Chesapeake Tide (12 page)

“What's wrong?”

“I don't want to leave. Really, I don't. But my family will be worried about me.”

“I'll drive you home.”

She thanked Lizzie for the meal and waited in the truck while Bailey helped his mother into the trailer. Chloe hadn't been invited inside. Bailey Jones had his share of pride.

He climbed in beside her and turned the key. The engine rattled to life.

They were silent most of the way back home. Bailey stopped at the end of the road leading to the Delacourte house.

Chloe looked at him. “Aren't you going to drive me in?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

Resigned, he turned down the road and into the long driveway, stopping in front of the house.

Cole Delacourte was smoking a cigar on the porch. He walked up to the car and held out his hand. “How are you, Bailey?”

“Fine, sir.”

“I see that you found my granddaughter.”

“I'd say she found me. But she's safe and fed. My mama enjoyed her company.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Her mama's worried.” He nodded at Chloe. “You better run inside, sugar, and tell the women you're still in the land of the living. They were imagining all sorts of foolish things and there was nothing I could do to convince them otherwise.”

Chloe opened the door and stepped out. “Thanks, Bailey. I had a nice time. I hope I'll see you soon.”

“Bye, Chloe. You know where to find me.”

She drew a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and braced herself to face her mother.

L
ibby sat across from her daughter in her parents' comfortable living room of cream-colored couches, colorful pillows and mahogany furniture, willing herself to remain calm, reasonable, sane, when what she really wanted to do was hurl vases, pace the floor and, if she dared to be honest, smack the surly expression from Chloe's mutinous little face. “Let me see if I understand you,” she said carefully. “You ran off into the woods, fell asleep for hours, woke up to find a strange boy hovering over you and then you went home with him to eat dinner.” She drummed her fingers on the coffee table. “Do I have the facts correct?”

Chloe nodded.

Libby saw red. “Do you have any idea how stupidly you've behaved?”

“It wasn't like that at all,” Chloe argued. “You're turning it around.”

“How am I turning it around?” Libby couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“I already knew Bailey,” Chloe explained. “I met him the other day. He gave me a ride into town.”

“He did what?” Libby couldn't believe her ears. Had all her warnings about accepting rides from strangers fallen on deaf ears? Had she failed completely as a mother? “Are you saying you got into a car with a stranger?” Her voice cracked. “Chloe, how could you?”

“I don't know.” Chloe hung her head. “It didn't seem that bad at the time and it turned out all right.”

Cole Delacourte walked into the room in time to hear Chloe's confession. “Bailey Jones isn't a bad sort. Chloe won't come to any harm with him.”

“That isn't the point,” cried Libby. “She didn't know anything about him. She could have been killed or kidnapped.”

“This isn't Los Angeles,” her father reminded her. “Although I'm sure such things happen in small towns, it hasn't happened here. Bailey is Lizzie Jones's son.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Chloe lifted her head. “What's wrong with Lizzie Jones? I like her.”

Libby's eyes met her father's. How did one explain a woman like Lizzie Jones to a teenager?

“Lizzie had a hard time of it when she was young,” Cole said slowly. “She survived in the only way she could. It destroyed her reputation. I always wondered why she never left Marshyhope Creek.”

“They own the land,” Chloe said. “It's all they have.”

Coleson nodded. “That must be it.”

“Bailey is an artist,” Chloe offered. “I saw his paintings. He's really good.”

Libby sat down beside Chloe. “I want you to promise me you won't go there again.”

Chloe stared at her mother. “Why not? If I have to live in this place, at least I should be able to choose my own friends.”

“You won't have any friends if you associate with Lizzie Jones.”

“I'm associating with Bailey.”

“It's the same thing.”

“Verna Lee said I should be his friend.”

“I have no idea what Verna Lee's motives are, but she's not your mother and she doesn't have your interests at heart. I want you to stay away from Bailey Jones and his mother.”

“You haven't given me one good reason,” Chloe argued.

“Chloe,” her mother said helplessly. “This is a small town. It isn't Los Angeles. I want you to be accepted. You can't behave the way you did at home.”

“I can't believe you're doing this,” Chloe said bitterly. “You weren't like this before. I don't want to live here if I can't pick my own friends.”

Again, Libby looked at her father for help.

He shrugged. “She's got a point,” he said. “Maybe Chloe can change things around here.”

“Like you did?” Libby burst out. “You've been trying to change the world for forty years and nothing's happened.”

