WHEN DADDY ARRIVED, I THREW OPEN THE DOOR OF THE apartment and ran out to greet him before he turned off the motor. I threw my arms around his neck as soon as his feet touched the asphalt.
“Well, that’s a nice welcome,” he said.
“It’s good to see you, Daddy,” I said. “Sorry about what I’m putting you through.”
He kissed the top of my head in the usual spot.
“Don’t mention it again. Let’s get your ox out of the ditch and load him on the truck.”
All the stuff going to Powell Station was loaded in the front of the truck. To the rear was the furniture I would use in Mrs. Fairmont’s basement apartment, my summer clothes, pots, pans, and dishes, toiletries, and books to occupy my free time in the evenings. Daddy’s foot was bothering him, so I jumped in and out of the truck to arrange the load. When we finished, Daddy tied a blue tarp over the top of the pile and lashed it down.
“There’s a chance of rain this afternoon as we get near the coast,” he said.
WE LEFT TOWN and followed the same route I’d taken to Savannah. Being with Daddy, my spirits lifted. I liked riding with him in Kyle’s truck ten times better than driving an expensive convertible with the top down. As we rolled along, I asked question after question about the family.
“Bobby starts at the chicken plant tomorrow,” Daddy said.
“Is he going to be an eviscerator?”
“No, it wouldn’t be good to throw him in with all those ladies. He’s going to work on the loading dock.”
“Coming in or going out?”
Dealing with frozen dead birds in cardboard cartons was much easier than the noise and stench of the live ones in wire-mesh crates.
“Coming in,” Daddy replied.
Kyle’s truck didn’t have air-conditioning, and the late spring air blowing through the window was warm. I brushed a strand of hair from my face and returned it to the ponytail behind my head. I looked at Daddy. He was a relaxed driver, not stressed by the responsibilities of being on the road. Before he met Mama, he worked for a couple of years as a long-distance truck driver.
“What was it like driving across the country?” I asked.
“I liked it. But once I got married, I didn’t want to be away from your mama for weeks at a time. Then when you came along, I had to come home every night and plant a new kiss on top of your head.”
“What did you do about driving on Sunday?”
“My partner did it. He was a Seventh-Day Adventist. I drove on Saturday; he drove on Sunday. It worked out good for both of us.”
“Did you ever go to California?”
“Los Angeles.”
“What was it like?”
“Oh, the land out there is dry but green where they irrigate. It made me think about the verses in the Bible where the desert blooms like a rose. It’s a fragile place. Unless people pipe in water, not much can live there. There are trees up in the mountains, but no forests on the flats.”
“What about the city?”
He shrugged. “Every truck terminal is the same whether it’s in Omaha or L.A. I couldn’t tell you much about Los Angeles except that once it started it never seemed to stop. I never made it all the way to the Pacific. We’d drop a load, eat a steak at a truck stop, and head back.”
I stared out the window. Trees had always been part of the landscape of my world. I wondered if there were trees where Zach Mays’ family lived.
“One of the attorneys at the firm in Savannah is from Los Angeles,” I said.
“How did he get to Georgia?”
“I’m not sure.”
We stopped for gas.
“Do you want me to drive?” I asked.
Daddy stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. “That would be nice. I talk about being a long-distance truck driver, but those days are long gone.”
The gears on Kyle’s truck grated when I started off. Once I reached highway speed, Daddy leaned against the door frame and went to sleep. His ability to catch a nap at a moment’s notice amazed me. He could stretch out on a blanket beneath the poplar tree in front of the house and doze off within seconds. Flip and Ginger would see him and curl up at his feet.
A small convoy of large trucks passed us, and I thought about Daddy driving across the country. I wondered what other dreams he’d sacrificed to be home at night to kiss me on the top of the head. Like Daddy’s truck-driving career, my summer job at the law firm in Savannah might be no more than a detour through Los Angeles on the way to a greater good.
Daddy didn’t wake up until we were close to the coast. He sat up and blinked his eyes as we passed a mileage marker.
