Water's Edge by Robert Whitlow Page B

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