Chesapeake Tide (16 page)

“Fair enough, although I wouldn't call it a date. I'll make reservations at the Sealark for eight.”

“What would you call it?”

“A fact-finding mission.”

She smiled. “I'll be there.”

He watched her leave. His invitation was spur of the moment, surprising him, like the kiss. What it meant he hadn't figured out yet. If he was smart he'd be gun-shy around Libba Delacourte. She'd wiped her feet on him once already and here he was again, honing in on her like a carrier pigeon. The trouble was she turned him inside out. If he was to make any kind of life for himself, it was about time he figured out why.

C
hloe's mouth worked as she struggled against tears. She'd expected Bailey to agree with her. He was supposed to be her friend. She sat on the floor of the shed he used as a studio watching while he painted over a canvas.

“Why are you doing that?” she asked.

“I have to reuse them. I can't afford to buy a new one every time.”

She watched his hands, caught by their sure, capable movements, pleased with their brownness and the lean length of his fingers gripping the brush. “I don't want to go,” she said sulkily.

“Then don't.”

“But you think I should?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He didn't answer at first, busy with whiting out colorful splashes of paint on the canvas. Finally, when it was completely covered, he set his brush to soak, turned to Chloe and ran his clean hand through his straight black hair. He sounded impatient. “How do you know what you don't like unless you try it?”

“I know I won't like sitting around with a bunch of gossipy girls.”

“You don't know that at all,” Bailey said. “Who knows, you could be about to meet your new best friend.”

Chloe thought she'd already done so. It was lowering to think that Bailey didn't value their friendship as much as she did. “What if I hate them?”

Bailey stared at her, noting the smooth line of her slender brown legs, the points of her collarbone where the tiny gold ankh rested against the pulse in her throat, her slanted bluer-than-blue eyes and the gold-dusted hair with their black tips floating around her head. He wondered how long it would be before she recognized her own power. “You won't have lost much,” Bailey answered logically. “It's only one night and it's still summer, so you won't have to wait a week before you get another day off.”

“That's true.” Chloe was waffling. There was really no good reason to stay home from the party except for the fact that she wasn't comfortable hanging with a group of people she didn't know. But she wouldn't admit to being shy. It was a flaw, and while adults from her parents' generation might be okay with it, boys from hers were not. Confidence was far more attractive, and although she played a good game on the outside, her insides turned to mush at the thought of crashing a high school slumber party. Still, she didn't want Bailey to know she was afraid, especially since he didn't seem to be afraid of anything.

“I can always say I'm sick and come home.”

“You could,” he agreed, “but they'd probably see right through you and it would be worse than if you stuck it out and pretended to have a good time.”

“Where did you get to be so smart?”

He shrugged and changed the subject. “It's a hot afternoon. Are you thirsty?”

Chloe nodded.

“Do you want a beer?”

She hesitated briefly and then decided on the truth. “I don't do alcohol.”

His face stilled, closing against her. “Suit yourself.”

“Maybe we could drive into town and see if Verna Lee has more of her spiced tea,” she suggested.

“I guess we could.”

Chloe beamed and scrambled to her feet, happy he was choosing to extend their time together. Bailey Jones intrigued her. Every time she saw him, he left her wanting to know more.

She climbed into his ancient truck. “I like Verna Lee.”

He nodded, struck a match on the dashboard and bent his head to light a cigarette.

“Do you like her?”

He blew out a swirl of smoke and considered her question. “She's nice enough.”

“She's real,” Chloe said. “More real than anybody here, except maybe my grandfather.”

Bailey frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Chloe waved her hand in a general sweeping gesture. “Everybody here is syrupy. They pretend to be nice, but they don't mean it. I feel like they're judging everything about me, my clothes—” she fingered her spiky black tips “—my hair, the way I talk. Verna Lee is different. She says what she thinks.”

Bailey was quiet for the length of time it took to reach the heart of Marshyhope Creek where Perks hugged one corner of the street and the hardware store the other. He pulled into a diagonal parking space and sat for a minute, finishing his cigarette. He ground out the butt and opened the door.

