Read The Waterman: A Novel of the Chesapeake Bay for Free Online Page B

off Harrison Street in Easton, Maryland. A pewter bell attached to the top of the door jingled. The inside of the glass door was draped in lace. Mildred, Bertha’s black seamstress, who’d spoken to Clay at the funeral, stuck her head around the corner into the carpeted foyer, where he stood.
    â€œHello, Mr. Clay,” she said. “How you doin’, chile?” She was thin and gray haired, and her eyes were gentle.
    â€œHello, Mildred.” Clay shrugged. “I’m holding up, thank you.”
    â€œYou have a seat now, Clay. Miss Bertha is expecting you and will be right out.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Clay looked at the love seat against the wall where Mildred had nodded he should sit. It was covered in a floral upholstery. Mildred hadn’t turned away but stayed watching him.
    â€œClay, honey, you sit there now,” she urged. She smiled. “Could I get you a Coke?”
    Then Bertha came gliding down the staircase, interrupting them.
    â€œThat’s just fine, Mildred, thank you, but we’ll be leaving,” she said. Bertha spoke with a rich Carolina accent. She hailed from Charleston.
    â€œHey, Clay,” she went on, leaning over and brushing his cheek with hers.
    Outside, a fine mist hovered over the street. Clay took Bertha’sred umbrella and opened it for her. He held it to shield her as they walked down Harrison to where it met Dover Street. A black man in denim overalls stood balanced on an aluminum ladder in the light rain, replacing the letters on the movie theater marquee with the name of the new film,
The Last Picture Show
. Clay’d heard it was worth seeing. At the entrance to the Tidewater Inn, Clay closed the umbrella, shook it dry, and placed it in the rack against the brick facade.
    Inside the dining room, red embers glowed in the stone hearth. A waiter came by, bringing firewood. A girl Clay had known in high school—he remembered her name, Paula Firth—showed them to a table in the corner and gave them each a lunch menu. She was pretty, with short blond hair and long legs. She asked Clay how he’d been, flirted with him some, and told him it was nice to see him and that she’d bring some water. The restaurant tables were about half full, mostly businessmen in suits. Clay caught several of them staring at Bertha, who didn’t seem to notice.
    After they had sat down, Bertha looked at her menu for a moment and then set it aside.
    â€œThank you for joining me today, Clay,” she said.
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    Bertha smiled but seemed embarrassed.
    â€œMy sisters are leaving this week. I’m a little afraid.”
    He thought her face was thinner than he had remembered. Her tinted hair was pulled tight under a round blue brimmed hat. Her eyes looked flat.
    â€œWhat do you plan to do?”
    â€œI don’t know. What is there to do? Keep on, I guess.”
    â€œYou’re afraid of being alone.” It was a statement.
    â€œAnd I’m afraid of not being alone.”
    Paula came over and poured their water. She asked them if they were ready to order. Bertha asked for a salad, and Clay, a crab cake sandwich.
    Bertha remarked about the memorial service and how amazed she was at all the people who came. After a while she turned the conversation. “I always admired you, Clay. The way you handled it all.”
    He didn’t reply. He was aware of the clinking of dishes from the kitchen and the background hum of conversation.
    â€œI never really knew what I did until it was too late.”
    Clay fidgeted. “There’s no need,” he said.
    â€œNo. I want, this once, to tell you. I should have said this to you long before now. The time just never seemed right.”
    â€œIf there ever was a right time, I’m not sure it hasn’t passed.”
    â€œClay.”
    He picked up his spoon and turned it until it caught the reflection of the fire.
    Bertha leaned her head back. “I