“A great deal has happened, Libba Jane,” he said gently. “Maybe, in your eyes, fresh from California, it doesn't look like things are different, but they are. Chloe might bring even more change. Her ways may be accepted merely because she's not a native. What's the worst that can happen?”

“She could be completely ostracized.”

“The Delacourtes stand for something in this town. She'll be all right.” He smiled at Chloe. “Why don't you say good-night to your grandma and go up to bed.”

Chloe kissed his cheek on the way out. “Thanks, Granddad,” she whispered before leaving the room.

Libby clenched her hands, stood and walked across the room to stare out the window, a slim figure in white shorts and a sleeveless blouse tied in a knot around her waist. She looked no older than her daughter. “I would rather not have Chloe be a martyr, Daddy. I want her to be happy. Why can't somebody else pave the way?”

“You can't control everything, Libba,” her father said slowly. “Chloe's bright. She understands more than you think. What's important to you isn't necessarily important to her. You brought her here. She had no choice in the matter. Now it's time to step back and allow her to make her own way.”

She turned around and appealed to her father. “Was it this hard for you?”

“What?”

“Raising me?”

He laughed. “Hell, no. You were about as perfect a child as anyone could hope for. I wasn't and neither was your mama. We wondered if we had a changeling. For years we waited for the other shoe to fall.”

“And then it did,” she finished for him.

Coleson Delacourte grimaced. “I always wondered what you saw in Eric Richards. Later, I realized it could have been anyone. You wanted out.” He fixed his piercing blue gaze on his daughter. “What I never did figure out was why. It seemed as if you had the world by the tail. What was it that made you so hopping eager to leave?”

Warmth stole into her cheeks. Libby didn't color like most people, a bright uncomfortable red that began somewhere around the chest and moved upward, leaving no one in doubt that the person suffered from miserable embarrassment. Libby's blush was a warm, delicate apricot, a subtle dusting of the apples of her cheeks and the tip of her nose. It became her. She shook her head. “I don't even remember now.”

“I always wondered if it had anything to do with the Hennessey boy.”

She brushed off his implied question. “It doesn't matter. I'm back.”

He hesitated. There was more to be said, but perhaps not now, not yet. “So you are. We're very grateful.”

She walked past him, kissing his cheek on the way out. “I have a big day tomorrow, Daddy. Good night.”

“Good night, Libba Jane. Look in on your mama before you turn in.”

“I will.”

Libby walked to the end of the long hallway and hesitated outside of her mother's room. It was Chloe's voice she heard. Peering inside she saw her daughter seated on a stool beside her mother's chair.

“I'll do that, Grandma,” Chloe said. She took a small bottle from Nola Ruth's hand and unscrewed the lid. “It smells good.”

“It's the best night cream I've found. It's kept my skin soft all these years. You won't need more than a dab.”

Chloe dipped her finger into the pot and gently patted the cream around her grandmother's good eye and cheek. “You have beautiful skin,” Chloe agreed. “It's like Mom's.”

“You have lovely skin, too, Chloe,” Nola Ruth observed. “It's golden, like the Beauchamps'. You get that from me. Watch out that you don't get too much sun, though. Even olive skin can burn.”

“I know.” Chloe dipped her finger into the pot again and reached for the disfigured side of her grandmother's face.

Nola Ruth shrank back. “Never mind about that.”

Chloe ignored her. Softly, her fingers brushed her grandmother's cheek and orbital bone. “Doesn't that feel good?” she asked.

Nola Ruth nodded.

“You want both cheeks to be soft and smooth, don't you?”

The woman stared at her granddaughter. “Doesn't it disgust you?” she asked bluntly.

“What?”

“My eye droops and my cheek sags. It's ugly.”

Chloe continued to pat her grandmother's cheek. Then she leaned over and kissed it. “Nothing about you is ugly, Grandma,” she said gently. “Don't be so hard on yourself.”

Nola Ruth's eyes brimmed with tears. She squeezed Chloe's hand. “I don't deserve you, young lady,” she said, “but I'm so glad you're here.”

Libby backed away, careful to tread lightly and not disturb the scene in the bedroom. Trust Chloe to break through her grandmother's armor and set the situation straight.

Morning dawned, clear and hot. From Libby's bedroom window, the Chesapeake flowed molten in the wake of a brilliant sun. Still exhausted after a restless night, she dragged herself to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth and pulled on faded cutoffs and a cotton shirt. She didn't bother with makeup. Brushing back her hair, she reached for her visor, slipped into her deck shoes and walked downstairs. The house was silent. The smell of sweet fritters and coffee wafted through the hallway. Fumbling for her car keys, Libby ignored the kitchen and its tempting aromas. The engine of her mother's Volvo turned over and in less than three minutes she'd reached the dock and the offices of the Hennessey Blue Crab and Fishing Fleet. Fortified with a twice-rehearsed speech, Libby walked to the door and turned the knob. It was locked. She frowned and turned back to the gravel parking lot. The Volvo was the only car in sight.

Where was Russ Hennessey? It was after six. If she didn't find him soon it would be too late to take a boat out on the water. Libby climbed behind the wheel again and drove back through town. A Chevy Blazer was parked in front of Perks. Coffee sounded very good. Libby pulled into a parking space, left the car unlocked and walked into the shop. Once again she was interrupting. Verna Lee and Russ were holding a conversation across the counter. Neither one turned around.

She waited a full ten seconds and decided she had been ignored long enough. “Good morning,” she said.

Both of them turned. “Good morning, Libba Jane,” said Verna Lee.

Russ merely nodded his head.

“Am I wrong, or did you leave a message at my office about getting an early start?” she asked, addressing him.

He held two cups in his hands and lifted one of them. “We did. I thought you could use some coffee. This is for you.”

She took it. “I took you at your word when you meant early.”

“I'm flattered.”

“Don't be. It isn't personal.”

Russ grinned. “I'm all yours.”

Libby smiled at Verna Lee. “Thanks for the coffee.” She looked at Russ. “Shall we?”

“After you. See you later, Verna Lee.”

Verna Lee waved. “Nice to have you back, Russ. Bye, Libba Jane.”

Russ opened Libby's car door. “I'll meet you back at the dock.”

Libby looked at him. “Sometimes I think I rub Verna Lee the wrong way.”

“I didn't notice anything. Why?”

Libby shrugged. “Never mind. We weren't ever really friends. She was too far ahead of us in school. I always admired her, though. She was so exotic and confident.” She laughed. “I'm just being overly sensitive.”

A smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. “You've changed. When did you ever care if someone disapproved of you?”

“I'm thirty-seven,” she reminded him. “It makes a difference.”

His eyes rested briefly on her shoulder-length dark hair pulled back into a youthful ponytail before moving down to inspect the slim lines of her legs barely covered by faded, sun-washed shorts. “You're really honing in on middle age,” he said, keeping his face straight. “I wouldn't have known you.”

“Like I said,” Libby replied, refusing to banter with him,“I've changed.” She closed the door and rolled down the window. “If we aren't out in the water in ten minutes you won't have anything to show me.”

“See you at the dock in five minutes.”

Libby pulled out onto the road without looking back. She could feel the familiar coil of irritation begin in her stomach. She didn't know why she was bothered, only that she was. Whether it was Verna Lee or the fact that Russ was so cavalier about this morning that he didn't notice the time, she hadn't figured out yet. Maybe it was Chloe's defiant independence and her father's supporting that defiance. Libby prided herself on her ability to analyze a given situation, isolate the problem and come up with a solution. The most difficult part, the part that prevented her from sleeping and left her feeling as if she had a hole in her stomach, was pinpointing exactly what was bothering her. She needed more than the five minutes it would take to drive back to the dock to figure it out. Until she had more time, she would chew bicarbonate for the twist in her stomach and try her best not to appear inept at her first day on the job.

Libby hopped from the pier to the deck of the boat without help and positioned herself so that she was safely away from all moving parts.

Russ started the engine and maneuvered away from the dock. Between sips of coffee he studied her surreptitiously. She didn't look her age, although she had that aura women have after they turn thirty-five. No one would make the mistake of believing she was ten years younger, but she still looked good, damn good, with an ageless kind of appeal a woman on the green side of thirty just didn't have. Libba fit the profile. She was slim and fit, with thick hair and clear, tight skin. The sun lines around her eyes were barely visible in the early light of morning. Physically, she had aged well. He hadn't expected less. She'd always been a looker.

Somewhere between Verna Lee's shop and the dock, she'd put on lipstick. He noticed it right away. Not that she needed lipstick. She had the kind of face that looked good the minute she rolled out of bed in the morning. He wondered how she'd grown up so unaware of the effect her physical appearance had on men between the ages of fourteen and seventy. Most likely it was Nola Ruth's doing. She was so afraid her daughter would lose her virginity before her wedding night, forever ruining her marriage prospects, that she'd created the opposite effect, a woman who was insecure about her own physical attributes.