Chloe opened her side and slid out of the seat. She felt ill at ease. Their camaraderie was gone. It had slipped away somewhere between the highway and the city limits.

Verna Lee's welcome almost made up for Bailey's lassitude. “Hi, you two,” she called out from one of the deep couches. She was alone, her only company a latte and a magazine. “It's been such a slow night. I was wondering if I should even bother to stay open. Now I'm glad I did.”

Chloe nudged Bailey. “See what I mean?” she whispered.

He ignored her and spoke to Verna Lee. “We came for some of your spiced tea.”

“I made up a batch today.” She stood, a fluid, graceful straightening of her long, shapely legs, and moved around the counter to the refrigerator. “Mint or lemon?”

“Lemon,” they said in unison.

Verna Lee carried the glasses toward the couch where she had been sitting. She motioned for Chloe and Bailey to join her. “Come on down here and sit for a bit.”

She waited while they settled in. “I thought you two might find each other,” she said.

Bailey said nothing, his black eyes unreadable. “Thanks for the herbs, Miss Verna Lee,” he said softly. “Mama sleeps better with them.”

Verna Lee's smile faded. “You need to find a way out of here, Bailey. Your mother needs treatment in a hospital. Alternative medicine can only do so much.”

“I know,” he said in a low voice. “But she won't leave the land.”

“She doesn't have to sell it.”

Bailey made a swift, flat motion with his hands. Even Chloe knew the subject was closed. The mood had grown ugly. She tried to turn it. “It looks like we're staying here, Verna Lee,” she said quickly. “My mother has a job.”

The black woman's eyes moved over Bailey one last time before resting on Chloe's face. “I heard. How do you feel about that?”

“I'm not actually staying permanently,” Chloe replied. “It's just a temporary move for me. As soon as it's legal, I'm going back to L.A.”

Verna Lee sipped her latte. “How long will that be?”

“A couple of years at the most, or until I can convince my dad to let me live with him.”

“That's a long time,” Verna Lee said slowly. “If I were you I might try to work myself out of a holding-pattern attitude. You might like it here and then you'll have two places where you'll feel at home.”

Chloe didn't know whether it was the tea or the company, but suddenly she felt comfortable explaining her position. “I've been invited to a party and I don't know anyone. Bailey says I should go, but I'm not sure.”

“Why not?”

“What if it doesn't work out?”

“If you don't go, you'll never know.”

“But if I do go and it doesn't work out everyone will know. By staying home, it looks like it was me who decided.”

Bailey was staring at her as if she had half her clothes on. “That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”

Chloe flushed.

Verna Lee shook her toffee-colored mane over her face. “Tell me if I understand. You're afraid they won't like you, so you're going to reject them first.”

Chloe hung her head. “When you put it like that, it sounds terrible.”

“It sounds safe, Chloe. Why do you think the worst of people before you've given them a chance?”

“I've seen kids from other places try to fit into a new school. It doesn't work.”

“Never?” Verna Lee asked.

“If they're guys and good in sports, sometimes it's okay, but girls are a different story. My friends are awful to them.”

“What about you?” Bailey asked. “Are you awful, too?”

“Not directly,” Chloe admitted, “but I don't step in and defend anyone. If I did, I'd be dead, too.”

“I think you may find that things are a bit different around here,” said Verna Lee.

Chloe raised her eyebrows and looked at Bailey. “I don't think so. Bailey told me I shouldn't be seen with him if I wanted to fit in. Tell me how that's different.”

Bailey drained the last of his tea. “They don't like me because I'm dirt poor and because my mother won't sell her land. You're Coleson Delacourte's granddaughter and your mama was the town's golden girl until she ran off with your daddy. They'll be rolling out the red carpet and licking your feet no matter what you do.”

“Unless I show up in a truck driven by someone who's dirt poor and whose mama won't sell her land,” she snapped back.

Verna Lee laughed. “Come on, you two. Chloe, do whatever you want. It'll work out. Everything usually does.”

Bailey stood. “We'll let you close up, Verna Lee. No sense in your staying open just to entertain us.”

“It's my pleasure. Stop by anytime.” She waved his money away. “Put that back in your pocket. Your money's no good here.”

“I can pay,” he said tightly.

