Chesapeake Tide (18 page)

Chloe stared out the window.

“You've got an advantage here, you know.”

“How's that?”

“You're Libba's daughter. People in this town have long memories and she was a favorite. You're bound to benefit.”

“I don't think Skylar Taft cares about my mother's popularity a century ago.”

“No, but her mother does. She was one of those who wanted to hang around your mother, to bask in her glow, so to speak.”

Chloe looked at him, suddenly curious. “What about Tess?”

“What about her?” Russ asked warily.

“Where does she fit into the Skylar Taft picture?”

Russ waited a full minute before answering, wondering whether he should couch the truth or just go for it. He decided she would find out, anyway. “I don't know, Chloe,” he said honestly. “I wasn't around for a good part of Tess's life. I saw her periodically but not regularly, if you know what I mean.”

Chloe nodded. “My dad was the same. Did you travel?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

“I designed houses.”

She didn't miss the past tense. “Do you still do that?”

He shook his head. “Now I run a fishing fleet that's been in my family for generations.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose. “I'd rather design houses. Do you miss it?”

He laughed. “Not as much as I miss other things.” He turned down the brick drive that led to the Delacourtes'. “They won't be expecting you home.”

She sighed. “I know. There'll be another showdown with my mother. Thanks for the ride.”

“Do you want me to come inside with you?”

Chloe turned to him hopefully. “Would you?”

“Sure enough.” He drove around the circular driveway and parked. “Shall we brave the lions?”

She laughed for the first time since climbing into the car. “It won't be that bad,” she assured him. “My grandparents are really polite and my mom won't say anything while you're there.” Chloe tilted her head thoughtfully. “I guess you know all that already. You probably know them better than I do.”

He smiled down at her. “That was a long time ago.”

“It's weird to think my mom had a boyfriend who wasn't my dad.”

“I imagine it is.” He followed Chloe up the porch steps.

She opened the door. “Here goes.” She braced herself. “Hello, everybody,” she called out. “I'm back. Is anybody home?”

For a moment there was only silence. Then, simultaneously, Coleson walked out of his study at the end of the hall and Libby peered over the balcony at the top of the stairs.

“Chloe?” her mother said. “Why are you home?” She saw Russ and her eyes widened. She ran down the stairs. “Has something happened?”

Russ waited for Chloe to answer. From their brief acquaintance, he was quite sure she could handle the situation. And he was curious. He wanted to see this interaction between mother and daughter. Chloe was nothing like Libba physically except for a certain leggy slimness, but they were similar in other ways. Watching the two of them, he knew he would have taken Chloe for a Delacourte even before she told him. They squared off, facing each other like two boxers in a ring.

“I decided to come home early,” Chloe announced.

Cole Delacourte moved closer to the action.

“Why?” Libby asked.

Russ had to hand it to her. She wasn't hysterical, just surprised and obviously willing to allow her daughter the benefit of the doubt. His respect for her rose.

“I wasn't having a good time.” Chloe was deliberately holding back.

Libby glanced at Russ and then back at Chloe. “I see you found Mr. Hennessey. Do you mind telling me how that came about?”

“I was walking home,” Chloe explained, “and he came by. Since I already knew he was Tess's father, I thought it would be okay if he gave me a ride.”

It wasn't, but Libby had no intention of verbalizing her disapproval in front of Russ. “Did something happen, Chloe?” her mother asked.

“Not directly. But I couldn't stay there. I was miserable. I'm not like them.”

Libby sighed and Cole stepped in and spoke to his granddaughter. “Are you hungry, Chloe? We've eaten, but Serena can put something together for you.”

Chloe nodded. She looked at her mother. “May I go now?”

“You may, but we'll finish this later. I have one more question, before you go. Did you tell anyone you were leaving or did you simply disappear?”

“Tess knows. I told her I didn't feel good. She promised to tell the Tafts.”

“I'll call them and explain,” Libby said.

“What will you say?”

“Exactly what you told me. You were feeling poorly and couldn't stay.”

Chloe turned to Russ. “Thanks again for the ride, and for coming in with me. I guess I didn't need you after all.”

Cole laughed, tucked his granddaughter's hand under his arm and led her out of the room.

Libby looked at Russ. “What's your version?”

He grinned. “She's a handful.”

“Thanks a lot. You didn't answer my question.”

“I found her walking along the road. It's a good seven miles from the Tafts' into town.”

Libby frowned. “Why was she going into town?”

“To wait out the storm, I imagine.”

Libby exploded. “What storm? This is ridiculous. It's not as if she hasn't been completely indulged her entire life. What's gotten into her?”

“Maybe that's the problem,” Russ said slowly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If everything's always gone her way, think of how she must feel now that it isn't.”

Libby crossed her arms. “She's going to have to get used to it.”

“Hey,” he said softly. “Don't bury the messenger. I'm on your side. I also think she's a great kid. She's bright, she's got interests and more than her share of spunk. You've done a fine job, Libba.”

Libby blinked, completely thrown. She wasn't good with compliments, professional ones, yes, personal ones, no. She tried to maintain her poise, tried not to melt or appear too pathetically grateful. “I—I don't know about that,” she stammered.

“Just say
thank you.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

L
ibby shook her head. “I have work to do. I'm sorry, Shelby, but I'll have to pass on the country club today.”

