“Aren’t you leaving?”
“In a minute. I need to talk to Zach Mays about my criminal case.”
“It can wait.”
I glanced up the stairs, then followed Julie out the door. It was sticky hot.
“Can I give you a ride?” Julie asked. “Not to get you drunk along the river, but to the house where you’re staying.”
I didn’t relish a hot walk in my business clothes. “Thanks.”
Julie drove a new compact car. She had a yellow plastic flower taped to her dashboard. A scent wafted from it.
“It’s an air freshener,” Julie said when I reached out and touched it.
“Reminds me of the mountains.”
“Your new boyfriend is still working,” Julie said as we passed Vince’s car. “If the firm is only going to hire one new associate, you and I should probably consider this a summer vacation. Vince is a lock.”
“That’s a lot more likely than the boyfriend part.”
“How many serious boyfriends have you had?” Julie asked as she turned onto Montgomery Street.
“Less than you.”
That’s all it took. During the short ride to Mrs. Fairmont’s house, Julie told me more than I’d wanted to hear about her love life. She’d even been engaged for two months when she was a senior in college.
“But I caught him with one of my sorority sisters when he thought I was out of town for the weekend. That’s when I decided to go to law school.”
“Here it is,” I said, pointing to the curb.
“Cool,” Julie said, peering through the windshield. “I’m in a garage apartment. You’re in the mansion.”
“My apartment is in the basement,” I said. “But it’s very nice.”
Julie stopped the car. “Call me if you change your mind about grabbing a beer.”
I got out without responding and walked up the brick steps. I could hear Flip barking inside. Unlocking the door, I stepped into the foyer.
“Mrs. Fairmont. It’s Tami! I’m home.”
Saying the word home touched me in a soft place. This place wasn’t home, but the English language didn’t provide an alternative that fit. There was no response from Mrs. Fairmont. I checked both parlors then walked down the hall, past the kitchen, and to the den. The elderly woman was sitting in her chair, her eyes closed.
“Mrs. Fairmont,” I repeated.
She stirred in her chair and slowly opened her eyes. She appeared disoriented.
“I’m Tami Taylor,” I said. “I’m living in the basement apartment.”
“I know that,” Mrs. Fairmont replied, touching a tissue to her nose. “And you just finished your first day as a summer law clerk working for Sam Braddock’s firm. Gracie has fixed a nice supper for us, and while we eat, I want you to tell me all about it.”
There was a small pot roast with carrots and potatoes in the oven. It was still warm. A simple tossed salad was in a metal bowl in the refrigerator. I took out the food and fixed two plates while Mrs. Fairmont set the table in the dining room.
“What kind of dressing do you want on your salad?” I called out.
“French,” she responded.
I carried the food into the dining room. Mrs. Fairmont was already sitting in her seat with Flip on the floor beside her.
“What would you like to drink?” I asked reluctantly.
“Water with lemon would be nice.”
I brought two waters and joined her at the table.
“This has been a good day,” she said. “After Gracie finished straightening up the house, we spent the afternoon organizing some of my papers and memorabilia. Christine may throw everything away when I die, but at least she’ll know what she has. But all the work made me so tired that I fell asleep and didn’t hear you come in.”
“I didn’t want to startle you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s eat.”
“Could we pray first?” I asked.
Mrs. Fairmont returned her fork to its place. “Go ahead.”
I prayed a simple prayer of thanks for what we’d been able to accomplish and a blessing on Gracie for fixing our supper. The pot roast was fork tender and very juicy.
“Gracie was in a singing mood,” Mrs. Fairmont said as she nibbled a piece of carrot.
“What kind of songs?”
“Anything you want to hear. She knows show tunes from way before you were born, songs from her church, the blues. I accuse her of making up her own songs, but she won’t admit it. Flip follows her around the house when she’s singing. He doesn’t want to miss a note.”
The normalcy of Mrs. Fairmont’s thoughts and speech made me want to squeeze in as much conversation as possible. She had other ideas.