Water's Edge

by Robert Whitlow

  “Faux pas?” Tom responded with raised eyebrows. “Isn’t that what Coach Ackerman yelled from the sidelines when you dropped the pass in the fourth quarter of the play-off game against Walker County?”

  Rick punched Tom in the arm. “You didn’t block the linebacker who was blitzing, and the ball came in too low. No one could have caught that pass. It almost bounced off the ground.”

  Tiffany and Arthur joined them.

  “Rick and I were telling Tom that he should move back to Bethel and continue his father’s law practice,” Tiffany said to Arthur.

  “Forget that,” Rick replied. “He won’t leave his fancy law firm in Atlanta.”

  Tom looked at Arthur, who shook his head slightly.

  “There’s been a recent change,” Tom said, clearing his throat. “I’ll fill you in over supper.”

  They ate roasted Cornish game hens with herb dressing, green beans seasoned with almonds, and a stewed squash dish. Tom told them about losing his job and the breakup with Clarice. Arthur added his part about Pelham Financial.

  “Couldn’t Tom still do some legal work for you while he’s looking for a job?” Tiffany asked when Arthur finished.

  “It’s not that simple,” Tom cut in. “Pelham Financial’s legal needs are more complex than a sole practitioner can provide. It takes a team of lawyers to service—”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” Arthur interrupted. “I predict a bull market in Tom Crane stock. And I’m rarely wrong. I believe in investing in the people who’ve invested in me and my family. No one has done that more than you. I think something will open up for you soon.”

  Tiffany caught Tom’s eye and winked. “Which brings me back to my original question,” she said. “Why don’t you stay in Bethel?”

  “Yeah,” Rick said. “There’s a decent airport in Chattanooga. And if Elias gets tired of taking care of you, you can stay with us. You can even bring that handsome dog of yours along.”

  “I’d love having you at the house,” Tiffany added. “There’s a guest suite that hasn’t been used more than a couple of times since we moved in.”

  Tom was touched by Arthur’s encouragement and Rick’s and Tiffany’s kind words. Every friendship in Atlanta had been an arm’s-length transaction. His eyes watered. Rick leaned forward.

  “Hey, I’m not trying to make you cry,” Rick said.

  Tom coughed into his hand. “It’s been an emotional couple of days. And not just because of the job and the situation with Clarice. Elias and I went to Austin’s Pond yesterday. While I was there a lot of feelings about losing my mom and dad came up, and I cried like a little kid. And when I think about how long we’ve been friends and your invitation to stay here, it just—”

  Tiffany leaned forward and put her hand on his arm.

  “Bethel will always be your home,” she said.

  “That’s what Elias says.”

  “True,” Arthur said, “but sentimentality aside, it may not be where your future lies. You need to deal with the past, but don’t get stuck there. Most people miss their best opportunities in life because they’re looking backward and not forward.”

  “You like coming here.” Rick cut his eyes toward his father. “If you had your way, you’d live most of the time in Bethel.”

  “I live where I want to live,” Arthur responded with an edge to his voice. “And Tom may have outgrown what’s here for him. Bethel is a great launching pad, but it’s not necessarily the place where a man with ambition should end up.”

  “What about me?” Rick asked. “Are you saying I don’t measure up because I’m not itching to leave? Is that why you’ve not been inviting me to the board of directors meetings for the company?”

  Arthur didn’t reply.

  “Honey, you can’t be a tree farmer in the middle of the city,” Tiffany said with a nervous laugh. “Or satisfy my heart’s desire to be with the horses every day. I couldn’t stand it if I had to drive miles and miles to a stable. And who wants to sit in a stuffy boardroom and read financial reports?”

  Rick looked down at his plate. Tom wanted to deflate the tension. He turned to Arthur.

  “Arthur, what can you tell me about Harold Addington?”

  “What do you want to know?” Arthur’s eyes remained steely.

  “Uh, anything that might be interesting. All I know is he was from Great Britain and liked to go fishing with my father.”

