Deeper Water (17 page)

Soon after he arrived, Moses was given the task of emptying all the trash cans in the building. It took two hours, twice a day, to complete his rounds pushing a gray plastic buggy through the cell blocks, bathrooms, offices, and food service areas. He often hummed softly to himself while he worked. All the wasted food bothered him. When he cooked at his shack by the river, he never had any leftovers except skin and bones.

Moses dumped the trash into a large container behind the dining hall. When he went outside, he always peeked through the fence at his boat. It was in exactly the same place, chained to a light pole. The chain comforted him. It was a shiny new one, much stronger than the one he owned, and it would be hard for anyone to steal the boat. Some of the cars in the lot only stayed a night. Others had been there since the first time Moses peered through the fence.

Two days after his arrest, Moses talked to a young black detective for a long time. He told him about the faces in the water. The detective listened and wrote things down on a sheet of paper. He refused to tell Moses when he might be released to go home. Weeks passed. The old man felt as if he'd been dropped into a hole in the bank of the river and forgotten. His soul needed to sing, but there wasn't a solitary place to do it.

At least he had plenty to eat. The meat dishes weren't as tasty as fresh fish dipped in cornmeal and fried in a skillet over a kerosene fire, but institutional food kept away hunger. Dessert was the best part of the meals. Moses only had a few teeth left in his mouth, but he joked that all of them were sweet.

I WOKE UP EARLY and quietly left the house for a morning run. Included in my loop was a jog past Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter. I slowed my pace as I passed the office. It was barely light outside, and there weren't any cars in the parking lot. I remembered my prayer a few weeks earlier in Powell Station.

"Make this a place of praise," I said.

I enjoyed a burst of energy as I ran around Forsyth Park and back to Mrs. Fairmont's house. There was no sign of Mrs. Fairmont. I drank two glasses of water and took a banana downstairs. I sat at the wrought-iron table outside my bedroom, ate the banana, and prayed.

After I showered, I put on my blue suit. The first day of work was a time to look my best. With my hair spilling past my shoulders, the only thing out of ordinary about my appearance was the absence of makeup. I applied just enough lipstick to slightly enhance the color of my lips.

When I went upstairs Mrs. Fairmont wasn't in the den or the kitchen. I approached the bottom of the stairs and looked up. It didn't feel right leaving the house for the day without telling her good-bye. I put my foot on the first step and debated whether to go upstairs. I didn't want to invade Mrs. Fairmont's privacy. Flip appeared at the top of the stairs and looked down at me.

"Is she awake?" I whispered.

I heard a door close.

"Mrs. Fairmont," I called out. "Good morning. It's Tami."

The elderly woman appeared, wearing an elegant green robe and slippers. Her hair looked like it hadn't been brushed. She blinked her eyes and peered down the stairs.

"Where's Gracie?" she asked. "Are you her helper?"

"No ma am. I'm Tami Taylor. You're letting me live in the basement apartment this summer while I work for Mr. Braddock's law firm."

Mrs. Fairmont rubbed the side of her face. "My mind is foggy this morning."

"I'm leaving for work in a few minutes. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Did you make the coffee?"

"No ma'am. Would you like some?"

"That would be nice. Cream and sugar."

Mrs. Fairmont shuffled away from the top of the stairs. Flip followed her. I went into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. I checked the clock. I wanted to get to the office promptly at 8:00 a.m. and wasn't sure exactly how long it would take to get there on foot. I didn't want to be late, but I was living in the house to serve Mrs. Fairmont's needs. I watched the coffee begin to drip into the bottom of the pot. While I waited, I wrote a note that I left on the kitchen counter, thanking Gracie for renovating the downstairs apartment and telling her how much I looked forward to meeting her.

As soon as enough coffee dripped down, I poured a cup and added cream and sugar. I held the cup carefully while climbing the stairs. Halfway up, I thought about the spilled coffee incident in the blue parlor and had to fight off a giggle that threatened to cause the brown drink to slosh over the edge of the cup. I made it to the top of the stairs and knocked on the door frame of a room with the door cracked open. A bark from Flip confirmed that I'd found Mrs. Fairmont's bedroom. I slowly entered.