“Did that say twenty miles to Savannah?” he asked.
“Yes sir. You must have been really tired.”
“It’s been a long week. Your mama got her money’s worth out of me yesterday. I spent several hours in the crawl space underneath the house spreading tar paper on the ground and treating for termites. Do you want me to take over?”
“Yes sir, I’ll pull off at the next exit. I don’t trust myself shifting gears on the short streets of Savannah.”
WE ENTERED the historic section of the city, and I gave directions.
“You already know your way around pretty good,” he said as we made the third turn in four blocks.
“Yes sir. It’s not far to her house.”
The spring flowers I’d enjoyed during my first visit were giving way to summer’s less-vibrant colors. Daddy had never been to Savannah.
“It doesn’t remind me at all of Los Angeles,” he said as we passed the James Oglethorpe statue in Chippewa Square.
“It’s not Powell Station either,” I said, wiping perspiration from my forehead. “There aren’t any mountain breezes.”
We made a final turn, and I pointed to the house.
“That’s it, the one with the two large live oaks in front and ironwork up the steps. You can park at the curb.”
“How is living in a fancy place like this going to affect you?” he asked as the truck rolled to a stop.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be living in the basement like a scullery maid.”
Daddy didn’t smile. “Don’t underestimate the power of the world to pull you into its grip.”
I pointed to my heart. “The truth you and Mama put in here is as alive as you are.”
I led the way up the steps and pushed the doorbell. Mrs. Fairmont answered wearing an expensive blue dress with pearls around her neck and the same diamond rings on her fingers. I introduced her to Daddy. He shook her hand and bowed slightly.
“Hello, dear,” she said to me. “Did you have car problems? I was expecting you yesterday.”
My eyes opened wider. “No ma’am. I thought you were out of town at a friend’s funeral. Mrs. Bartlett sent me an e-mail the other night telling me you wouldn’t be home until this afternoon.”
Mrs. Fairmont waved her hand in dismissal. “I told Christine about the change in plans. Didn’t she get in touch with you? And it was a cousin who died, not a friend. The funeral was yesterday morning, and I came directly home. Sometimes Christine is worse about remembering than I am.” The older woman’s eyes brightened. “Today is a good day. I woke up feeling chipper this morning. How do you like my dress?”
“It’s beautiful,” I managed, still processing the information that Daddy and I could have driven to Savannah on Saturday.
“You have your father’s eyes,” Mrs. Fairmont said. “Come inside.”
“But thankfully she mostly looks like her mother,” Daddy said as we entered the foyer.
I turned to Daddy and mouthed an apology. He smiled and shook his head.
“Would you like to see Flip? I told him you were coming.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Have a seat in the blue parlor while I get him. He’s in the courtyard.”
We went into the blue parlor. It was exactly the same except for a new arrangement of flowers. I heard the patter of little feet. Flip dashed into the room and began barking furiously. Daddy and I both lowered our hands in greeting. The little dog sniffed me briefly then spent more time examining the back of Daddy’s hand. Daddy scratched the dog’s neck.
“Another friend.” Mrs. Fairmont beamed as she came into the room. “Your whole family must have a way with animals.”
Mrs. Fairmont sat down, and Flip jumped into her lap.
“I never let him do that when Christine is here,” she said. “Now, Mr. Taylor, I want to thank you for letting Tami stay with me this summer. Are there any instructions about her conduct you want to share with me? I’ve raised two children, imperfectly I must admit, but I’m willing to do what I can to help mold her character.”
To my surprise, Daddy launched into a laundry list of guidelines, most of which would have been suitable for the twins. He included everything from cleaning my living area and helping with household chores to not staying out late at night and notifying Mrs. Fairmont when I wouldn’t be home for supper. She nodded her head in agreement.
“That’s very helpful,” she replied when he finished. “I’ll try, but you know how young people can be.”
“Tammy is a fine young woman,” Daddy replied. “All her mother and I ask is that you do the best you can. Now, we’d better unload her things from the truck.”
