Deeper Water (9 page)

"Both of them. She had very nice things to say about Mr. Braddock."

"He's a true Southern gentleman. Will you arrive in time on Friday to visit the office?"

"I'm not sure. What time do you close?"

"Five thirty."

"No, it will be later than that when I get into town. Is the office open on Saturdays?"

"Most of the associates show up, but the doors are locked. I'd rather you come when I can give you a proper tour and introduction to the attorneys and staff."

"That makes sense." I paused before continuing. "If staying with Mrs. Fairmont doesn't work out, I'd like to look for another place to live while I'm in town."

"Of course. I'll send you contact information for Lynn Bynum, the location agent the firm uses. She knows what's available in any price range. Don't be bashful about asking for help. We send Lynn plenty of paying business."

Ms. Patrick seemed to have resolved her reservations about my receiving the job offer without her input. Perhaps she was a churchgoer.

"Julie Feldman mentioned Ms. Bynum in her e-mail." I said.

"Yes. We're in synagogue and Hadassah together."

My eyes opened wide.

"That's nice," I managed.

"Let me know if I can help in any way."

THAT EVENING I CALLED HOME and unleashed a torrent of information upon Mama about all that had happened with Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett.

"What do you think?" I asked when I finished and took a deep breath.

"You're bumping up against the world in a new way," Mama said calmly. "The daughter sounds like a person who's looking for someone to do for her mother what she ought to be doing herself."

"Yes ma'am."

Mama rarely missed a chance to point out an example of American self-centeredness. When we studied other cultures in homeschool, I was amazed by the differences in attitudes toward relatives that existed between civilized countries and those considered more backward. Mama said sacrifice was in the Bible and the dictionary but not in most people's hearts.

"A free place to stay would be a blessing," she continued, "but you've got to ask the Lord if he is sending you to help this woman. His will is all that matters. If he's in it, you'll find the grace to withstand the pressure."

"Yes ma'am."

"Daddy and I will pray about it and let you know if the Lord shows us anything."

"Thanks. Any other news from home?"

"Not much. Ellie was the last one to find her note from you. She thought you might have forgotten about her, which made it that much sweeter when she found it under the stuff piled on her nightstand."

"Maybe that will convince her to clean more often."

We talked about the routine things of life for several more minutes before saying good night. Talking to Mama always gave me strength. My mind had been racing too much about the uncertainties in Savannah. With the sound of her voice in my thoughts and earplugs lodged firmly in my ears, I slept peacefully through the night.

I HURRIED HOME FROM CLASS on Friday and opened the curtain all the way so I had a clear view of the parking lot. I packed my suitcase and put everything nice I owned into a garment bag. I didn't want to make the final decision about what to wear until I was in Savannah. Each time a car entered the parking lot, I went to the window to see if I recognized it. Most of my neighbors were either students without much money or young people working marginal jobs. A white van with a magnetic car rental company sign on its side pulled into the parking lot. It was an unusual choice, but I was used to driving a van. I grabbed my wallet and went outside.

"I'm Tami Taylor."

"We're here with your car," the rental company employee said.

A silver convertible with the top down came around the corner of the building and pulled into a spot beside the van.

"Is that the car?" I asked, my mouth dropping open.

"Yeah. I need to see your driver's license, and we have some paperwork for you to sign."

The car had a white leather interior. I had trouble focusing on the forms. I skimmed the fine print prepared by a lawyer in a faraway office and signed at the bottom.

"What kind of car is it?" I asked.

"A new Jaguar. We got it in this week. You're the first person to lease it."

I glanced over my shoulder and saw that one of my neighbors was standing in his doorway watching.

"It's a rental car," I said.

"Sweet," he responded with a nod of his head. "Let me know if you need company. It'll drive better with someone in each seat."

I finished signing the paperwork. The man driving the van handed me a card.

"Call this number when you want us to pick up the car on Monday. It's got a tank of gas, but there's no need to return it full. That's included in the rental."

