Robert Whitlow - Deeper Water

"I'll run downstairs and call you," I said.

I went to the basement and checked the white box beside my bed. I set it on the same channel and pressed the Call button. I heard it beep, but there wasn't any answer. I pressed the Talk button and spoke.

"Mrs. Fairmont, press the Talk button and say something if you can hear me."

I heard Flip barking.

"I'm here," she said.

"Now press the Call button," I said.

I waited a second, then heard the double beep signaling a call. I pressed the Talk button. "Hello."

"Hello," Mrs. Fairmont responded.

"We're connected." I hesitated a moment. "Could I say a goodnight prayer? My family does it every night when I'm at home."

There was a scratchy silence, and I wondered if I'd gone too far too fast.

"Are you praying?" Mrs. Fairmont said. "I can't hear you."

"No ma'am. If it's okay, I'll start now."

I said a simple prayer of thanksgiving and blessing.

"Good night," I said when I finished.

There was no response. The static of the intercom continued for a few seconds, then stopped.

I put on my pajamas, read Romans, and prayed. It had been a long time since my prayer list had grown so much in a single day. When I laid my head on the pillow the creaks and pops of the old house didn't disturb my sleep.

I LOVED ROUTINE, AND MY EARLY MORNING RUN PROVIDED A comfortable beginning point for the day. Savannah's historic district offered many interesting places to see, and I didn't want to settle into the same route. So, I included a longer loop along the river before climbing a set of ancient uneven steps to the plateau on which the city was built. I ran down Bay Street to Bull Street and turned into the heart of the town's old section. I went around some unfamiliar squares before winding my way back to Mrs. Fairmont's house.

Flip greeted me inside the door, but Mrs. Fairmont didn't make an appearance before I left for the office. I brewed coffee and left her a good morning note. My route to the office wouldn't vary. Shortest was best. I wore a casual khaki skirt, a blue blouse, and white sandals. The sandals were much more comfortable than the low heels I'd worn the previous day. I passed the same people walking their dogs and arrived at the office a few minutes before 8:00 a.m. The door was locked, and I slid my card to open it.

I went to the library, but Julie wasn't there. I picked up the folder for State v. Jones. The door opened. I glanced up, expecting Julie, but it was Vince Colbert.

"Good morning," he said. "Ready for another day?"

"Yes."

He handed me several sheets of paper. "My notes from the meeting with Gerry Patrick and a pictorial directory of the firm I put together from the website."

He'd cut and pasted every partner and associate's picture along with a brief personal summary and description of practice areas.

"Thanks, this is great. Do you have a copy for Julie?"

"I only did it for you, but I'll run another for Julie. Where is she?"

"Not here yet."

Vince glanced down at the floor. "Do you have lunch plans?"

It wasn't even 8:15 a.m.

"No, but don't you think we should be flexible in case one of the lawyers asks us out?"

"I'm flexible," he said, looking up. "Just let me know if you can't make it. I'll be working on a project for Mr. Appleby in the main conference room."

"Okay."

Vince left, and I went upstairs. The clerical staff was milling around, and I saw more coffee mugs than computer screens switched on. The door to Zach's office was closed. I knocked.

"Come in," a voice answered.

Zach, his tie loosened around his neck, was facing his computer. He was wearing the same clothes from the previous day.

"Have you been here all night?" I asked in surprise.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes. Strands of light brown hair had escaped from his ponytail. His eyes looked tired.

"Yeah. Sit down. I had to catch the Norwegians first thing Oslo time. One of their ships was scheduled to leave Gdansk in a few hours bound for New York or here. We just wrapped up a deal memo a few minutes ago to keep the business."

"Did Mr. Appleby stay up too?"

Zach smiled. "No, he talked to our client yesterday afternoon and gave me the guidelines I had to work within. The rest was left up to me."

It was a lot of responsibility. I looked at the young associate with new respect.

"Are you going home now?" I asked.

"For a few hours. Then I'll come back and draft the long form agreement. The deal memo is solid, but I'll feel better when everything is tied up."

"Did they agree to the right kind of arbitration clause?"

"You remembered. Yeah, any disagreements will be resolved through a dispute resolution firm of maritime experts based in London."

I started to leave.

"No, wait," he said. "Why did you come to see me?"

"I won't bother you. I wanted to talk to you about the case assigned to me yesterday at the luncheon, but it can wait."

"Let me see the file," he said.

I handed it to him. He read the charges.

"Moses Jones," he said. "Drawn out of the water by the local police and thrown in the pharaoh's prison. How many counts of trespassing?"

"Twenty-four."

Zach handed the file back to me.

"Should I file a motion for bond?" I asked.

"No, go to the jail and talk to Mr. Jones. They usually set bond in cases like this when the person is arrested. Advise him not to give a statement to the police." Zach yawned. "I could give more help if he'd been abducted from a Portuguese freighter in the Malaysian Straits. We have a firm that knows the exact amount of ransom to offer. I just don't have time to do much with you until I catch a break in my caseload. Until then, you're on your own."

I left Zach's office hurt and confused. When I returned to the library, Vince was giving Julie her copy of the materials he'd prepared for me. Julie was wearing black slacks and a tight-fitting top. She smiled when I entered.

"You should have gone with me last night," she said. "There was a great blues band at one of the clubs along the river."

She turned to Vince. "Vinny, does blues music make you happy or sad? I think it can go either way. For me, hearing about someone else's problems puts my own in perspective. But it makes one of my friends sadder."

Vince glanced down at his laptop and didn't answer.

"Isn't it the same with Southern gospel music?" Julie asked me. "You know, lyrics describing life as a peach pit until Jesus spits it out so that it can grow into a tree that reaches to heaven."

I wanted to tell Julie to shut up, but before I spoke, I saw a spark in her eyes that let me know she was baiting me.

"That's the worst idea for a song I've ever heard," I responded. "And you're confusing the Gospel of Matthew with `Jack and the Beanstalk.' I'm not a big fan of Southern gospel music, but it's nothing like the blues. In Southern gospel, hardships are real, but sorrow is not the final destination."

"That's poetic," Vince said.

"I need to get to work," Julie said, rolling her eyes. "You can continue the music theory discussion without me."

"I'll check with you about eleven thirty," Vince said, moving toward the door.

After he left, Julie turned to me. "Sounds like a lunch date. Did he call you last night and ask you to go out with him today?"

"No, first thing this morning."

"I may be wrong about gospel music, but I know men. All the world's greatest matchmakers are Jewish."

"That's why I'm praying to Jesus and asking him to find the right husband for me. You know Jesus is Jewish, don't you?"