Water's Edge by Robert Whitlow Read Free Book Online

on the upper level of the house and a spacious bathroom built into a space that once served as a summer sleeping porch. The bathroom had a sloping roof that required Tom to stoop when he took a shower and a bank of windows that offered a nice view of the trees on the west side of the property. Unless someone was walking in the yard, it wasn’t necessary to close the curtains. There wasn’t another house within two hundred yards.
    As a child, Tom always stayed in the blue bedroom when the Crane family gathered for biannual reunions. The boy cousins slept in the high poster bed and spilled over into sleeping bags on the floor. While Tom was unpacking his suitcases, Rover joined him. The dog walked into the bedroom, thoroughly sniffed it from one end to the other, then plopped down in a spot near the foot of the bed.
    “Are you sure that’s the place you want?” Tom asked him. “That’s where my cousin Rudy used to put his sleeping bag. Rudy hated taking baths.”
    The dog rested his large head on his paws and watched with bloodshot eyes as Tom finished putting away his clothes. Tom glanced at the clock. It was 6:00 p.m. There was no sight or smell of supper when he arrived. He went downstairs to grab a bag of dog food from the car. Rover, an expectant expression on his face, followed. Elias was sitting in his chair in the front room with his eyes closed and didn’t stir as they passed through the room.
    The large country kitchen was at the rear of the house. Tom poured a generous helping of dog food into a large bowl, then checked the refrigerator. It contained a hodgepodge of leftovers. Elias had served as pastor of three different churches in the northwestern Georgia area, with stints in between as a quality-control supervisor in textile mills when no church was available. Tom recognized the names of former church members on some of the plastic and glass containers.
    It was a relief that folks were stepping up to take care of Elias now that Tom’s father was gone. Rummaging through the containers, Tom selected meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, and something that looked like a corn soufflé. He stuck his head into the front room. Elias, his eyes open, was reading a book.
    “Are you hungry?” he asked.
    “Not really, but there’s plenty in the refrigerator,” Elias answered with a wave of his hand. “Whatever you want is fine with me.”
    Tom added a wedge of corn bread from a pan on the kitchen counter to each plate and warmed up the food. The kitchen was designed to serve crews of farmworkers, and the long table against the wall could seat twelve people. At reunion time family members ate in the kitchen and spilled over into the front room, where they gathered around makeshift tables made of broad boards set on sawhorses and covered with white sheets. Tonight the two plates at the end of the big table seemed overwhelmed.
    “Supper’s ready!” Tom called out.
    Elias shuffled into the kitchen. “I see you found the meat loaf. Velma Higgins from Rocky River brought that. She made it using grocery-store beef and pork from hogs raised on their place.”
    “Homegrown pork is hard to find in Atlanta,” Tom said. “What do you want to drink?”
    “I’ll have water, but there’s tea in the refrigerator.”
    Tom poured two glasses of water. The deep well that supplied the house contained just the right touch of iron to make the water sweet. Tom waited for Elias to sit at the head of the table, but the older man moved to the side.
    “Don’t you want to sit at the head of the table?” Tom asked.
    “No. You need to get used to it.”
    Tom sat down and waited for Elias to pray. The old man kept his hands folded in his lap and did nothing.
    “Are you going to say the blessing?” Tom asked.
    Elias leveled his gaze at Tom. “You do it.”
    “No, sir.” Tom shook his head. “You’re the praying person in this family. This food will get cold before I talk to God about it.”
    Elias leaned over and