Daddy got up from the chair and left the room. Slightly numb, I followed him outside.
“What was that all about?” I asked as soon as we reached the front steps. “Why mention all the rules to her? It sounded so juvenile.”
Daddy put his hand on the side of the truck and faced me. “You’ll do all those things and more, but it satisfied Mrs. Fairmont, didn’t it?”
“Yes sir.”
“It was for her benefit, not yours. She needs to see herself giving you more than a bed to sleep in at night.”
We each carried a box into the house. Mrs. Fairmont was standing in the hallway with the door to the basement open.
“I’d better stay here,” she said. “I don’t want to chance my luck on the stairs.”
Daddy followed me into the basement.
“It’s a plain room,” I whispered. “Mrs. Bartlett thinks the dog lives down here. It was rented out years ago when this was a boardinghouse.” I pushed open the door and stopped in shock. The efficiency apartment had been completely redecorated with new carpeting and furniture. I peeked into the bedroom. Light streamed in onto a pretty twin bed. There was a white chest of drawers with matching nightstand. I opened the door to a bathroom that was sparkling clean.
“It’s been totally redone,” I marveled.
I bounded upstairs.
“Mrs. Fairmont, it’s beautiful! You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”
“Gracie and her nephews did all the work. It was fine as a hideout for Flip when Christine came for a visit, but not fit for a young lady like you.”
I leaned over and hugged her.
“Thank you,” I said.
None of my secondhand furniture would look right in the garden apartment, so it only took thirty minutes to unload the truck. Everything else would spend the summer in Powell Station. It was work, but not as much as I’d expected. Mrs. Fairmont went into the den. Every time we passed the room on the way to the basement door, I could see her sitting in a chair, staring out the windows.
“I’ll unpack the other things after the sun goes down,” I said to Daddy after I hung my dresses up in a long, narrow closet in the bedroom.
We went upstairs. I knocked on the door frame of the den. “We’re finished,” I announced.
Mrs. Fairmont didn’t respond. I couldn’t see her face. I turned to Daddy, who gave me a questioning look. I walked softly across the room.
“Mrs. Fairmont? My father is leaving now. He’d like to say good-bye.”
I reached the chair. Flip was curled up on the floor at Mrs. Fairmont’s feet. The old woman continued staring. I reached down and gently touched her on the arm. She jerked so violently that I stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Mrs. Fairmont rubbed her temples. “I have a headache. Did you hear the bird flying around inside the house? We need to open all the doors and let it out. It came in through the veranda.”
She pointed to a screened-in porch that overlooked the garden. I opened the door. All I saw was a set of beautiful wicker furniture and some green potted plants.
“Mrs. Fairmont,” I said calmly, “there’s not a bird in the house. The doors are all closed.”
Mrs. Fairmont frowned and shook her head. “I heard it as plain as you talking right now. Be quiet and listen.”
We were all silent. Mrs. Fairmont waited a few moments then sighed.
“It’s gone.” She looked up at me with sad eyes. “Or I had a hallucination. That can be part of my illness. What have I been doing?”
“Sitting in this chair and staring out the window while we brought in my things and put them in the basement.”
“Gracie says I sit and stare at nothing. It’s like my brain freezes up, and I don’t know it. I’m so scared that I’ll put something on the stove and won’t watch it.”
“Maybe I can cook for you,” I said.
Mrs. Fairmont stared out the window in silence so long that I thought she’d had another brain freeze. She turned in her chair and saw Daddy. He stepped forward and gently took her hand in his.
“It was nice meeting you,” he said. “I have to leave now. It’s a long drive home.”
“Yes, it is,” she responded then continued staring.
Daddy and I quietly left the room.
“Her condition may be more serious than her daughter realizes,” Daddy said as we walked down the front steps. “Keep a record of what happens for her family and the doctors. And pray there will be a chance to tell her about Jesus.”
“Yes sir.”
We reached the truck.