"It's Tami. I've brought your coffee," I announced. "With cream and sugar."

Mrs. Fairmont was sitting up in bed with pillows behind her. Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was filled with beautiful furniture. The bed had four massive posters and an ornate headboard. A tall bookcase filled with books stood against one wall. Against another wall was a long dresser with a large mirror above it. The top of the dresser was covered with family pictures. On the corner of the dresser was an old black-and-white photograph of a bride in a long elaborate gown and a groom wearing a tuxedo.

"Sorry, child. I was confused a minute ago," Mrs. Fairmont said. "I wasn't really awake. You're the young woman with twin sisters who have blue eyes."

"Yes ma'am," I replied, surprised at her recall of such a small detail. "Where should I put the coffee?"

"On the nightstand."

I set the cup in front of a picture of two girls in old-fashioned dresses.

"Who is that?" I asked.

Mrs. Fairmont turned her head. "That's Ellen Prescott and I at Forsyth Park. She came from a poor family but received a scholarship to my school. It was Ellen's little daughter who was murdered. She had blue eyes, just like your sisters. They never found the body."

I involuntarily shuddered. "How old was she when she died?"

"About ten or eleven. Ellen married late in life to a man with a lot of money and never had another child. She and her husband died in a car wreck a few years later."

Mrs. Fairmont reached over and raised the cup to her lips. Her right hand shook slightly, but she didn't spill a drop.

"That's good coffee for decaf," she sighed. "Thank you."

I moved away from the bed. "I'm leaving for my first day of work at Mr. Braddock's law firm. I'll see you this afternoon."

"Run along. With Flip's help, I'll try to hold on to my sanity."

I STOPPED FOR A LAST GLANCE at myself in the mirror in the green parlor. I looked appropriately professional and resolute. I practiced a quick smile that left me unsatisfied. People complimented me on my smile, even though the right corner of my lip curled up slightly higher than the left. I turned away from the mirror before a vain thought lodged in my brain.

The early morning sun served notice that it would be warm by the end of the day. I walked briskly down the steps and turned in the direction of the law office. My shoes didn't have high heels, but it was different from navigating the uneven sidewalks in running shoes. My feet crushed acorns left from the previous year's crop. I noticed details that had escaped me during my morning run. All of the houses were old, but there was remarkable variety in the use of brick or wood, the shape and placement of windows, the design of the front doors, and countless other nuances. I didn't try to take it all in at once. I knew that by the end of the summer, the walk to work would be as familiar to me as the woods on the west side of our house in Powell Station.

I passed a man walking his dog and two joggers running in the opposite direction. I crossed several intersections and reached Montgomery Street. The law office was several blocks from the Chatham County Courthouse, a modern structure uninfluenced by the beautiful area nearby. Traffic was busier on Montgomery Street, and when I reached Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter, my heart began to pound in my chest. A few cars were in the parking lot.

"Make this a place of praise," I began to repeat under my breath.

I knew the prayer was right, but it didn't send peace to my heart. I'd felt less nervous trying to make a crucial free throw at the end of a conference tournament basketball game. I took a deep breath when I reached the front door and opened it.

The receptionist sat to the right of the sweeping staircase. My low heels clicked on the wooden floor.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Tami Taylor, one of the summer clerks," I said, hoping my voice didn't shake. "I'm here to see Ms. Patrick."

The receptionist spoke to someone on the phone.

"Have a seat," she said to me. "She'll be down in a few minutes."

I sat in a wooden chair with curved arms and legs. The front door of the office opened, and a young woman entered. It was Julie Feldman, also dressed in a dark suit and white blouse. Without noticing me, she approached the receptionist. Julie was shorter than I'd imagined from the pictures sent via the Internet and a lot cuter. Her black hair was cut short. The receptionist pointed in my direction. Julie's eyes met mine, and she smiled. She sat down on a leather couch beside my chair and introduced herself

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Me too. I've talked to two of my friends who have been working for a week at big law firms in Atlanta. They told me not to treat it like summer camp. Their firms don't want them to get bored, and the partner in charge of summer clerks has a bunch of activities planned to keep them entertained. I told them Atlanta may be different from Savannah."

