"I don't use a prayer book, and I didn't ask for help."
"But you need help. Lots of it. I'm sure glad we're not sharing an apartment. I don't think I could stand your self-righteous attitude 24/7. You're so uptight I'm surprised your eyes open in the morning!"
My uptight eyes suddenly stung with tears I vainly tried to blink away. Most people didn't keep attacking after I made my convictions clear. Julie saw that I was upset and swore.
"I'm sorry," she said.
I quickly wiped my eyes. "Everything you say makes sense except that I believe God controls my future. I can't abandon my confidence in him. To do that would be to deny who I am as a person." I pulled a tissue from my purse and blew my nose. "Does that make any sense to you?"
Julie shrugged. "You fanatic religious types are all alike."
"People judge me because of the things I do and don't do. But I'm not a mixed-up mess of legalistic rules and regulations. I'm a child of God who wants to live in the freedom from sin Jesus provides through his death on the cross."
"Okay, okay," Julie said. "You can step down from your pulpit. My efforts to corrupt you are over for the week."
This time I didn't cry. I pressed my lips tightly together before I spoke. "I guess I'll walk home."
"No need to get hot and sweaty. I'll give you a ride. I said I was sorry."
Partway home, Julie broke the silence. "You've never had a boyfriend?"
"No."
"My Jewish intuition tells me that's about to change."
We reached Mrs. Fairmont's house. Julie stopped the car.
"So, are you going to the office tomorrow?" she asked.
"No. I wouldn't do anything to try to gain an advantage."
"Good. I'll call Vinny. This summer is our last chance to have fun before we have to enter the real world of work."
I opened the door. "If you go to the beach, use plenty of sunblock."
"You won't recognize me on Monday. I may not look Lebanese, but in a couple of days I'll be able to pass for an Israeli."
I COULD HEAR THE TV BLARING when I entered the house. I peeked into the den. The TV might be on, but that didn't mean she was watching it. Mrs. Fairmont's eyes were closed. She tried to maintain a schedule, but I'd learned that even though she went to bed early, her sleep patterns were irregular. Twice when I'd come upstairs to the kitchen in the night, she had been awake watching TV. Flip didn't seem to mind. He matched his sleep schedule to hers. The little dog barked and came over to me for a welcoming scratch behind the ears.
"Mrs. Fairmont," I announced.
She stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and glanced in my direction.
"Who is it?" she asked with alarm in her voice.
"Tami Taylor. I'm staying with you this summer."
The older woman's lapses of short-term memory made my heart ache. I picked up Flip, who licked my chin.
"Flip knows me," I said as I let the tiny dog lick my chin. "I'm staying in the basement apartment and working for Mr. Braddock's law firm."
Mrs. Fairmont stared at me. Generally, it only took a few comments to tether her mind in reality.
"Where's Gracie?" she asked.
"Gone for the day."
"Did she let you in the house?"
"No ma'am." I held up a key. "Your daughter, Mrs. Bartlett, gave me a key."
Mrs. Fairmont pushed herself up from the chair. "I'm going to call Christine this minute. She has no right giving out keys to strangers!"
I deposited Flip on the floor. This was the most serious spell of confusion I'd witnessed.
"What do you want me to do while you call her?"
"Wait on the front steps would be the polite thing to do," she answered curtly as she walked unsteadily toward the kitchen. "Proper young women don't barge into a house uninvited."
"Yes ma'am."
Keeping the key in my hand in case she locked the door behind me, I retreated toward the front of the house, but I positioned myself by the hallway door in the green parlor so I could hear the conversation in the kitchen. I wasn't sure whether Mrs. Fairmont would remember Mrs. Bartlett's phone number. There was silence for several seconds, then I heard Mrs. Fairmont begin talking to someone about her house key. After a couple of sentences she stopped talking.
"Yes, I took my medicine," she said. "Gracie always gives it to me."
A longer period of silence followed.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "Samuel Braddock?"
