Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love (20 page)

“Who do you want to be around?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Zach swallowed the last bite of his ice-cream cone and pulled a piece of vine from the post beside him. “The first time we came here I said you’re the type of girl who deserves the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Do you remember that?”

“Yes.”

“Does that work both ways?”

“Yes.”

It was Zach’s turn to look me in the eyes. “Is there another issue between us besides our disagreement about the job? And I’m not thinking about Sister Dabney’s influence on you.”

As soon as Zach spoke, I knew what he meant. My mouth went dry.

“Vince?”

Zach nodded. “He’s been interested in you since your first week in Savannah. I thought you made up your mind between the two of us when you took me to visit your parents, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel you pushing me away. I thought the reason behind the courtship approach was to encourage two people to focus on each other, not play the field.”

“I’m not playing the field.”

“But you’ve thought about it.”

“People have thoughts,” I answered defensively. “But that doesn’t mean they’re going to act on them. Vince came to see me in Athens in January, and we went to dinner and talked about his trip to Rwanda. That’s it. Since then, we’ve not seen each other except at the bar exam and here in Savannah when you’ve been there, too.”

I didn’t know how to deal with Zach’s new insecurity.

“Have you talked to anyone about this?” he asked.

“What?”

“You, me, Vince.”

I swallowed. “Yes. It’s come up with Mrs. Fairmont and Julie. Mrs. Fairmont’s comments are mostly a by-product of her confusion. Julie’s been dishing out soap-opera logic, not Godly counsel.”

“But not with your parents?”

“Maybe a little bit. I’m not sure.”

Zach looked skeptical.

“Look,” I responded more sharply. “This isn’t a deposition transcript in which I can check everything that I’ve said over the past year. Have you talked to Vince? That’s the most important question.”

“Vince is a friend, a good friend.”

“And?” I asked after waiting a few moments.

“We’ve talked, and we’re waiting on you. You’re going to have to decide. It’s as simple as that.”

The idea of the two men sitting around analyzing my feelings over a cup of coffee suddenly made me furious. I felt my jaw set.

“I’m sure you’ve had some fascinating conversations. Are you giving me a deadline?”

“No. This isn’t a brief to the court of appeals. But it’s a lot more important to me. To us.”

I stood and brushed away a few stray pieces of marsh grass from my skirt.

“I’d like to go home. It’s already darker out here than I thought.” We rode back to Mrs. Fairmont’s house in total silence. Zach could be maddening. And he’d enlisted Vince in the latest effort to irritate me. When we stopped in front of Mrs. Fairmont’s house, I resisted the urge to rip off the helmet, jump out of the sidecar, and run to the door. Instead, I deliberately, if not gracefully, got out of the sidecar and handed Zach the helmet. He still straddled the motorcycle with the engine running.

“Will you take off your helmet?” I asked.

He flipped up the face shield. I started to speak but couldn’t figure out what to say.

“Bye,” I said.

“After you calm down, we’ll talk,” he replied.

It was such a condescending response that I was thankful when he immediately lowered the face shield and pulled away from the curb. I trudged up the walk to the front door and went inside. All the lights were off, an indication that Mrs. Fairmont and Flip were upstairs. I went downstairs to my apartment and flopped down on the bed. When my mind stopped racing, I couldn’t deny that I’d secretly considered whether I’d be more compatible in the long run with Vince than Zach. And if marrying the wrong person was the greatest mistake a person could make in life, destroying the chance to marry the right one had to be a close second. Combining the two sins would be a deadly potion from which there could be no recovery.

As I lay on the bed in frustration a third, less toxic option for my future floated to the surface. I grabbed my Bible and turned to 1 Corinthians
chapter 7
. If a male-female relationship could be this stressful and traumatic, it made the prospect of a celibate life as recommended by the apostle Paul more attractive. Along that path my primary concern wouldn’t be what someone else thought about me, but how I could love God and others with my whole heart, mind, soul, and strength.

After I put on my pajamas, I drank a glass of water, turned on my laptop, and prepared to write down some of my thoughts. Remembering Mrs. Fairmont’s prayer journal, I typed “Greater Love” at the top of the page.