“Are you going to be okay on the drive?” I asked.
“Remember, I’ve hauled freight to California. The nap refilled my tank. I’ll be in Powell Station by bedtime.”
I longed to go with him. He hugged me and deposited a last kiss on the top of my head.
“Call us.”
I nodded, not wanting to speak as emotion welled up in my heart. Daddy got in the truck and pulled away from the curb. I watched him leave, turned, and went inside the house.
Mrs. Fairmont was sitting in the den. She’d turned on the TV to an afternoon show. She muted the volume and motioned for me to come into the room.
“I’m better now,” she said. “I drank a sip of water, and it washed away the cobwebs of my mind.”
“That’s good.”
“But I know that water isn’t the cure for what’s wrong with me. Did I say anything stupid? I hate embarrassing myself.”
“You were staring out the window,” I answered slowly as I debated whether to mention the imaginary bird.
Mrs. Fairmont continued. “Your father is a good man. I can tell by the way he looks at you that he loves you very much.”
“Yes ma’am. I’m blessed to have my family.”
Mrs. Fairmont pointed at the TV. “This show is about children abandoned by fathers who turn up years later looking for a handout after the child becomes a financial success. What do you think about that?”
I watched the silent images of people pointing fingers and arguing with each other. The camera flashed to the studio audience, some of whom were on their feet yelling. It gave me a queasy feeling.
“That the producer of the TV show is more interested in entertainment than solutions. I wouldn’t watch something like this.”
Mrs. Fairmont glanced at me with a frown on her face. “You’re probably right, but I want to hear what the host tells them to do.
Why don’t you go downstairs and finish unpacking your things.”
I WENT DOWNSTAIRS but didn’t unpack. My first action was to pray that God would spiritually cleanse the beautifully decorated apartment. I went into the bedroom and knelt beside the bed. I prayed for about thirty minutes, then turned my focus to Mrs. Fairmont.
The spiritual warfare to be fought for the elderly woman’s eternal destiny was real, and I would need all the help heaven could muster. I asked God for grace and the ability to discern his voice directing my steps. A few seconds later, a deep male voice faintly called my name.
“Tami!”
I’d never heard the audible voice of God. My guidance had been less distinct, but nonetheless effective. I’d learned to trust the impressions that came to my spirit as divine communication, a birthright I enjoyed as one of God’s children. Passages of Scripture about the experiences of Moses, Samuel, and Isaiah raced through my mind. I shut my eyes tighter and clenched my hands together. I quickly settled on the response of the boy Samuel when the Lord spoke to him in the middle of the night.
“Speak, Lord,” I said under my breath. “Your servant is listening.”
I waited. In a few seconds the voice spoke again, only louder.
“Tami Taylor!”
I kept my head bowed.
“Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening,” I repeated.
I waited, but the voice didn’t continue. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I opened my eyes, but the narrow bedroom was empty. I heard a loud knock that made me jump.
“Are you in there?” the voice repeated. “It’s Zach Mays from the law firm.”
I looked toward heaven and saw nothing except the white ceiling. At least I now knew that God didn’t talk like the young lawyer from California.
“Just a minute. I’ll be right there,” I called out.
I checked my appearance in the bathroom mirror. I certainly didn’t look like I’d been to glory. After loading and unloading the truck, I resembled a chicken plant worker more than an aspiring lawyer. I quickly brushed my hair and splashed water on my face.
When I opened the door, Zach Mays was standing there wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt with a big tomato on it. He had his hair pulled back in a short, tight ponytail. His motorcycle helmet was under his arm.
“I’m here to help you get your ox out of the ditch,” he said with a smile. “Am I too late?”
“My ox turned out to be a kitten,” I answered. “Since I visited a few weeks ago, Mrs. Fairmont has totally redone this place. I didn’t need the furniture I brought from my apartment at school.” I paused. “Does Mrs. Fairmont know you’re here?”
“I sneaked in through the garden,” he joked.
