Robert Whitlow - Deeper Water

"You're welcome."

I stopped by Mr. Carpenter's office. His secretary had made copies of the documents in the Folsom divorce file. Even at this early stage of the proceedings, it was thick enough to require a large, expandable folder. Carrying it with both hands, I returned to the library. Julie glanced up when I entered.

"Did Vince ask you out?" she asked.

I GAVE HER A STARTLED LOOK.

"Don't act so innocent," she responded. "Anyone with half a brain could tell he was interested in you."

"How?"

"Did he ask you out?" she repeated.

"He mentioned lunch, but I didn't commit."

"Yeah." Julie nodded with satisfaction. "He's nerdy but nice, and tall enough for you. The chemistry is explosive when two loners get together. I wondered about the scar on his hand. Do you think his whole body is scarred? Usually something like that is the result of a childhood burn. It may explain why he didn't play any sports."

"I'll let you ask him personal questions."

"Oh, he'll tell you when he's ready. Guys like him are waiting for a sympathetic ear to pour out their innermost thoughts and feelings."

"How can you be so sure?"

Julie sniffed. "My family spends a lot of time psychoanalyzing our relatives and friends. All the best psychiatrists are Jewish. It's part of our cultural DNA. Some study Freud and get a fancy diploma and charge hundreds of dollars an hour for what the rest of us do for free."

"Then why aren't you in medical school?"

"Organic chemistry, and I'm more of a talker than a listener. At least once a week, I want you to tell me to shut up."

"I don't tell people to shut up."

"You will if you want to help me become a better person. Plus, I'm bound to get on your nerves. We'll both need to regularly vent and clear the air." Julie pointed at the folder in my hand. "That looks heavy. Drop it on the table and let's see what's going on in the dirty corners of the Folsom household."

We spent the rest of the afternoon dividing our time between Julie's project and mine. The selfishness and sin that had brought the Folsom family to the place of breakup was depressing. I focused on the financial data. Julie read the file like it was a cheap romance novel.

"I can't believe what he did to her ownership in this company," I said as I reviewed the minutes from a corporate meeting. "He bought back her shares at a fraction of their fair market value."

"Shares that he gave her in the first place," Julie responded. "Folsom transferred the stock to his wife so she could put it up for collateral against a construction loan for the North Carolina mountain house titled in her name. Then, he let his mother-in-law stay in the house every summer for five years. Mr. Folsom is a prince who should be protected from his gold-digging wife."

A few minutes later I handed Julie a memo attached to a financial statement. "A wicked prince with a harem. He's paying five thousand dollars a month in child support for a little boy his wife doesn't know about."

Julie read the memo. "What a jerk! I guess it's better than dodging his responsibilities, but I'm not sure how Mr. Carpenter intends to camouflage those payments. The accountant labeled it `Miscellaneous Benevolence,' but that won't get Folsom through a deposition."

Mid-afternoon we switched to Julie's project. After an hour of online research, I helped her draft a memo about the competing parties' interests in the collateral. I located a Georgia Court of Appeals decision that really helped our position. No one else came into the library. Late in the day, Julie stood up and stretched.

"This is a good place to take a nap."

"Shut up and get back to work," I said from my place at the worktable.

Julie looked surprised.

"I wanted to get it out of the way," I said with a smile. "It's been hanging over me all afternoon."

Julie shook her finger at me. "That's not the way it works. It has to be said with feeling in the right context. I won't cater to your Protestant guilt trip."

"I've never told anyone to shut up in my life."

"There's a lot you've probably never done. This summer is going to be a space trip into the unknown."

I sat back in my chair. "Can I ask you something serious?"

"Yes, but only because you found the Paxton case."

I waited. Julie sat down across from me.

"Okay," she said. "I'm listening."

I put my hands against the edge of the table. "People are always trying to pressure me to do things that violate my Christian beliefs. When that happens it creates stress and awkwardness. Problems build my character, but I'd like to be able to relax around you and not have to defend myself all the time. Would you let me be who I am without trying to change me?"

Julie was silent for a moment. "Would you let me be who I am without trying to change me?"

I was caught. It was my privilege and duty to tell Julie about Jesus. My inner conflict couldn't be hidden from my face. Julie continued.

"Several Christians have tried to prove to me that Jesus is the Messiah and get me to pray to him. But it never made much sense to me. Jews don't try to convince everyone to agree with them. We rarely agree ourselves. It's the way life is lived, not the words spoken, that is important."

"That last part is the truth," I said.

"Okay. Do we have a deal? Neither of us tries to change the other."

I thought about my parents and what they would say. "No. I can't do that."

Julie stared at me for a second, then reached across the table and patted my hand. "Good. We'll have more fun if nothing is off-limits. I'll try to corrupt you, and you can try to convert me."

Ms. Patrick came into the library. "Mr. Carpenter left the office for a meeting earlier this afternoon and asked me to check on you at the end of the day."

Julie told her what we'd done, giving me extensive credit for helping her.

"That's good," Ms. Patrick replied. "I told Mr. Carpenter you were working together, and he gave his permission. However, the lawyers will also want to see how you handle assignments on your own." She looked at her watch. "You can leave anytime after five o'clock. It's five thirty now, so be on your way."

"Can we leave our work in here?" I asked.

"Yes. We're in the process of creating a cubicle space for both of you on the second floor if you want it, but this is a better research environment."

Ms. Patrick left. Julie and I put everything back in our files. It seemed like I'd been at the firm a week, not a day.

"Do you want to grab a beer?" Julie asked when we finished. "There are several nice pubs along the river. I'll buy the first round."

"No, thanks," I replied nonchalantly.

"That would have been a good place to say shut up," Julie responded. "You'll catch on."

We reached the reception area. Julie headed toward the door. I hesitated at the base of the stairs. Julie turned around.

"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."