T
O MY SURPRISE,
J
ULIE’S CAR WAS IN THE PARKING LOT AT WORK
when I arrived the following morning. I used my shiny new key to let myself in and went immediately to her office. Her door was closed. I knocked lightly.

“Come in!” she said.

I cautiously peered inside. “Are you okay?”

Julie was dressed up in a dark suit with papers spread across the desk in front of her.

“Better than okay,” she announced cheerily. “I knew there had to be a case on point, and I just found it. Were you praying for me without knowing how much I needed it?”

“No.”

Julie stuck out her lower lip. “I thought you prayed for me every morning before you ate your cereal.”

“Most days, I do.”

“Relying on myself, without divine assistance,” Julie continued, “I discovered a 1955 Court of Appeals decision that nails the other side to the wall in the hearing I have this morning.” Julie began pulling together the papers on her desk. “Now, I have time to drink a third cup of coffee and enjoy it.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “I guess I’d better get busy.”

“Hold on, Ms. Associate Attorney. First of all, your new laptop arrived. It’s sitting on your desk, so you can stop using your personal computer. And, I expect a detailed report about the midnight motorcycle ride and sloppily shared ice-cream cone. I hope you took my advice and got the sherbet.”

“Yes, I did.”

“And?” Julie asked, slipping her papers into a file. “That’s not enough. One scoop or two?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Julie stopped and stared at me. Tears that had not been a part of the previous night’s agenda threatened to burst forth. I desperately held them at bay and backed away from the door.

“Don’t hold out on me,” Julie said.

I fled across the hall to my office and closed the door. For the first time, I noticed the knob didn’t have a lock. The door opened, bumping into me.

“Sorry,” Julie said. “But you have to talk to me. It will drive me crazy if I don’t know what’s wrong. I won’t be able to focus during my hearing, and my client may lose his liquor license.”

“Liquor license?”

“It’s an oddball case Maggie decided not to hand off to you. But don’t use that as an excuse to change the subject. What happened with Zach? That ponytail of his may be wavy and soft, but under-neath that skull he’s a tough guy.”

“I can’t joke about this.” I sniffled.

“Okay. No teasing allowed. Please talk to me.”

I hesitated.

“You know I care about you,” she continued, her face serious. “You’re so innocent and inexperienced that I want to help. What happened?”

“Zach brought up Vince.”

“Uh-oh.”

“They’ve talked about me, us, them, and decided I have to choose.”

Julie sat down in the single chair across from my desk.

“Did you try to deny it?”

“What? That I’ve thought about Vince and me?” She nodded. I shrugged.

“It caught me off guard. Because I’m courting Zach, I’ve tried not to think about Vince that way. It’s Zach’s fault for bringing it up.”

“Of course, it’s always the man’s fault.” Julie paused. “But it’s always the woman’s job to fix it.”

“I have the answer,” I replied.

“Really?”

“Yes, celibacy.”

“Excuse me,” Julie answered, her eyes wide. “Could you spell that?”

“You know what I mean. There’s nothing wrong with singleness. In fact, the Bible recommends it.”

“The Bible also says not to eat shellfish. That hasn’t stopped you from eating an entire shrimp cocktail appetizer by yourself.”

“We’re not talking about dietary laws. This has to do with devotion to the Lord without the distractions of a spouse.”

“You’d become a nun?”

“No. It’s just a thought I had last night after Zach brought me back to the house. It’s something I ought to consider. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“And I’m not sure I want to. Here’s what I think.” Julie leaned forward and spoke rapidly. “I’ve joked with you about Vinny following you around with puppydog eyes, but I’ve always thought Zach was a more intriguing match for you. Not that you should necessarily marry Zach, but he stretches and challenges you. Vince would be supportive and kind, but I think you need your pot stirred, not put on the back burner with a lid on it.”

“Huh?”

“That came out fast, but you get the point. They are two very different guys, but each is awesome in his own way. Most girls would give up a no-limit shopping spree in New York for a choice like yours.” Julie looked at her watch. “Look, I’ve got to get on the road to Brunswick County for my hearing. When I get back later today, I want you to tell me you’re over this celibacy nonsense and ready to get back in the game. Isn’t that what they call repentance?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then call it whatever you need to.”

