Sam's Legacy by Jay Neugeboren Page A

usual. Most people would have taken him for six-three or six-three-and-a-half, even though he was probably six-two. The thinness of the man’s cheeks, the length of his neck, the way his arms hung almost to the tops of his kneecaps, and those long slender fingers—like a musician’s—things like that could give the illusion of extra height. Sam sat down in the easy chair. “It’s about your father,” Tidewater said. “He’s worried about you.”
    â€œWhat?” Sam looked away.
    â€œCan I help in any way?”
    â€œI look out for myself,” Sam said. Tidewater didn’t move. “Look—if you want to talk, sit down.” His eyes on the manila envelope, Sam thought of asking Tidewater if his inheritance was in it. “It makes me nervous, you guarding the door there. Nobody’s gonna steal anything.”
    â€œThis is important,” Tidewater said, and his voice was cool. He moved forward, noiselessly, pulled a chair from the table, and sat. “There was a time,” he said, “though you might not believe it, when I could have been of some use to you. Perhaps Ben has—”
    â€œHe said something once,” Sam said.
    Tidewater’s eyes closed, and Sam’s own eyes widened, watching the man’s face—it was as if, he thought, there were two huge marbles under the eyelids. Holy rollers, you might call them, he thought, but the joke only annoyed him. Inside his mouth, he ran his tongue over his gums. “You’re worried about your father,” Tidewater stated. “That—”
    â€œBen can take care of himself.”
    â€œThat you might not see him again if he leaves for California,” Tidewater continued. The man’s voice was strong, and Sam didn’t like it. “We all hope, of course, that he’ll have many years ahead of him. Still—”
    â€œCut the gas,” Sam said. “I got things to do. What’s on your mind? I mean, like I said before, Ben told me you wanted to see me.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Tidewater said, and Sam saw the man smile slightly, pleased to hear that his message had been delivered. “He’s worried about you and I thought you should know. It might affect—well, I thought you should know. That’s all.”
    â€œNow I know,” Sam said, standing.
    â€œHe’s making a mistake, of course. He should stay here—with you, with all of us.”
    Sam tried to get the wheels to spin faster inside his head, to figure what the guy was after. So Ben was worried about him. Flo too. And the Bible man, and now Tidewater. The whole world was out to save Sam Berman’s ass. That and twenty cents…“He’s his own man,” Sam said. “It’s all the same to me.”
    â€œHe’s making a mistake. You’re staying on, which means that you must know it’s a mistake. That is why I’m here, you see—we have something in common now, Sam.” Tidewater looked up, his eyes large, and then he laughed suddenly, with a bitterness that surprised Sam. “You’re my farewell gift from him, don’t you see?”
    Sam moved backwards. “Listen, I don’t have the time for this. I get enough of it from—”
    â€œThat’s just where the words came from,” Tidewater said, and he leaned back in the chair. “From your father. There’s no reason not to tell him my feelings: that I wanted him to stay—he knows what our friendship means to me, what discovering one another again, after all the years…” Tidewater’s voice trailed off, and Sam relaxed, made himself concentrate on the fact that Tidewater was, like Ben, just another old man. “But what he does not—and will not—know, is that you are my farewell gift to him.”
    Sam drew a deep breath. Maybe this was how the two of them had passed all those hours in Tidewater’s room, below