Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love (13 page)

Catfish caught fresh in Putnam’s Pond and cooked by Mama was the best on earth, but the restaurant did a respectable job. The sweet white meat separated easily from the bones and didn’t taste greasy. Vince loved it. He left nothing but the skeleton on his plate. His tendency to focus intently on one thing at a time carried over to eating. He paid more attention to the food on his plate than to me. Knowing this about him kept me from feeling ignored. After polishing off the food selected on a second trip to the buffet, he looked up and sighed.

“This was what I needed.”

“Are you going to eat any dessert?”

“Where is it?”

I pointed to a table on the opposite end of the room. Without a word, Vince got up. I followed him. Further conversation would have to wait until he finished a good-sized helping of both banana pudding and peach cobbler. I avoided the banana pudding, not because I didn’t like it, but because a woman in our church made such glorious banana pudding that I never ate it anyplace else.

“Are you driving back to Atlanta tonight?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m staying at a hotel near the airport.”

Vince cleared our table himself, placing the dirty plates and silverware on a large round tray used for that purpose by the restaurant staff. Then he placed his laptop on the table and moved his chair so we could both see the screen.

“What are you going to show me?” I asked as the computer booted up.

“It’s better to show than tell.”

He clicked on an icon for photographs. Black faces filled the screen.

“Where is this?”

“Rwanda.”

“You went to Rwanda?”

“Directly from school at the end of the semester. I was there for ten days working on this project before flying into Charleston to see my family for Christmas and then going to Savannah. It’s been a busy vacation.”

“What kind of project?”

Another photograph appeared. A smiling black woman was standing next to a smiling black man in front of a simple house. The woman had her arm around a teenage boy.

“That’s a beautiful family,” I said.

“They’re not a family. The man is a Hutu; the woman and her son are Tutsi. They’ve known each other since childhood and lived in the same village. During the genocide in 1994, the man was in a group that killed the woman’s husband and two daughters.”

I put my hand over my mouth in shock.

“But—”

“It was a process. Most would say an unbelievable process. But some people are willing to forgive. This woman is one of them.”

He clicked an arrow and a picture of two men with grotesque scars on their faces appeared. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders.

“These men tried to kill each other with machetes. Now, they’re deacons in the same church.”

Vince showed me several more photos, each different yet with a common message.

“I was in the country as part of a justice survey sponsored by Yale. But when my translator found out I was a Christian, he took me on side trips to meet these people.”

I stared at the photo on the screen—three women and a man who helped kill their husbands.

“This man served these women for several months before a breakthrough came. He worked a laboring job then walked to their village to help them. At first they didn’t want him around, but eventually his repentance won them over.” Vince pointed to one of the women, a regal-looking, middle-aged lady with a colorful scarf on her head. “This is Candice. She told me she had to forgive the killer because God had forgiven her sins. When she forgave, the joy came back into her life.”

I looked at Vince as he talked. There was a different light in his eyes.

“The forgiveness in the hearts of these people was greater than anything I’ve ever seen. They’re living in a place of love and grace I didn’t know existed.”

“I can tell,” I responded. “I’m glad you went on the trip.”

“Me, too. And I wanted you to hear about it. That’s why I drove here to see you when my flight was canceled.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the only person I can talk to like this.”

“Thanks,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward.

Vince didn’t seem to notice. He turned off his laptop and closed the top.

V
INCE WALKED ME TO THE DOOR OF MY APARTMENT.
W
HEN
I unlocked the door quickly to go inside, he rested his hand against the door frame to stop me. I felt nervous.

“Maybe I’ll see you at the bar exam,” he said.

His comment took me by surprise. The last thing on my mind at the moment was the bar exam given in July to the law students who’d recently graduated.

“Uh, there’ll be a lot of people there.”

“Yes. I enjoyed dinner.”

“Me, too.”

“I’ll e-mail those photos to you.”

“That would be nice.”