  “He worked in the international development branch of the firm,” Arthur replied curtly. “Professionally, he was a disappointment to me.”

  Tom waited for additional information, then realized he’d reached the limit of the older man’s willingness to discuss Harold Addington.

  “I saw his widow and daughter Rose at Rocky River Church yesterday,” Tom said when the silence became awkward. “Rose works for an overseas adoption agency.”

  “Bunches of people are going to Rocky River,” Tiffany responded brightly. “They say the young preacher, uh, what’s his name?”

  “Lane Conner.”

  “Yeah, I heard he’s a great speaker. Reverend Moore at our church makes my eyes glaze over three minutes into the sermon. Maybe we could all go to Rocky River next Sunday.”

  “No way.” Rick held up his hand. “I already have plans for a rafting trip with some guys on the Ocoee River, and I was hoping Tom would join us.”

  The Ocoee River was one of the best white-water rivers east of the Mississippi.

  “It’s been awhile since I bounced around in a raft,” Tom said.

  “It’s like riding a bicycle,” Rick replied. “What will it be? Going to the Rocky River Church to sit on a hard pew or hurtling down a bona fide rocky river in a raft over world-class rapids?”

  “Let me think about it.”

  “That shouldn’t take too long.”

  “I’ll call later in the week.”

  Dessert was a chocolate cream pie that was good but not better than the coconut pie in Elias’s refrigerator. After they finished, the men returned to the cigar room. Tiffany curled up in the den with a magazine and didn’t join them. Arthur selected a cigar for Tom, who lit it and took a few puffs. The expensive cigar didn’t attack his throat like the cheap stogies he’d smoked while playing dorm room poker in college, but it was still just a burning plant. They talked about Rick and Tom growing up together in Bethel. Tom snuffed out the cigar before it got too strong.

  “I’d better be going,” he said. “I have to be up early in the morning. Elias and my dog will see to that.”

  “Call me if you need anything,” Arthur said. “I’m in town until Wednesday afternoon.”

  “And we’ll be leaving the house about six thirty in the morning next Sunday for the rafting trip,” Rick added.

  Tom left the two men in the cigar room. Tiffany glanced up from her magazine when he came out.

  “Are you part of the brotherhood?” she asked.

  “Yeah. What kind of cigar do you prefer?”

  “I was joking. The last cigar I had was made of pink bubblegum.”

  Tiffany led the way from the room. They passed the family portrait with its glued-on smiles and returned to the foyer.

  “Thanks for supper,” he said.

  Tom reached for the door, but Tiffany put her hand on his elbow. “I really, really enjoyed seeing you,” she said. “Come back as soon as you can. You’re welcome in this house, even if Rick isn’t here.”

  chapter

  NINE

  Tom drove home troubled. The family dynamics in the Pelham household proved money wasn’t a magic poultice for problems.

  It was dark when he crossed the front porch and opened the front door of Elias’s house. Rover was lying at the old man’s feet. He woofed when Tom entered, then carefully sniffed up and down Tom’s legs. Elias watched from his chair where he sat with an open book on his lap and a steaming mug of tea on the table beside him.

  “That’s what a black Lab who loves to chase tennis balls smells like,” Tom said. �
��And secondhand smoke from the fancy cigars we smoked after supper.”

  When Rover finished, Tom sat on a faded yellow couch. The dog returned to his place at Elias’s feet and plopped down.

  “You’ve stolen my dog’s affections,” Tom said.

  Elias nudged the dog with his toe. “His heart is big enough to hold loyalty to two people.”

  “The Pelham family needs what he has. Tiffany isn’t happy, and there’s tension between Rick and Arthur. Several times this evening I felt uncomfortable.”

  “Do you think you’re supposed to help them?”

  “I’d have no idea where to begin.”