The term
country club
was a misnomer by any standard. There was no golf course, no tennis or racquetball courts, no exercise room. The facility, shared by the two towns of Marshyhope Creek and Frenchman's Cove, consisted of a low brick building shadowed by enormous oak trees. At the back of the building was a large sparkling pool, blue, clean and smelling of bleach. Women brought children to swim while they gossiped away long days beneath a blistering summer sun. Later, in early evening, their husbands stopped in at the bar, drinking themselves into comfortable stupors before returning home.

Shelby Sloane, on her way home from the open-air market, stood in the doorway of Libby's office. She shook out her red curls and thrust one hip forward. “Don't you dare disappoint me, Libba Jane Delacourte. I told everybody you'd be comin'. Besides, it's Saturday. No one works on Saturday.”

Libby sighed and massaged her temples. She had the results of the lab report to record and she hadn't yet collected new water samples from Smith Island and Shad Landing. For two days in a row now the slides showed the water to be contaminant-free, which made no sense at all. If only she'd had time to acquire a little more experience before working on her own. Still, she could probably finish by eleven and meet Shelby at noon. She reminded herself that hers was a part-time position. “All right, Shelby. I'll give it a try. I'll meet you for lunch and a quick swim.”

“I'll stop and pick you up. It's on the way.”

“No,” Libby said firmly. “I can't stay all afternoon. I'll meet you and then you won't feel pressured to leave early.”

Shelby shrugged her tanned shoulder. “Have it your way. Don't be late. I won't order till you get there.”

Shortly before noon, Libby stood in front of the long mirror in her bedroom, tugged the back of her bathing suit down over the cheeks of her bottom and surveyed her backside critically. She certainly didn't look like she had at twenty, but she didn't look half bad, either. Running in the mornings and refusing Serena's calorie-laden desserts helped. She pulled on a shift and deck shoes, found a towel in the linen closet and ran downstairs.

“Are you going somewhere, Libba Jane?” Her father leaned against the doorjamb. He was dressed casually in shorts, a golf shirt and tennis shoes.

“Daddy, I didn't realize you were home. Did you take the day off?”

“I don't go in as much as I did before, not since your mama's stroke.”

Libby flushed guiltily. Her mother's confession weighed on her. Rather than think it through and deal with it, she'd pushed it aside, avoiding the topic and Nola Ruth. She'd spent virtually no time alone with her mother since she'd heard her story.

“Have you and your mother had a falling-out?”

“Not exactly,” Libby hedged.

“What's the problem?”

Discussing
the problem
would take more time than she had. “I promised Shelby I'd meet her at the club,” Libby said. “Can we talk about this later?”

“Of course.” He turned away. “Don't wait too long. Nola Ruth is fragile. You wouldn't want to do something you can't take back.”

It was a warning, no matter how she looked at it, a warning as only Coleson Delacourte could put it together— gently, carefully, kindly, but a warning all the same. There had never been any doubt in Libby's mind where his priorities lay. Nola Ruth had always been first with him. Libby found that fact easier to accept now that she had Chloe, but throughout her childhood it had caused her serious hurt. Now her mother was hurting. It couldn't have been easy for Nola Ruth to reveal what she had. Libby shuddered to think of making such a confession to her own daughter. It had taken a great deal of nerve and faith on her mother's part. Libby knew she was behaving badly. Avoiding her mother was childish. She would take care of it tonight.

After the short drive to the club, she pulled into the parking lot, such as it was, a packed-dirt area shaded by huge sycamore, oak and elm trees. A sporty red utility vehicle drove in after her and parked. A tall, long-legged woman stepped out.

Libby recognized her immediately. “Hi, Verna Lee.”

The woman turned and waited for Libby to catch up. “Hello, Libba Jane. Day off?”

“No. Just taking a break. I'm meeting Shelby for lunch. Would you like to join us?”

Verna Lee's yellow eyes narrowed slightly. She looked at Libby for a long moment and then she smiled. “You've been gone a long time, Libba Jane, or you wouldn't ask such a ridiculous question.”

“Why not?”

Verna Lee pulled the scarf from around her head, freeing the long tawny-colored curls. “I'll spell it out for you,” she said. “This is the
South,
not the kind of South they have in Atlanta or New Orleans or Savannah or Richmond. This is
country
South. That means I can no more sit down to lunch with you and Shelby than I can traipse across the room without a stitch on.”

“How ridiculous. I don't believe you. That kind of prejudice doesn't exist anymore. I would never have brought my daughter to such a place.”

Verna Lee's voice was low and fierce. “Grow up, Libba. You took the job Cliff offered on impulse. You wanted to come home because things didn't work out for you in the big city. Did you spend any time researching what kind of place you were bringing your daughter to?”

Libby's face whitened. “Why are you so bitter? Is it me you hate, or just the situation? And if what you say is true, why are you here?”

The black woman's face closed. “I have my reasons.”

“You didn't answer my first question.”

“I don't hate you, Libba, and if I did, it wouldn't be personal.”

They had reached the door. Verna Lee pulled it open and walked in first, holding it for Libby.

“Why not join us, anyway, and shock everyone?” Libby suggested.

“You don't give up, do you?”

“Not usually.”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Verna Lee's mouth. “I don't feel like taking on the world today, but I'll think about it.”

“Let me know.”

Libby found Shelby seated outside under an enormous umbrella, a gin and tonic in one hand, a cigarette in the other. She was striking in a black-and-white sundress that revealed her bronze shoulders and sculpted cleavage. