Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love by Robert Whitlow

a headache?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you need to go to the doctor?”
    “No.” She shook her head vigorously.
    I was willing to force a trip to the hospital but decided to watch her closely for a few minutes.
    “I’ve fixed a pot of coffee,” I said softly. “You can take your medication and drink a cup. Come into the kitchen and sit down.”
    Mrs. Fairmont shuffled into the room and sat in a narrow chair at a small table in the corner. Her medications were organized in a daily dispenser. I found the bottle of pain pills and shook one out.
    “Take this first,” I said, placing it on the table with a cup of water. “It’s a pain pill. I’ll fix your coffee just the way you like it, easy on the cream with an extra touch of sugar.”
    Mrs. Fairmont’s fingers trembled slightly as she raised the pill and water to her lips. It was a sad scene, especially after our vibrant conversation the previous night. She swallowed the pill. I placed the cup of coffee in front of her. She put both hands around the cup and took a sip.
    “That’s good,” she said with a sigh and closed her eyes. “I heard you downstairs and didn’t know what was going on.”
    “I went out for a run,” I answered, then carefully described my route in hope the mention of familiar places would help jump-start her memory. Mrs. Fairmont listened carefully.
    “Is the Greenwald house on East Gaston Street still for sale?” she asked.
    “Maybe. I saw several Realtor signs. Which house is it?”
    Mrs. Fairmont described a wooden, Victorian-style home. “Mrs. Greenwald’s aunt was a friend of my mother.”
    “I’m not sure I remember seeing it.”
    “I can’t criticize you for that,” the elderly woman said with a sigh. “My memory betrays me all the time.”
    Mrs. Fairmont’s eyes looked less hazy. She sniffled and blew her nose on a tissue.
    “Would you like breakfast?” I asked, placing her regular medicines in front of her. “I could fix an omelet.”
    “No, thank you. I’ll take my medicine then sit in the den and drink this wonderful coffee you made.”
    I carried the coffee cup as she walked slowly to her favorite chair. Flip dutifully followed and curled up at her feet.
    “Are you comfortable?” I asked, placing a small pillow behind her neck.
    “Yes, don’t let me hold you up. I know you must have big plans for the day.”
    “Not really. Is your headache going away?”
    “What headache?”
    I patted her lightly on the shoulder. “Rest while I go downstairs to shower and get dressed for the day.”
    When I returned forty-five minutes later, Mrs. Fairmont’s eyes were closed. I quickly checked to make sure she was breathing. Every time I found the older woman sitting in the chair with her eyes shut, I had a moment’s anxiety whether she was alive or dead. Almost imperceptibly, her chest was rising and falling. Her pain pills always made her drowsy.
    I lay on a leather couch to read my Bible. Flip joined me, and I let him nestle between my arm and side. Several times during the morning, I took a break to walk around the house for a few minutes. I returned to the couch and picked up my Bible, but nothing I read contained the answer I needed for the job. The words Braddock , Appleby , Smith , and Feldman weren’t in the Scriptures. The word Carpenter appeared a few times, but not in a context that fit my need. Around 11:00 a.m. Mrs. Fairmont stirred and opened her eyes. I offered up another quick prayer for her mental clarity. She rubbed her eyes and looked at me.
    “How long have I been asleep?”
    “Over three hours.”
    “It’s nice having you in the house again. I rest better when I know you’re here. Would you like to live here when you move to Savannah, at least until you find a place of your own?”
    My heart leaped that she’d brought up the subject.
    “I’d need to discuss it with Mrs. Bartlett.”
    “Posh,” Mrs. Fairmont replied. “Christine doesn’t own this house, not yet.”
    “Maybe we can talk to