"Sweet," the neighbor in the doorway echoed. "You can take the whole complex out for a joyride."

I smiled awkwardly. The men from the rental company got in the van and left.

"My name is Greg Overton," my neighbor said, stepping forward. "I don't think we've met."

"I've talked with your girlfriend a few times. Where is she?"

Greg opened his arms. "Working at the pizza parlor. She doesn't get off until ten o'clock tonight. We've got plenty of time to take that beauty out for a spin. We could even go by and see her if you want to."

I brushed past him and continued toward my door. "I'm leaving town in a few minutes."

"Don't be in such a-," I heard before I shut my door.

I leaned against the door for a few seconds to compose myself I thought about the silver car and imagined myself behind the wheel. I put my hand to my mouth and began to giggle. In a few seconds, I was doubled over with laughter. The idea that I would be driving such an expensive automobile was so outlandish that I didn't know what to do but laugh.

I wished the twins were with me. They would scream with delight at the thought of riding in a convertible. The closest thing to a convertible they'd experienced was a quick trip around the yard in the back of Kyle's pickup truck.

I finished packing my suitcase. When I came outside with my suitcase and garment bag, there was a small crowd of people standing around the car.

"Are you the lawyer who lives here?" a teenage girl asked.

"I'm a law student."

"It looks like you've already won a big case," said an older man wearing a dirty T-shirt.

I pushed the button on the key that popped open the trunk. The trunk was large enough to swallow my luggage. I got in the car and started the engine.

"Buckle your seat belt," the girl called out.

I smiled at her. "Always."

I found the switch that raised the top and pressed it.

"No!" the girl yelled. "Drive with the top down."

The top closed over my head. After the expanse of the sky as my roof, the inside of the car seemed claustrophobic. I flipped the switch that returned the top to its boot. The boy waved when he saw me. I put the car in reverse.

When I stepped on the gas, the car rocketed out of the parking space. The crowd jumped back. I slammed on the brakes and jerked to a stop. Greg Overton laughed and pointed at me. I felt my face flush. I put the car in drive and drove gingerly across the parking lot.

As I crept along, the responsibility of operating such an expensive piece of machinery hit me. Even the slightest dent or ding would stand out like a broken leg. I stopped at the exit for the parking lot and waited until there wasn't a car in sight in either direction before pulling into the street.

The route out of town took me near the law school. I stopped at a light and heard someone call my name.

"Tammy Taylor! Is that you?"

It was one of the law students on my basketball team. She was standing on the sidewalk, waiting to cross the street. I waved nonchalantly.

"Hey, Donna."

"What a beautiful ride! When did you get it?"

"It's not mine. A man in Savannah rented it for me. I'm going down there for a weekend visit."

The girl's green eyes grew even bigger. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"He's not a boyfriend. He's married."

The light turned green, and I had to pull away before providing a more complete answer. In the rearview mirror I could see Donna staring after me. Our next game wasn't until Tuesday, and she would have plenty of time to broadcast erroneous information to others before I could provide the facts. I debated turning around, but when I looked again in my mirror, she was gone.

As I drove along the city streets, people on the sidewalk and other drivers turned to stare. I was used to stares for dressing differently, but this was a new kind of stare. Two college-age boys yelled at me, and a balding man in a Corvette nodded my way when I pulled up next to him at a traffic light. It was a relief to leave the city behind.

The route south from Athens led me through the heart of middle Georgia. I'd tied my hair in a ponytail that swirled in the breeze. I passed through several small communities. The most picturesque was Madison, a town spared the torch by Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman during his march to the sea after the destruction of Atlanta. The restored antebellum homes lining the main street of town seemed grander from my seat in the convertible. And I looked at the houses in a new way. My car would fit in perfectly parked in front of one of the fine old homes.