Julie spoke rapidly, her dark eyes alert.

"All I know is that we're going to a luncheon today with the lawyers," I replied. "Ms. Patrick says it may be the only time all the partners are with us."

Julie nodded. "I've talked to her a bunch. Mr. Carpenter told me to meet with her this morning."

I wondered why I'd not received personal contact from the senior partner. Perhaps it was because I was a fill-in.

"What's he like?"

"Okay, I guess. He came to the law school for an interview day. I didn't think he liked me, but then I got the job offer. Did you find a place to live?"

I told her about Mrs. Fairmont's house.

"You're not far from my place near Greene Square. We'll have to go out together some at night."

My defenses flew up. "It depends on Mrs. Fairmont's condition. Staying at her house is actually a second job."

"What do you mean?"

"She has health issues," I replied, not wanting to give details that Mrs. Bartlett might want to remain private.

Julie lowered her voice. "Maybe you can sneak out after hours. I've already been to River Street twice. It's a lot of fun."

A middle-aged woman with dark hair and reading glasses on a chain around her neck came down the stairs and introduced herself. It was Gerry Patrick. Ms. Patrick was the same height as Julie. She gave Julie a quick hug and shook my hand.

"Did you move in yesterday?" she asked me crisply.

"Yes ma'am. Mrs. Fairmont completely renovated the downstairs apartment."

"That's good to hear. Let's go to a conference room. Vince Colbert is already here this morning. He's working on a project for Mr. Braddock."

When Ms. Patrick turned away, Julie leaned over and whispered, "Vince must be a gunner."

We went into one of the plush downstairs conference rooms Zach had shown me during my first visit. Ms. Patrick sat at the end of the table and offered us coffee or water. She then pushed the intercom button on the phone.

"Deborah, send Vince into conference room two."

I crossed my ankles under the shiny table. Opposite me was a massive oil painting of a harbor scene from the early nineteenth century. I could see bales of cotton piled on a wharf in front of a row of sailing ships. Scores of people filled the scene. The detail in the painting would have taken a long time to create.

"Is that Savannah?" I asked.

"Yes," Ms. Patrick said. "Mr. Braddock lets the art museum keep it for a year then brings it back to the office for twelve months."

The door to the conference room opened and a tall, lanky young man with wavy brown hair and dark eyes came into the room. He was wearing a dark blue sport coat, gray slacks, white shirt, and burgundy tie. He was carrying a very thin laptop computer in his right hand.

"Vince, meet Julie Feldman and Tami Taylor," Ms. Patrick said.

When I shook the male clerk's hand, I noticed a large, rectangularshaped scar on it. The skin was oddly wrinkled and lacked pigment. I quickly glanced up. His eyes were on my face. He released his grip and sat on the opposite side of the table with his right hand out of sight.

"Vince already knows what I'm going to tell you," Ms. Patrick began. "But Mr. Carpenter wanted the three of you to have a sense of starting together."

She distributed cards that would give us access to the building twenty-four hours a day and rapidly outlined a lot of details about office procedures: names of support staff and their job duties, locations of copy machines and the codes to input when using them, Internet research policies, areas of specialty for each of the lawyers, and office schedules. Vince's fingers flew across the keyboard. Neither Julie nor I had anything to write on. Ms. Patrick didn't seem to notice.

"Will all this be included in an information packet or should I take notes?" I asked when she paused.

"You can copy my notes," Vince replied.

He slid the computer across the table. Julie and I leaned in and looked at the screen. He'd typed in almost every word on a template that made it look like a corporate flow chart.

"That works for me," Julie said.

"I don't own a laptop computer," I said, trying not to sound whiny. "Does the firm supply one?"

"Not for summer clerks," Ms. Patrick replied. "The younger lawyers bring one to meetings, but most partners don't. It's a generational difference."

I concentrated hard through the rest of the meeting. At least my memory, forged in the front room of the house in Powell Station, went with me everywhere. And it never needed rebooting.