After a shorter silence, she said, "No, I can take care of myself"
I heard her hang up the phone. I quickly moved through the foyer and outside to the front steps. I waited, praying that Mrs. Fairmont had regained connection with reality. The front door opened. She stared at me again.
"Christine says you're staying here so you might as well come inside, but I don't want you telling me what to do."
"I'm here to help."
Mrs. Fairmont turned and walked away. I stood in the foyer and watched her climb the stairs to the second floor without looking back. Flip followed her. I went into the kitchen and hit the Redial button on the phone. Mrs. Bartlett answered.
"What is it now?" she asked.
"It's Tami Taylor. I overheard your mother's phone call. She thought I'd gone outside, but I was listening from the parlor. I came in from work a few minutes ago, and she didn't recognize me. Usually, her confusion goes away after we talk for a minute or so, but this time it didn't. It's the worst spell she's had since I've been here."
"Where is she now?"
"Upstairs."
"No, I'm not!" a voice screamed behind me.
The sound startled me so violently that I dropped the phone. It hit the floor with a sharp crack. Flip barked and ran around the kitchen.
"Who are you talking to?" Mrs. Fairmont demanded with fire in her eyes.
"Your daughter, Christine," I managed.
I picked up the phone and handed it to her. "Here. Talk to her yourself"
Watching me with suspicious eyes, she put the phone to her ear. "Who is this?" she demanded.
I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but the expression on Mrs. Fairmont's face slowly changed. I stepped backward to the far side of the kitchen and waited. Mrs. Fairmont closed her eyes several times as she listened. I inched closer, fearing she might faint.
"Yes, yes," she said, followed by, "No, no."
She handed the phone to me. "Talk to her."
"Hello," I said.
"Has she calmed down?" Mrs. Bartlett asked.
"I think so."
"I can't drive into town tonight. Ken and I have a dinner engagement that has been on the books for months. She'll be all right in a few minutes. These things pass. It's even happened with Gracie."
"But what do I-"
"Call my cell phone or 911 if there is a true emergency, although if you're patient she'll be fine. You can take care of this. That's why I hired you. Good night."
The phone clicked off. Mrs. Fairmont was leaning against the counter with her eyes closed and her hand resting against the right side of her face. It was such a sad sight that the remaining tears I'd bottled up at the office when Julie attacked me gushed out in compassion. Mrs. Fairmont opened her eyes. The fire was gone. She looked tired.
"Why are you crying?" she asked.
"Because I care about you. I'm here to help you. The last thing I want to do is upset you."
"I don't feel well," she said.
"May I help you upstairs?"
She started shuffling toward the door. I followed behind her. Flip stayed out of the way but close to her feet. When she reached the steps, Mrs. Fairmont grasped the railing tightly as she climbed. Halfway up, she wavered, and I reached out my hand to steady her. She reached the landing at the top of the stairs, then walked slowly to her room. I followed.
"Here's the intercom, if you need me," I said, making sure it was still turned on. "I have one in the basement. Press the Call or Talk button, and I'll be here as soon as I can."
>
She sat on the edge of the bed. "What's happening to me?" she asked.
"You were confused."
She rubbed her temples. I noticed she was wearing shoes that didn't match.
"Why don't you lie down and rest?" I suggested.
She leaned back on the bed and closed her eyes. I gently removed her shoes and positioned a pillow under her head. The air-conditioning was on so I put a lightweight cotton throw over her legs and feet. I picked up Flip and put him on the bed. He curled up near her feet.
"I'll be back in a little while to check on you," I said, turning toward the door.
"You can sing a song now," she said softly.
I came closer to the bed. "What kind of song?"
"You know, the kind you sing every night before I go to sleep."
I thought back to some of the songs Mama sang to me when I was small. All of them had biblical themes.
"M right," I answered softly.
My brother Bobby was the best singer in our family, but I could carry a tune. I decided humming might be a good way to start. I leaned close to Mrs. Fairmont's head and began to hum a melody whose roots lay in the spirits of early Christian pioneers. Mrs. Fairmont's facial muscles relaxed. When I switched to words, she took a deep breath. In a few seconds, she was asleep.
