Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love by Robert Whitlow Read Free Book Online Page B

attachment to cut open the can. He handed it to Jessie. As she took her first bite, several of the men made the sign of the cross on their chests. She mimicked them, which caused another ripple of rapid-fire conversation.
    The beans were slightly sweet and the miniature wieners spicy enough to tantalize every taste bud in Jessie’s mouth. The fact that the meal was cold did nothing to lessen her pleasure. As she ate, Jessie began to relax. If the men intended to harm her, it would have already happened. The bottle of water and can of beans communicated what spoken language could not. She looked at the small man and pointed at herself then the truck.
    “Take me to Savannah?” she asked.
    “Sí, sí.” The man smiled.
    “Sí, sí,” she responded.
    I AWOKE EARLY AND PUT ON MY JOGGING OUTFIT. I’ D RUN REGU larly since playing basketball in high school. Physical exercise helped clear my mind as well as keep me in good shape.
    Quietly leaving Mrs. Fairmont’s house, I stretched and loosened up at the bottom of the front steps. It was surprisingly cool. During summer, the muggy coastal heat loosened its grip for only a few hours before dawn. A weather front had passed through in the night, though, leaving the air this morning mountain crisp. I rubbed my hands together before taking off toward the center of the historic district.
    The pre–Revolutionary War area of the city had twenty-one squares. It had taken me weeks to learn my way through the labyrinth of interconnecting streets and alleys. Now I could run in any direction and randomly navigate to East Broad, across to Forsyth Park, and back to Mrs. Fairmont’s house in time for a sprint around Chippewa Square. The flat coastland was an invitation to speed. There was little traffic early on Saturday morning, and I barely checked for cars before shooting across most intersections.
    There was nothing like the feeling of wings on my feet as I entered the zone reserved for regular runners in which forward motion isn’t associated with pain or oxygen deprivation. The light pat of my feet on the sidewalks was my only connection with earth, and gravity didn’t seem to be my master. With my mind not distracted by the pain of exertion, it was one of my clearest times for thinking. Today, what became crystal clear was God’s call that I come to Savannah. I knew that already, but the awareness of it while passing through the streets of the city strengthened my confidence even more.
    When I finished in front of Mrs. Fairmont’s home, the sun was up, but the streets remained largely deserted. I opened the front door quietly to see Flip waiting on me. After a quick pat, he scampered down the hallway and through the doggie door that led to a small side yard. I went into the kitchen and started a pot of decaf coffee. The pot was almost full when I heard footsteps in the hallway.
    “Good morning!” I called out.
    The response to my greeting was a loud gasp and the sound of something hitting the wall. I rushed out of the room and saw Mrs. Fairmont leaning against the wall near the foot of the stairs. She was wearing a robe. Her hair was messy and her slippers didn’t match.
    “Who’s there?” she said.
    “It’s Tami Taylor,” I answered in as calm a voice as I could manage. “I spent the night in the basement apartment.”
    Mrs. Fairmont rubbed her eyes. She was grasping something around her neck. I stepped closer. It was the lifeline device used to summon help if she was in distress.
    “Where’s Gracie?”
    “It’s Saturday. Gracie doesn’t work on the weekends.”
    Flip, who was sitting on the floor near Mrs. Fairmont’s right foot, ran over to me. I picked him up and he licked my chin. Lapses of memory weren’t uncommon for the elderly woman, but this one seemed more serious than others.
    “Tami?” Mrs. Fairmont repeated.
    “Yes, ma’am. You don’t need to push the button to call for help. I’m here.”
    “Flip likes you.”
    “Yes, ma’am. Do you have