less than two days.
"Did you contact Julie Feldman?"
"Yes ma'am." I told her about my e-mail from the Emory student. "The places Julie sent me are not in my budget. I need to save as much money as possible."
"I'm looking at your resume and see that you've worked with the elderly."
"Yes ma'am. I enjoyed it."
Starting in college, I'd found part-time work as a sitter for older women in nursing homes. Some were demanding; others docile. It was easy work that allowed time for study when my clients slept. One reference on my resume was a woman whose mother I'd cared for.
"Would you be interested in staying with an elderly woman in Savannah?" Ms. Patrick asked. "Her daughter is a client of the firm and told me recently that her mother needs a live-in caregiver to spend the night. The mother is self-sufficient, but she's reached the age where it's better to have someone around the house on a regular basis. She lives in a beautiful old home a few blocks from our office. I don't know what the family would be willing to pay, but the daughter mentioned room and board if I could think of a woman to help."
A free place to stay within walking distance of the office sounded like a sign from heaven.
"Yes ma'am, but I don't want to violate my contract with the law firm. I promised to devote all my efforts to firm business."
Ms. Patrick laughed so loudly that I felt embarrassed. "I appreciate your integrity, but you're a summer clerk, not a first-year associate. Seventy-hour workweeks aren't part of the plan. This is your last opportunity to enjoy a law office without any responsibilities. When I talk to Christine Bartlett, I'll tell her what you'll be doing at the firm so she can take that into consideration."
"What's her mother's name?"
"I don't know her first name. I've always called her Mrs. Fairmont. She's an interesting woman."
Interesting could mean a lot of things, and staying with a woman in her own home would be a lot different from the controlled environment of a nursing facility. I immediately thought about the use of alcohol. I had no intention of becoming a dying alcoholic's barmaid.
"And I'm sure they would have a lot of questions for me." I paused. "I'd have a few too."
"Do you want me to pursue it?"
"Yes ma'am," I said quickly. "But I know from experience that compatibility is important. You can pass along Mrs. Frady as a reference. She's listed on my resume."
I'd stayed several hours a week with Mrs. Frady's mother for over a year until the eighty-six-year-old woman died. I'd fought off bedsores, spooned chipped ice into her toothless mouth, brushed the old woman's hair, given simple manicures, decorated her room, and tried to make her last days on earth as pleasant as possible for a person trapped in a body that deteriorated before my eyes. So many people thanked me at the funeral that I was embarrassed. Any Christian should have done the same thing.
"She's kind. Her mother and I hit it off from the start."
"I'll call Christine and get back to you."
LATE THAT AFTERNOON I checked my e-mail at my apartment and immediately noticed a message from an unknown sender with the subject line "My Mother in Savannah."
It was from Christine Bartlett. She wanted to talk to me as soon as possible and left both an office and a home phone number. I didn't have a cell phone and made my phone calls through my computer connection. I looked at the clock. It was almost suppertime, the telemarketer time of day. I would eat and call later.
I ate in silence. The TV in the room wasn't plugged in; however, it was impossible to escape invading noise from the people living on either side of me. I used earplugs at night, but during the day, I sometimes tuned out distractions by daydreaming. Tonight I imagined that I was eating at home, sitting between the twins with Mama at one end of the table and Daddy at the other. Emma and Ellie were talking about our laying hens, and Bobby asked Daddy if he'd talked to Mr. Waldrup about a summer
"Did you contact Julie Feldman?"
"Yes ma'am." I told her about my e-mail from the Emory student. "The places Julie sent me are not in my budget. I need to save as much money as possible."
"I'm looking at your resume and see that you've worked with the elderly."
"Yes ma'am. I enjoyed it."
Starting in college, I'd found part-time work as a sitter for older women in nursing homes. Some were demanding; others docile. It was easy work that allowed time for study when my clients slept. One reference on my resume was a woman whose mother I'd cared for.
"Would you be interested in staying with an elderly woman in Savannah?" Ms. Patrick asked. "Her daughter is a client of the firm and told me recently that her mother needs a live-in caregiver to spend the night. The mother is self-sufficient, but she's reached the age where it's better to have someone around the house on a regular basis. She lives in a beautiful old home a few blocks from our office. I don't know what the family would be willing to pay, but the daughter mentioned room and board if I could think of a woman to help."
A free place to stay within walking distance of the office sounded like a sign from heaven.
"Yes ma'am, but I don't want to violate my contract with the law firm. I promised to devote all my efforts to firm business."
Ms. Patrick laughed so loudly that I felt embarrassed. "I appreciate your integrity, but you're a summer clerk, not a first-year associate. Seventy-hour workweeks aren't part of the plan. This is your last opportunity to enjoy a law office without any responsibilities. When I talk to Christine Bartlett, I'll tell her what you'll be doing at the firm so she can take that into consideration."
"What's her mother's name?"
"I don't know her first name. I've always called her Mrs. Fairmont. She's an interesting woman."
Interesting could mean a lot of things, and staying with a woman in her own home would be a lot different from the controlled environment of a nursing facility. I immediately thought about the use of alcohol. I had no intention of becoming a dying alcoholic's barmaid.
"And I'm sure they would have a lot of questions for me." I paused. "I'd have a few too."
"Do you want me to pursue it?"
"Yes ma'am," I said quickly. "But I know from experience that compatibility is important. You can pass along Mrs. Frady as a reference. She's listed on my resume."
I'd stayed several hours a week with Mrs. Frady's mother for over a year until the eighty-six-year-old woman died. I'd fought off bedsores, spooned chipped ice into her toothless mouth, brushed the old woman's hair, given simple manicures, decorated her room, and tried to make her last days on earth as pleasant as possible for a person trapped in a body that deteriorated before my eyes. So many people thanked me at the funeral that I was embarrassed. Any Christian should have done the same thing.
"She's kind. Her mother and I hit it off from the start."
"I'll call Christine and get back to you."
LATE THAT AFTERNOON I checked my e-mail at my apartment and immediately noticed a message from an unknown sender with the subject line "My Mother in Savannah."
It was from Christine Bartlett. She wanted to talk to me as soon as possible and left both an office and a home phone number. I didn't have a cell phone and made my phone calls through my computer connection. I looked at the clock. It was almost suppertime, the telemarketer time of day. I would eat and call later.
I ate in silence. The TV in the room wasn't plugged in; however, it was impossible to escape invading noise from the people living on either side of me. I used earplugs at night, but during the day, I sometimes tuned out distractions by daydreaming. Tonight I imagined that I was eating at home, sitting between the twins with Mama at one end of the table and Daddy at the other. Emma and Ellie were talking about our laying hens, and Bobby asked Daddy if he'd talked to Mr. Waldrup about a summer
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