I didn't stop.
I finished that song and started another. Mrs. Fairmont was unconscious, but I wasn't singing to her mind-the lyrics were intended for her spirit. I knelt on the floor beside her bed, continued through three songs, then tapered off to another hum. I finished by praying in a soft voice for healing, salvation, and blessing. When I lifted my head, Flip was watching me through a single, drooping eye. I slipped quietly from the room.
Several hours later, I came upstairs in my pajamas for a drink of cold water before going to bed. Mrs. Fairmont was sitting in the den watching the late-night news. I peeked in at her. An empty dinner plate was on a table beside her chair.
"Hello, Tami," she said when she heard me. "Did you have a good day at work?"
"It was challenging," I answered.
"You must have worked late. I had a long nap and feel much better. Gracie left supper, but your plate is still in the refrigerator."
I'd been so upset by the events earlier in the evening that my appetite had disappeared. "I may eat it tomorrow."
"That's fine. I'm going to bed after the news is over. Good night."
"Good night."
SATURDAY MORNING, Mrs. Fairmont was back to normal. I brewed her coffee and fixed a light breakfast that we ate at a table on the veranda that opened into the den. She didn't mention the chaos of the previous night, and I didn't see any benefit in bringing it up. While I watched her carefully spread orange marmalade to the edges of an English muffin, I thought about her irrational anxiety and felt a lump in my throat. Aging was part of life, but I wished people could leave earth in a blaze of glory like Elijah, not spiral down into pathetic incompetence.
"Are you all right?" Mrs. Fairmont interrupted my thoughts.
"Yes ma'am. Would you like another cup of coffee?"
"That would be nice."
I went to the kitchen. The doorbell chimed. Flip charged in from the veranda to warn the possible intruder of the dog's fierce presence. I followed him into the foyer and opened the door. It was Zach Mays with his motorcycle helmet under his right arm.
"I hope I'm not too early," he said.
"What are you doing here?"
"It's a nice neighborhood. May I come in? Did you just wake up?"
"No, I've already run four miles that included a quick trip by the office. The parking lot was empty at six thirty."
The young lawyer stepped into the foyer. "I'll be there later today but wanted to go for a ride before it gets too hot."
"Mrs. Fairmont is on the veranda. I'm getting her a fresh cup of coffee."
Flip, continuing to growl, circled Zach's feet.
"Will he bite?" Zach asked.
"I'm not sure. It's probably a good thing you're wearing boots."
Zach followed me into the kitchen. Together, we went to the veranda.
"Mrs. Fairmont, do you remember Zach Mays?"
The old woman extended her hand. "No, but it's good to see you again. Please sit down."
For the next thirty minutes, we enjoyed a pleasant conversation. Mrs. Fairmont asked Zach questions. She was mostly interested in people he'd met whom she knew. I didn't try to sort out the cast of characters. The intricacies of Savannah society seemed as complicated as Chinese history. At a pause in the discussion, Zach looked at me.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked.
"I'm not working today."
"I'm not talking about the office. I meant for a ride."
"On your motorcycle?"
"Make sure you wear a good helmet," Mrs. Fairmont said.
"I have an extra with me," Zach replied. "It's strapped to the bike."
"But I've never ridden a motorcycle." I paused. "And I don't have any jeans. I wouldn't feel comfortable behind you on the seat."
"You don't have to put your arms around my waist, and you can wear anything you like," Zach replied. "I have a sidecar. It's not much different than the fancy convertible you were driving, just a little bit closer to the ground."
"It sounds like fun," Mrs. Fairmont said. "Ferguson Caldwell used to own a motorcycle. He took me for a ride."
"I'm not sure," I said.
Zach held up his hand as if taking an oath. "I promise not to go any faster than you like. If you feel uncomfortable, we'll just go around the block, and I'll drop you off by the front door."