M
ID-MORNING,
S
HANNON BUZZED ME.
I
PRESSED THE INTERCOM
button.

“Ms. Coutts, the court administrator, is on line one.”

I picked up the phone. “This is Tami Taylor.”

“Ms. Taylor, do you know a woman named Ramona Dabney?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s what she told Judge Cannon. He’d like to see you in his chambers in thirty minutes.”

“What’s this about?”

“The judge will discuss it with you. Can you be here?”

I had nothing on my morning calendar except research and figuring out whether I ever wanted to get married.

“Yes, ma’am, I can come.”

“Good. I’ll let him know he can expect you in half an hour.”

I slowly lowered the phone to its base. Sister Dabney could get into trouble in innumerable ways. A bit of advance warning about the type of problem the woman preacher had created could be a big help when meeting with the judge. I picked up the phone and entered the number for Sister Dabney’s house. No answer. I tried the church. Nothing, not even an answering machine message. My heart sank at the most obvious possibility. I called the jail.

“Has a woman named Rachel Ramona Dabney been arrested or cited for a criminal violation in the past few days?” I asked, trying to sound professional.

“Just a minute, please.”

While on hold, I had to admit that I knew this day would come. It would have been better after I had a few years’, not a few weeks’, experience as a lawyer. But Sister Dabney waited for no one’s permission to act. As I waited, I only hoped there might be a First Amendment religious freedom argument to justify her conduct. It would take both the Constitution and the Bible to counter whatever she’d done. Finally, the woman came back on the line.

“No, we have no record of an arrest for anyone named Dabney within the past six months.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Stymied, I hung up the phone and resigned myself to having to wait until entering Judge Cannon’s chambers to discover the legal quagmire the woman preacher had fallen into.

I
ARRIVED AT THE COURTHOUSE WITH NOTHING BUT AN EMPTY
folder. As the senior member of the bench, Judge Cannon’s chambers were on the second floor in a corner office conveniently close to the main courtroom. In the waiting area I encountered a woman with gray hair sitting at a secretarial desk leafing through a file. There was no sign of Sister Dabney. I walked up to the woman’s desk.

“I’m Tami Taylor. Judge Cannon wanted to see me about a—”

“Go in.” The woman motioned toward a large door beside her desk. “He just got off the phone. Don’t wait for him to answer.”

I knocked softly on the door then entered. Judge Cannon was sitting behind a large desk. Law books lined one wall, a sign the judge still performed some of his legal research the old-fashioned way. The white-haired judge looked up with a scowl on his face. Up close, his white eyebrows were bushy enough to be hedge trimmers. He made a loud sniffing noise and cleared his throat.

“Ms. Taylor, have a seat.”

I sat in a wooden chair in front of his desk and crossed my feet at my ankles. The judge reached for a thin file on the corner of his desk.

“Tell me what you know about Rachel Ramona Dabney.”

It was a broad question.

“Do you know who I’m talking about?” the judge growled when I didn’t immediately answer. “She claims to know you.”

“Yes, sir. I met her last summer when I was clerking for Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter. She was the defendant in a defamation case Mr. Carpenter filed for a client named Jason Paulding.”

The judge nodded. “The man who is cooperating with the federal authorities in Miami?”

“Yes, sir. You heard a motion for summary judgment. Partway through the hearing Mr. Carpenter dismissed—”

“That’s it. I remember,” the judge said, interrupting me. “I knew I’d seen this woman before but couldn’t place her. A lot of people have passed through my courtroom during the past thirty years. I can’t be expected to remember all of them.”

“Yes, sir.”

The judge glanced down at the open folder on his desk.

“Do you know a young woman named Jessie Whitewater?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re about to,” the judge grunted. “I’m appointing you to represent Ms. Whitewater, who may or may not be a juvenile. She claims to be eighteen, but the intake worker at the Department of Family and Children Services thinks she looks fourteen or fifteen. DFACS considers her a runaway and wants me to treat her as a minor until proven otherwise. She was picked up by the police on a burglary charge after breaking a window at a store on Maxwell Street and stealing a bag of donuts.”