  Elias took a sip of tea and returned to his book. Tom finished Huckleberry Finn, then logged on to his laptop to check e-mail. The invisible signal that brought the Internet into the front room didn’t discriminate between a chic coffee shop in New York City and a 125-year-old wooden farmhouse in Etowah County, Georgia. There was at least one difference between Huck’s world and his.

  ______

  The next morning Elias was in the kitchen when Tom came downstairs. Bacon sizzled in a skillet on the stove. The coffeepot beeped, signaling the brewing cycle was complete.

  “I thought you didn’t drink coffee,” Tom said.

  “It’s for you. How do you want your eggs?”

  “Uh, scrambled with cheddar cheese if you’re taking orders, but you don’t have to do that.”

  Elias cracked an egg and dropped the yolk into a metal bowl.

  “Two or three?” the old man asked.

  “Two.”

  Tom poured a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table. “How often do you cook breakfast?”

  “This is the second time since your father died. Before that he and I took turns several times a week. One day oatmeal, the next pancakes, followed by eggs and grits. We didn’t get in a rut.”

  Tom could imagine the two men working together in the kitchen. John Crane loved a hearty breakfast. He considered it the most important meal of the day.

  “I could do it tomorrow,” Tom offered. “What would you like?”

  “It’s cook’s choice.”

  Elias sprinkled shredded cheese on top of the eggs in the skillet. They enjoyed a quiet breakfast. Elias took Tom’s plate to the sink as soon as he finished.

  “Thanks for letting me serve you,” the old man said. “It’s something I need to do. I’ve been getting selfish in my old age.”

  Tom put down his cup. “If you’re selfish, what does that say about the rest of us?”

  ______

  It was a cool morning, and Tom didn’t lower the car windows during the drive to Bethel. When he pulled into a parking space in front of the office, Bernice was slowly getting out of her car. When she stood up, Tom saw she was using a cane for support.

  “What happened?” Tom asked as he stepped past her to unlock the office door and hold it open for her.

  “Got out of bed this morning and twisted my back.”

  “Then you should have stayed home.”

  “No.” Bernice shook her head. “I know how badly you want to get everything taken care of so you can get on with your life.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Bernice gave Tom a hurt look.

  “I mean, it’s ridiculous that I gave you that impression,” Tom corrected himself. “I don’t want to be that selfish.”

  Tom took Bernice by the arm and gently turned her around. “Please go home, and do what you should to feel better. There’s plenty I can do on my own.”

  “Okay,” Bernice said. “It flared up like this a few weeks ago but felt better the next day.”

  “If it doesn’t feel better tomorrow, stay home or go to the doctor. Is Dr. Frye still practicing?”

  “Yes, he’s treated Carl’s back.”

  “Go see him if you need to.”

  “I’ll stay near the phone.”

  “Okay, but I’ll try to leave you alone.”

  Tom walked with Bernice to her car. “Oh, there is one thing I needed to ask you before you leave,” Tom said as he held the car door open for her. “What kind of work was my father doing for Harold Addington? I found a file folder with Addington’s name on it, but there wasn’t anything in it.”

  “I saw that too,” Bernice said as she flopped down in the car seat. “I remember Mr. Addington coming in several times. He always huddled up with your daddy in the office with the door closed.”

  “What did they discuss?”

  “I’m not sure. It could have been their next fishing trip. I didn’t type any documents or pleadings, so I figured it was personal, not business.”

  “I saw Addington’s widow at Rocky River Church on Sunday. She believes her husband was a client but didn’t seem to know why.”

  “If your daddy did any legal work for Harold Addington, I’d have known about it.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. All right, go home and get off your feet.”

  Tom waved as Bernice backed her car away from the curb.

  After Bernice left, Tom brought his laptop and portable printer in from the car. Setting up in his father’s office, he plowed through a box of files, typing letters and motions to withdraw from existing cases. Tom took a break midmorning and phoned some of the clients Bernice hadn’t been able to contact. Several asked if he’d be willing to take over representation in their cases. Tom knew the request had nothing to do with him—it was a testament to the high opinion the clients had of his father. He also listened to the messages Bernice had saved on the answering machine.