“I mean, she’s not doing well mentally. She’s confused and disoriented.” “No, I didn’t notice anything unusual when she let me in.”
At the mention of confusion, the absurdity of what I’d thought moments before hit me. Mrs. Fairmont imagined a bird flying around inside the house; I opted for the audible voice of God from the top of the stairs. Both of us were out of touch with reality. I started to chuckle, tried to stifle it, then burst out laughing. Zach stared at me in bewilderment.
“Mrs. Fairmont seems like a nice lady,” he said. “I’m sorry she’s having mental—”
I held up my hand. “No, no. It’s what you said.”
“What did I say?”
“My name,” I managed. “Twice.”
“And why is that so funny?”
I laughed again. Zach Mays probably thought I was certifiably crazy, but I couldn’t stop. I motioned for him to come into the apartment. He eased onto the sofa and placed his helmet beside him. I plopped down in a chair and wiped away the tears streaming down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I said, taking a couple of deep breaths. “I was in the bedroom praying when you called my name from the top of the stairs. I thought it was the voice of God.”
“You think I sound like God?”
I shook my head and stifled another wave of laughter. “I’ve never heard the voice of God, but under the circumstances, my imagination played a trick on me. I didn’t know there was a man in the house, and when a male voice calling my name came out of nowhere, I assumed it must be a messenger from heaven. I guess I’m not making a very good second impression, but at least I’m not trying to hide anything.”
“Good application of rule number three.”
I remembered an older rule of hospitality.
“Would you like a warm bottle of water?” I asked. “I haven’t been to the grocery store and don’t have anything in the refrigerator.”
“No, thanks.”
“I need one.”
I took a bottle from one of my boxes. It was tepid from the ride in the truck.
“I didn’t see your convertible out front,” Zach said.
“It was a rental. My daddy brought me and my belongings in a pickup truck this morning. We finished unloading a few minutes ago, and he’s headed home.” I pointed to the boxes on the floor. “All I have to do is unpack. There isn’t much to do. I’ll save most of the work until tomorrow.”
Zach looked around. “The apartment is nice.”
“Yes, and please understand I wasn’t making fun of Mrs. Fairmont’s mental condition. The reason I’m living here is to help take care of her.”
“That’s what Gerry Patrick told me.”
I stared at Zach Mays. I’d never invited a man into my apartment at school. In my confusion about his voice, I’d allowed him across an invisible line without realizing it.
“We should go upstairs,” I said quickly. “Mrs. Fairmont may be wondering what’s going on.”
I inwardly kicked myself at the wording of my last comment and stood up.
“Do you laugh a lot?” Zach asked.
“Only when something funny happens, usually to me.”
“Are you going to let that side of you come out at the law firm?”
“I doubt it. And I can promise you one thing—I won’t make the mistake of thinking Mr. Braddock paging me on the office intercom is the voice of God.” I stepped toward the door. “We really should be joining Mrs. Fairmont. It’s rude not to.”
Zach’s motorcycle riding boots clunked on the stairs. I peeked into the den. The elderly woman was sleeping in her chair with a black-and-white movie blaring from the TV. I touched my lips with my index finger and quietly entered the room. The remote control was on a stand beside Mrs. Fairmont’s chair. Flip was curled up at her feet. When he saw me, he jumped up and growled, but I leaned over and scratched the back of his neck. With my other hand, I picked up the remote and turned off the television. Mrs. Fairmont stirred slightly then relaxed. I gently lifted her feet and placed them on an ottoman and positioned two pillows around her so that she wouldn’t slip to the side. I gave Flip a final pat on the head and backed out of the room. I motioned for Zach to follow me into the foyer.
After we were safely out of earshot of the den, I said, “Thanks for stopping by. I’m sorry I acted like such a silly girl.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Is that when all the other summer clerks begin?”
“The girl from Emory starts then. Vince Colbert has been here for a week.”
“Is he the clerk from Yale?”
“Yes, and he seems like a nice guy. Very smart. He’s a Christian too.”