn’t get a hint of the tingles. However, that’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It only lasts a few seconds.”

  Julie sniffed. “If you’re going to hunker down in self-righteous, self-controlled, Tammy Lynn mode, there isn’t much I can do for you.”

  “Then give up.”

  “Oh, no. I’m going to hang around to see how hard and long you fight before either Zach or Vinny reels you in and mounts you as a trophy on his wall.”

  “That’s a lame analogy.”

  Julie shrugged and smiled. “At least we agree on something.”

  UPON RETURNING TO THE OFFICE, I CALLED SISTER DABNEY. BY this point I’d memorized both her home and the church numbers. On the fifth ring, she answered.

  “Judge Cannon appointed me to represent Jessie Whitewater,” I said. “I’d like to come by and ask you a few questions about her.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready to meet with me?” Sister Dabney asked.

  “Yes. I’ve talked with the judge and interviewed Jessie at the jail.”

  “That’s not what I mean. It may be too soon.” The woman paused. “But you’re going to have to make up your mind eventually.”

  “I’ve accepted the case, although I didn’t really have a choice.”

  “Of course you didn’t have a choice.”

  I shook my head in bewilderment.

  “Do you want to come over now?” she continued.

  “Yes, ma’am. I guess so.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  WHEN THE HOUSE CAME INTO VIEW, I COULD SEE SISTER DABNEY sitting on the front porch in the blue rocker. As I walked up the steps she took a drink from an oversized plastic convenience-store cup.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said. “It’s hot and getting hotter.”

  The living room was only slightly cooler than the front porch. I could hear a window-unit air conditioner laboring in another room I took to be a bedroom. Sister Dabney sat in a red rocker and motioned for me to sit in the yellow one.

  “Is the Lord about to show me something?” I asked, remembering the last time I’d been in the yellow rocker.

  “He’s saying a lot more than most folks are hearing and less than some are claiming,” Sister Dabney replied.

  It took a second to wrap my mind around the statement, but when I did, I nodded in agreement.

  “Are you ready for Jessie?” Sister Dabney asked.

  “I’m ready to represent her.”

  “No, you’re not listening to me,” Sister Dabney spoke in a louder voice. “Are you ready for Jessie?”

  I stopped rocking. “I don’t know how to answer that unless you explain what you’re really asking me.”

  “Is Jessie going to get out of jail?”

  “Only if she can post bond. Right now, it’s set at ten thousand dollars, but I doubt she has the ability to pay anything. Most bondsmen charge a fee of ten percent.”

  “I can cover her bond. This house is worth a lot more than that, and the bank doesn’t have a claim against a square foot of it.”

  “You’d post her bond?” I asked in surprise. “If Jessie gets out and runs away, you’ll have to pay the money or lose your home.”

  “That’s right. I also know that if she gets out and has no place to stay except here or on the street, Jessie is going to leave town, and we’ll lose our chance to snatch her from the fire.” Sister Dabney pointed her finger at me. “But if she gets out and stays with you and Mrs. Fairmont, the Lord says she won’t run. It’s part of his plan.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Mrs. Fairmont would never allow—”

  “How do you know that if you don’t ask her?”

  “And you have to consider her daughter. Mrs. Bartlett had a hard time agreeing to let me live with her mother. If I mention the possibility of a defendant in a criminal case moving into the house, it may be the end of my staying there.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  I hesitated. “No, Mrs. Fairmont wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “She still rules her house.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The Lord is asking both of us to take a risk, to sacrifice something. Do you remember what I told you about risk?”

  “It’s related to faith.”

  “And about you as a lioness?”

  “That I shouldn’t be afraid.”

  “What else?”

  I thought for a moment. My eyes grew big.

  “That she has cubs. Are you saying I should
treat this young woman as my child?”

  Sister Dabney laughed. I didn’t think it was funny.

  “Your decision only affects you,” I continued. “Letting Jessie stay with Mrs. Fairmont isn’t my choice to make.”

  “Which means your job is to ask her permission and trust God for the answer.”

  I sighed. Sister Dabney stared at me for a few seconds and then spoke in a more tender voice.