  One file raised an issue of federal law unfamiliar to Tom. He checked the books on his father’s shelf and didn’t find a resource that could provide an answer. Because his father never subscribed to an online legal search engine, Tom’s only recourse would be to use books. The best place to do that would be the county law library.

  Locking the office, he walked up the hill to the courthouse. The law library was on the second floor next to the jury room. As he climbed the steps, Tom met an older lawyer on his way down. It was Lamar Sponcler. They stopped and shook hands on the landing.

  When the plaintiff’s lawyer was younger, he had a thick mane of wavy black hair. Now Sponcler’s hair was wavy and completely white, but his eyes retained the fiery spark that made hostile witnesses fear that the next question from his lips would torpedo their testimony.

  “If you’re going to see Judge Caldwell, he’s in his chambers with Charlie Williams and a defense lawyer from Rossville,” Sponcler said.

  “No, I was going to do some research.”

  “Research?”

  “Yes. My father never subscribed to a legal research service. In fact, he never bought Bernice a computer.”

  “He had his ways.” Sponcler chuckled. “What’s your issue?”

  Tom told him. The spark in the older lawyer’s eyes ignited.

  “I had that come up in a case several years ago. It’s a tricky procedural point.”

  “Would you be willing to represent the client?”

  “I’d rather we do it together.”

  “Together? I’m here to shut down my father’s practice, not keep it going.”

  “Why do that? I heard what happened to you in Atlanta. Take it from me, Bethel is a great place to ply your trade. I’ve made tons more money here than I would have wasting my career working for someone else in a silk-stocking law firm.”

  Tom’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know I lost my job?”

  “Charlie Williams mentioned it when I saw him earlier today.”

  “How did he know?”

  “Legal gossip has always been faster than the Internet,” Sponcler said, shifting his briefcase to his other hand. “Look, your former firm’s mistake can be Bethel’s gain. I’m winding down my practice and would be glad to help you get up to speed on plaintiff’s work. I can’t stand the thought of retiring and all the good cases going to Reggie Mixon. He’ll lose the close ones and settle the rest for half what
they’re worth. Believe me, contingency work beats the daylights out of being tied to the billable hour.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it,” Sponcler said with a smile. “I’ll swing by and take you to lunch one day so we can talk some more. I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it.”

  Sponcler continued down the stairs. Tom entered the windowless room that housed the county law library. Musty books lined the walls. It took him forty-five minutes to find what he needed and make notes on a legal pad about the relevant cases. Sponcler was right. It was a tricky point of procedure. Tom was replacing the books he’d stacked on the table when the door opened. It was Judge Caldwell. Tom immediately stood up.

  “Have a seat,” the judge said with a wave of his hand. “The courtroom is thirty-five feet east of here.”

  Unlike Lamar Sponcler, Judge Nathan Caldwell’s hair had fallen out instead of turning white. His bald head shone as if buffed with a cloth. An angular, bony man, the judge looked best concealed in a black robe. Dark-framed glasses, which had been the style when he was first appointed to the bench and recently returned to vogue, rested on his nose. He sat across the table from Tom.

  “How are you doing, son?” the judge asked.

  “Okay, I guess. Thanks for the message on the answering machine at the office. I was going to stop by and see you before I left town. My father had a lot of respect for you too.”

  “He will be missed. Death comes to all of us, but it has a greater sting when it strikes a man or woman who gave more to life than they took.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The judge took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Charlie Williams told me what happened at your law firm in Atlanta. Sorry to hear about that.”

  “I saw Lamar Sponcler on the stairs, and he mentioned it too. How did Charlie find out?”

  “He brought your name up to someone in Atlanta who knew about it.”

  “Any idea who it was?”

  “You’d have to ask him.” The judge returned his glasses to his nose. “Both Charlie and Lamar think you ought to consider moving back to Bethel. A small-town law practice has its unique challenges and benefits.”