I reached the outskirts of Milledgeville, the early capital of Georgia, and pulled into a convenience store to buy a bottle of drinking water. When I got out of the car, I could see my reflection in the plate-glass window of the store. With my collared, short-sleeved blouse, kneelength skirt, and plain sandals, I looked totally out of place beside the stylish sports car. I took my hair out of the ponytail and shook it. Through the strands in front of my face, I saw a man walk out of the store and glare at me with a hostile look that scared me. I sat back down in the car, flipped the switch to raise the top, and locked the vehicle before entering the store.

When I came outside, the man was putting gas in a blue van that looked a lot like the one parked in our front yard in Powell Station. In the front passenger seat I saw a middle-aged woman with her hair in a bun and behind her several children hanging out the windows. It could have been my own family a few years earlier. The man saw me and clearly broadcast a message of judgment against a frivolous, sinful girl who shouldn't be driving a fancy convertible and shaking out her hair in front of a convenience store. Daddy would never have looked at someone the same way, but there were men in our church who would.

In a more subdued mood, I drove away from the store and merged onto the interstate. The next fifteen miles I spent my time praying that the lure of wealth and the things it offered wouldn't ensnare me in sinful pride and compromise.

The interstate deposited me directly into the downtown area of Savannah. I stopped and lowered the top of the car. No one paid attention to me as I drove slowly into the historic district. I'd read about Savannah's twenty-one squares and the restored homes and buildings surrounding them. But as I drove along, the information and images were jumbled in my memory. There would be plenty of time later for leisurely exploring on foot.

My destination was a massive postbellum residence near the home of Juliette Gordon Low, the founder of the Girl Scouts. The bed-andbreakfast was built by a confederate blockade-runner who served as inspiration for Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind. I slowed to a stop in front of the opulent three-story residence with iron railings in front of ornate windows. Carrying my own luggage, I entered the house where I was greeted by a stylishly dressed hostess.

"I'm Tami Taylor," I began. "I have a reservation."

"I'll have someone show you to your room. Mr. Bartlett made all the necessary arrangements"-the woman leaned forward-"includ- ing gratuities for the staff."

A porter who looked about the same age as my brother Kyle took my suitcase and garment bag. I followed him to the third floor where he opened the door to a very feminine room with high ceilings and a collection of antiques that surrounded a four-poster bed.

"The Mary Telfair room," he announced as he placed my suitcase on a stand. "It's decorated in Eastlake and named for the daughter of an early governor and plantation owner. The house is mostly vacant tonight, and I'll be glad to show you rooms appointed in Renaissance/Revival and French Empire, the architecture of the house itself. We also have a great wine selection."

Mama had taught me about art and classical music, and I could instantly recognize a Rembrandt and identify Beethoven within a few notes, but my knowledge about antiques and wine could be summarized on a 3 x 5 index card. Jesus made simple furniture and drank wine, but I'd never been around antiques, and no wine had ever touched my lips.

"You know a lot about antiques?" I asked.

He grinned. "I'm a senior at the Savannah School of Art and Design."

I reached for my purse. The young man held up his hand.

"No, it's taken care of I'll be downstairs until eleven o'clock tonight if I can give you a tour or help in any way. What time would you like turndown service?"

"What?"

"Someone from housekeeping will prepare your bed."

"I'm a country girl from the mountains," I answered with a smile. "I've never been in a place like this in my life."

The boy leaned forward. He had nice eyes. "Most people who pretend to be experts about antiques and fine wine make fools of themselves. I've studied a lot to learn a little."

"Thanks. I guess I'd like turndown service about ten o'clock."

I peeked into the bathroom. It had a claw-foot tub. The twins would have so much fun in a room like this. I eyed the queen-size bed. The three of us could spend the night together, so long as I slept in the middle to prevent pushing and arguing.

After all the excitement of the day, I felt tired. I pulled back the covers, lay down, and stared at the ceiling. Every detail of the room was a work of craftsmanship.

I dozed off and woke with a start. It was almost 9:00 p.m. I hurriedly made the bed so it would be ready for turndown service.