  “Tami, the Christian life consists of one sacrifice after another. When you view those situations as opportunities, not problems, you’ll understand what it means to take up your cross and follow the Lord. The ability to really help people is God’s gift to those willing to lay down their lives for others.”

  “Okay,” I responded slowly. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Fairmont, but you’ve got to pray for me.”

  “I already have.”

  “Is she going to agree to do it?”

  “Sometimes the Lord takes delight in hiding things as much as he does in revealing them.”

  I rocked back and forth in the chair a few times as I tried to imagine myself talking to Mrs. Fairmont. Sister Dabney interrupted my thoughts.

  “And your search for love will only succeed when you’re more interested in giving than receiving. There’s a greater love that romance doesn’t know.”

  I felt the blood rush from my face.

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. The Lord is jealous. He won’t share the deepest devotion of your heart with any man.”

  “Are you saying I’m never going to get married because it’s not the kind of love God has for—”

  Sister Dabney cut me off. “I said what I said. And it’s true whether you like it or not. Be careful that your selfish desires don’t knock you off course.”

  My stomach clenched in a knot. “I need to go. I’ll let you know what I decide about Jessie.”

  WHEN I REACHED THE CAR, I TURNED ON THE AIR CONDITIONER full blast. In my mind I returned to the night in my apartment when I read 1 Corinthians 7. The apostle had no qualms recommending singleness for those who could accept it. And logic couldn’t deny that undistracted dedication to the Lord was easier without the competing presence of a spouse. Now, Sister Dabney held up an even more austere future—one marked by the sacrificial life of Jesus and the celibate life of Paul.

  WHEN I PULLED INTO THE OFFICE PARKING LOT, I REALIZED I’D NOT said a word to Sister Dabney about Shannon. I could have returned to Gillespie Street, but, lioness or not, I didn’t have the strength to do so. After walking quickly through the reception area to avoid Shannon, I put my head in my hands and rested my elbows on my desk.

  Toward the end of the day, I’d calmed down enough to at least make a stab at evaluating Jessie’s case. Tackling my own future would have to wait. Taking out a fresh legal pad, I decided to write down my options. I wrote my new client’s name at the top of the page.

  One approach would be to allow Sister Dabney to post a property bond and talk to Mrs. Fairmont about Jessie moving in with us. I put large question marks at both ends of that statement. Beside one of them I wrote “Christine Bartlett.” Beside the other I wrote “Breakdown of Attorney-Client Relationship.” Even as a brand-new lawyer, I knew a certain detachment was best between attorney and client. Living in the same household would make that impossible.

  Second, I could simply represent Jessie to the best of my ability. That could be done whether Jessie was in jail or released on bond. In fact, it might be easier to help her if she remained confined and unable to get into more trouble or run away from a criminal charge I had a reasonable chance of taking care of. It was an avenue that made sense as the best legal solution, although it might leave Jessie sitting in jail.

  Third, I could file a motion to lower Jessie’s bond and make an effort to contact Jessie’s aunt, uncle, or some other relative. A family member could post bond and Jessie would be released into the care and custody of the people God ordained to take care of her in the first place. If she ran away, it would be their responsibility, not mine.

  Fourth, if Jessie was eighteen or older, she was an adult responsible for herself. If released from jail on bond, it would be appropriate for her to seek refuge in a local facility that served homeless women. I could provide money for her needs either directly or to the shelter. I brightened at the idea, which would allow me to be unselfish yet maintain the kind of distance needed for a healthy attorney-client relationship.

  Seeing options on paper made me feel better. Trying to get my arms around the whole problem was overwhelming; separating it into parts made it manageable. I then spent forty-five minutes trying unsuccessfully to locate Jessie’s lawyer uncle in Alabama.

  When I left the office for the day, I carried the legal pad with me in case I had any other ideas later in the evening.

  I was thankful for Flip’s unpretentious greeting in the foyer. He pattered down the stairs from the second floor and skipped into the foyer. The little dog held me to no greater standard of conduct than my willingness to scratch the favorite place behind his right ear for a few seconds.

  “Mrs. Fairmount! I’m home!”

  There was no answer. Seeing that Flip had been upstairs prior to my arrival, I called up the stairwell.