I was wearing a loose-fitting blue skirt and a white short-sleeved blouse. "I need to do the breakfast dishes," I said.
"I'll help," Zach volunteered.
"Go ahead, I'll be fine," Mrs. Fairmont added. "It's so pleasant out here this morning."
In the kitchen I studied Zach's face. "Why are you asking me to go for a ride?" I asked.
"I'll tell you later," he replied. "I promise."
There wasn't time to call my parents and get their counsel. I had to decide myself. My mind leaned toward no, but my mouth must have been connected to another part of me.
"Okay, but not long."
It only took a few minutes to clean up the kitchen. Zach loaded the dishwasher exactly the same way I did. I went downstairs, brushed my teeth, and tied my hair in a ponytail. I threw some things in a casual handbag. Zach and Mrs. Fairmont were on the veranda, continuing their conversation about Savannah.
"I'm ready," I announced.
"Have fun," Mrs. Fairmont said.
I followed Zach outside. Parked alongside the curb was a big black motorcycle with a sidecar attached to it.
"I thought you had a red motorcycle," I said.
"I do. This one belonged to my parents. It's twenty years old. I used to ride in the sidecar when I was a kid. That's when I fell in love with motorcycles. My father was going to sell it last year, so I bought it from him. I couldn't stand the thought of it leaving the family."
The passenger carrier had orange flames flickering along the side.
"You make it sound like a family heirloom."
"In a way, it is." He handed me a black helmet also decorated with the orange flame motif "This is my mother's helmet. It should fit."
I pulled the helmet over my head. It rested snugly against my ears. A plastic shield covered my face.
"It feels claustrophobic," I said, speaking extra loud so I could be heard.
"You'll be glad the first time a june bug crashes into your face at fifty miles an hour." Zach slipped on his helmet. "And you don't have to yell," he said in a voice that echoed inside the chamber. "There is a microphone connection embedded near the right corner of your mouth. It helps with the guided-tour portion of our ride."
"Testing, one, two, three," I said.
He tapped the side of his helmet and nodded. "I'll help you get settled in the sidecar."
He held out
his hand, but I ignored it and stepped in. As I sat down, I quickly slid my legs forward, making sure my knees remained covered. My feet barely reached the nose of the narrow car.
"It has plenty of legroom, doesn't it?" Zach asked.
"Like a limo." I reached down with my hands. "Where's the seat belt?"
Zach threw his right leg over the motorcycle seat. "There isn't one. If a motorcycle wrecks, staying attached to it isn't always the safest thing."
He started the motor and revved the engine. It caused the sidecar to vibrate. I couldn't believe I'd left the peace and safety of Mrs. Fairmont's veranda to sit a few inches off the ground beside a motorcycle operated by a man I barely knew.
"Ready?" Zach spoke in stereo into my ears.
I nodded grimly.
He looked over his shoulder at the street and pulled away from the curb. The first thing I noticed was the immediate sensation of speed. The street seemed to fly past.
"How fast are we going?" I shouted.
"About thirty. You don't have to yell. It might make me wreck."
Some of the streets in the historic district were in need of repair, and we bumped along for several blocks. The helmet limited my view so I turned my head from side to side. Everyone we passed stopped to stare. If the twins had been on the sidewalk and saw me ride past attached to a motorcycle and wearing a black helmet with orange flames on the side, they would have fainted.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To a smoother road."
We left the historic district and turned onto President Street Extension, a broader, four-lane highway. The motorcycle picked up speed, and I could feel the wind rushing past my arms and neck. Even though it felt fast, I noticed that Zach stayed in the slow lane, letting most of the cars pass us.
"How do you like it?" Zach asked.
"Better than the back of a pickup truck," I admitted.
We left the city behind, but both sides of the road were still marked by commercial development. We stopped at a light, and I looked at the street sign.
"Are we going to Tybee Island?"
"Yes. Have you been there?"
"No."
"Is that okay?"
Deeper Water Page 19