Inside, I plopped down on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. The bar exam would be easy compared to finding the correct answers to questions of my heart.

8

“D
O YOU THINK THERE WILL BE A QUESTION ABOUT THIRD-PARTY
beneficiaries?” Julie asked as we stood in line at the entrance to the testing facility in Atlanta.

“Yes,” I answered. “But you’ll spot that immediately. It’s the ones with hidden issues that worry me.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to worry. It’s a sin.”

“It is, but I’m sure David got nervous before he fought Goliath.”

“A touch of nerves gets the blood flowing to the brain,” Julie said as the line inched forward. “Keep talking. I like it when your fighting side comes out. It psyches me up.”

I was more scared than I let on. My palms were sweating so badly the registration confirmation in my right hand was getting slightly damp. If David’s hands had been this moist, the sling would have slipped through his fingers and wrapped itself around Goliath’s ankle. I scanned the crowd of several hundred candidates. It was a somber group. Many would pass the two-day test. All wanted to avoid being among those who didn’t.

“Did you talk to Zach this week?” Julie asked.

“No.”

“How about this month?”

“No, I’ve been studying.”

“Is he still mad at you for taking the job with Maggie and me?”

“He’s disappointed.”

Julie shook her head. “What does it feel like to be you? You’re like a movie star. The whole world wants a piece of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw Vinny the other day,” Julie continued. “After telling me that he’d scored over ninety percent on five multistate practice tests, he asked a bunch of questions about you.”

“He did not.”

“Well, he told me about the practice tests, but I could tell he was thinking about you the whole time.”

“I hate it when you lie to me.”

We entered a large convention room. Almost every candidate carried a laptop. In my hand was a new one Daddy and Mama had given me as a graduation present. I’d never received such an extravagant gift.

“Do you want to sit together?” Julie asked.

I hesitated. Even if Julie didn’t say a word, her presence would be a distraction. And the chances of her keeping completely quiet were nil. I didn’t want a proctor to issue a warning, or worse.

“Me either,” she continued before I said anything. “I’ll see you at the break.”

I gratefully watched Julie blend into the crowd, then settled into a seat at a small table and plugged in my computer. Including college, I’d spent seven years preparing for this moment. I bowed my head and offered a silent prayer for wisdom, insight, and the ability to remember what I’d learned. I’d prayed before taking bunches of tests, but this was a big hurdle. I dived into the first section of the exam.

I worked steadily, relieved that most of the questions raised familiar points of law. But the bar exam wasn’t primarily a memory test. Every question required analysis of the problem before application of the correct principles. My brain felt like a computer as I rapidly shuffled data and concepts. One thing I could say with confidence about law school—it taught me how to think.

I finished the first section a couple of minutes before time was called and then joined the mob going to the restroom. I ran into Julie as I exited.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Okay, how about you?”

“It’s a piece of cake. Did you see Vinny?”

“No.”

“He’s down front. I saw him get up a couple of times during the test.”

I wandered to the front of the room. Clusters of people were gathered together discussing specific questions. I avoided group debriefing sessions in law school and skirted the groups. Nothing created more anxiety than hearing someone mention an issue I’d missed. I tried to spot Vince’s laptop on one of the tables, but they all looked alike.

“Tami!”

I turned around. It was Vince. He looked pale and haggard.

“What’s wrong?” I asked with concern.

“I’m sick,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Didn’t sleep much last night. Spent most of my time in the bathroom at the hotel. I ought to be in bed now.”

“I’m sorry. Is there a way to postpone—”

“I’m not sure. I thought I would bounce back. Now I’m committed to the test.”

Vince looked pitiful. He needed to be tucked into bed sipping a sports drink to keep hydrated.

“Would you like me to get you a bottle of water?” I asked.

Vince pointed at a desk. There were three bottles of water underneath it.

“I have water. I just can’t keep it in me.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Would you pray for me?”

“Sure.”

“I mean right now. I feel horrible.”