“I know you can, but I'm not going to charge my friends for staying to have a glass of tea with me.”

Their eyes met and held. Finally, Bailey sighed and stuffed the money back into his pocket.

“Say hello to your mama for me, Bailey. Tell her I'll be out to see her real soon.”

“I'll do that.”

Verna Lee hugged Chloe. “Come back, now.”

“I will,” Chloe promised.

Bailey dropped her off at the end of the long brick path leading to her grandparents' home. He'd been silent on the way back. When she opened the door to slide out of the truck, he broke his silence. “I don't need anybody to fight my battles.”

Chloe's mouth dropped. In the time it took for their eyes to lock, her shock had turned to cold, furious anger. “You're a jerk, Bailey Jones. No wonder no one likes you.”

He gunned his engine and drove on, and even though she stepped back away from the truck, he left her covered in a layer of fine, red dust.

Libby knocked on Chloe's bedroom door. There was no response. “Chloe,” she called softly, “are you there?”

“I'm here.”

“May I come in?”

Libby heard a sigh, the creak of bedsprings and then the door opened. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to tell you that I won't be home for dinner. I'm meeting a friend.”

“So? Why tell me?”

Libby frowned. “You sound upset. Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Chloe's eyes flashed blue fire. “Nothing that a ticket home wouldn't cure.”

Her mother shook her head and turned away. “You're impossible. Good night. If you're still up, I'll stop in later.”

The door clicked shut. She heard the muttered words “Don't count on it” through the oak panel. Chloe had always been a challenge, but this defiance was new. Libby hoped it was a short stage. Her patience was running thin. For the second time in her life, she had to quell the urge to slap her child.

Russ was bereft of speech. He'd seen Libba in school clothes, in denim shorts and in and out of her underwear, but never in his life had he seen the adult Libba Delacourte dressed up. She stood there at the entrance to the bar looking like the girl he remembered, yet she wasn't really that girl at all. She had moved to a place that didn't include him. She reminded him of all that was decadent, rich and forbidden, New Orleans chicory and cream, thick coffee and heat-baked sidewalks, chocolate and powdered-sugar beignets.

He blinked his eyes, looked away, his senses filled with her image, and looked back again. Her eyes, huge and dark, glowed against the honey-gold of her skin. Her hair, the same velvety shade as her eyes, was pulled severely back from her brow and clasped with a barrette behind her head, allowing the thick mass to float around her face and touch her shoulders. A strapless red dress hugged her waist and hips, the sleek material coming to a stop several inches above her knees. Her legs were long and graceful in pale hose and heeled pumps. He knew she'd smell like peach blossoms, a scent as simple, clean and sweet as Hadley's grove on the banks of the Chesapeake. She'd grown up without him, but he wasn't through yet. He rose and made his way through the cloth-covered tables to meet her.

She smiled and his heart hurt.

“I'm sorry I'm late. Have you been here long?”

“Ten minutes, no more.”

He nodded toward the table he'd left. “I'd like to eat in here. The view's better. Can we enjoy it for a few minutes or are you hungry now?”

“I can wait for a while.”

He led her to a small table near the window and pulled out her chair. A bottle of sparkling wine sat in an ice bucket beside it. Libby noticed that it had yet to be poured. “Thanks for waiting,” she said, and sat down. “It's a gorgeous night, just the way I like them.”

Russ poured her a glass of wine. “You like hot, dry nights when you don't have to wear a sweater and your hair doesn't curl from the humidity.”

Libby's eyes widened. “You're amazing. I can't believe you remembered that.”

He nodded. “It would be even more amazing if I didn't. You were an original.”

“Strange.” Her forehead creased. “I didn't think of myself that way at all.”

“Does anyone?”

She considered his question. “Maybe. Someone with confidence might. Chloe might.”

“I have to meet your Chloe.”

“There's plenty of time for that,” Libby said hastily. She picked up her wineglass and focused on the view. Men made her nervous, especially good-looking, sweet-talking men with slate-blue eyes and wicked grins. She'd fallen in love with one and married another. That was enough for one lifetime. This time she was looking for something different. This time she would hold on to the advantage.