  “Mrs. Fairmont! It’s Tami!”

  Again no answer. I checked in the kitchen and then the den, but the TV was lifeless. It wasn’t the first time I’d arrived to a quiet house, but it always made me nervous.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” I said to Flip, who had been following me from room to room.

  The little dog scampered up the stairs in front of me and disappeared into Mrs. Fairmont’s bedroom. I followed and peeked through the open door. The elderly woman was propped up in bed, still dressed in her nightgown with a book on the floor where it appeared to have fallen out of her hand. I put my purse and the legal pad on the dresser near the door and hurried over to her. I couldn’t see her chest rising and falling and gently touched her on the shoulder.

  “Mrs. Fairmont. Wake up.”

  She suddenly snorted so loudly that I jumped. Flip barked. Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked several times and gave me a puzzled look.

  “Did I oversleep?” she asked groggily. “Is it morning?”

  “No, ma’am. It’s six o’clock in the evening. I just got home from work.”

  “Have I been in bed all day?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered, glancing around the room and looking for signs of activity. “This wasn’t one of Gracie’s days to work. Are you hungry?”

  Mrs. Fairmont rubbed her eyes. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Do you want me to bring something to you?”

  “No,” she said, swinging her legs slowly over the side of the bed. “I should have gotten dressed hours ago.”

  “There’s no use going to that trouble now. It will be time to go back to sleep in a few hours.”

  “Nonsense. I’m not going to eat supper in my nightgown. See what’s in the refrigerator, and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry I wasn’t properly dressed.”

  Getting dressed every day was part of Mrs. Fairmont’s strategy for maintaining an independent lifestyle.

  “What would you like to eat?” I asked.

  “Something light. Maybe a salad.”

  I returned to the kitchen and put together a fresh spinach salad with cherry tomatoes, then added roasted chicken for protein. I heard Mrs. Fairmont’s footsteps in the hallway.

  “I’ve fixed a nice salad. Do you want to eat in here or the dining room?” I asked when she reached the door.

  “Who is Jessie Whitewater?”

  I glanced up. Mrs. Fairmont, wearing a slightly wrinkled dress, was standing in the doorway with my legal pad in her hand.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean for you to see that,” I said, stepping forward.

  Mrs. Fairmont gave the pad to me. “It was on top of my dresser.”
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  “I know.”

  “Why is Christine’s name written on there? Is she having some kind of legal trouble?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then what does she have to do with Jessie Whitewater? I don’t remember Christine mentioning anyone by that name, although it would be easy for me to forget.”

  “Mrs. Bartlett doesn’t know Jessie Whitewater.”

  “Then why are their names beside each other?”

  I sighed. Mrs. Fairmont was being as persistent as Julie.

  “We’ll talk about it over supper.”

  We ate in the dining room. Mrs. Fairmont liked the table set with silverware and cloth napkins, even when it was only the two of us. Once, I’d gently suggested using paper napkins, but she’d turned up her nose and replied it was cheaper and more civilized to use cloth ones. We settled into our usual places with Flip beneath Mrs. Fairmont’s chair. I prayed a blessing then began to eat. Mrs. Fairmont seemed to enjoy the salad and began telling me about the book she’d been reading when she fell asleep. She stabbed a small piece of chicken with her fork and held it over the floor. Flip stood on his hind legs and caught it in the air when she slipped it off her fork.

  “One day, when Christine is here, I’m going to let him eat a morsel directly from my fork, then continue as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.”

  Mrs. Fairmont held out her hand and let Flip lick the ends of her fingers.

  “I’m listening,” she said to me.

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’m waiting for you to tell me about Christine and Jessie Whitewater.”

  I swallowed a bite and then took a sip of water.

  “She’s a young woman Judge Cannon appointed me to represent.”

  Mrs. Fairmont listened attentively as I told her about receiving the call from the judge and going to the courthouse. I tried to walk the line between public information and confidential communication. The most important piece of data I knew I couldn’t relate had to do with Jessie’s other thefts and breakins.

  “She stole a bag of donuts?” Mrs. Fairmont asked when I told her the nature of the charge.