Without waiting for an answer, Vince bowed his head and closed his eyes. I glanced around. A couple of people were watching us. Some of them had probably asked God for help within the past few hours. I closed my eyes.

“Lord, I ask you to touch Vince and heal him. Drive this sickness from his body and give him the strength to finish the test and pass it. Amen.”

When I opened my eyes there were at least a dozen people staring at us. Vince lifted his head.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Weak, but I think I can try another sip or two of water.”

The chief administrator of the exam instructed us to return to our seats. As soon as we were settled I looked toward the area of the room where I’d been with Vince. I couldn’t see him, but as the proctors handed out the next battery of questions, I didn’t pray for myself. I directed my prayers toward another part of the room.

At the end of the day, I found Vince. He still looked pale.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Not a hundred percent, but after you prayed for me I could think more about the questions on the page than the condition of my stomach.”

“Is there anything I can do for you before tomorrow?”

“No, I’m going back to the hotel to crash.”

“You need to have more than just water.”

“I will. Room service can handle anything I might want.”

I’d never used room service at a hotel.

“Are you sure? I’d be glad to go to a store and bring something to you.”

“You’ve already been too close to me. I don’t want you to pick up this bug. It’s probably a nasty virus.”

Julie came rushing up.

“Hey, Vinny,” she said. “Did you answer the questions with half your brain tied behind your back?”

Vince looked at me. “More like half my stomach.”

“That’s me. I’m starving.” Julie turned toward me. “There’s an Italian place you’ve got to try. I ate there a bunch when I was at Emory. Pasta is great brain food, and you enjoy dishes with a kick to them, don’t you?”

“If they’re done right.”

“Then let’s go. I’ll treat and deduct it from your first paycheck. Vinny, you’re welcome to join us. Just because we won’t be working at the same firm doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. However, I’ve got to warn you that one of the things Tami is looking forward to is dragging Joe Carpenter back and forth across the courtroom and then telling Zach about it over a romantic dinner.”

“You should tie up three-fourths of your imagination and put it behind your back,” I said.

“I’ll pass on dinner,” Vince said, giving me a wan smile. “I’m more in the mood for a pack of saltine crackers. Anything more might kick my stomach out of my body.” He looked at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Julie and I walked out of the building I told her about Vince’s illness.

“That’s too bad,” she said with a concerned look. “I hope we don’t get it.”

A
COUPLE WEEKS LATER IN
SAVANNAH,
D
ADDY LINGERED IN MY
new apartment at Mrs. Fairmont’s. The last box had been unloaded from the pickup. I’d left home many times to go to school, but this time was different. From now on my loyalties to place would be divided.

“Do you want me to help you unpack?” Daddy asked.

“There isn’t anything heavy. It would be better if I put my clothes in the right spot.”

“Yeah, I don’t try to rearrange your mama’s closet.”

I smiled. Every item in Mama’s closet knew its place. Daddy looked at his watch.

“I’d better get going. The chickens will be coming down the line in the morning, and I have to be there to greet them.”

Daddy didn’t move toward the door. Instead, he pointed to a box of books.

“Do you want me to put that in your bedroom?”

“No, I’m going to buy a bookcase for this room.”

“Don’t settle for pressboard covered with vinyl. Find a used one made from wood.”

“There are lots of secondhand furniture shops in Savannah that sell nice things that aren’t antiques. I can find a solid maple or cherry bookcase with a nick or two for a good price.”

“Right,” he said, still not moving toward the door.

“I’ll come home,” I said in answer to his unspoken thoughts.

“Of course you will.”

“And with me living in Savannah, there won’t be any excuse for the family not to come for a vacation. Don’t forget Zach’s offer to move out and let you stay in his townhome for a few days.”

I heard Flip pattering down the wooden steps to the basement. In a few seconds the Chihuahua bounded into the room and sniffed Daddy’s ankles for the tenth time since we’d arrived. Flip didn’t protest when Daddy scooped him up and began to scratch the back of the little dog’s neck.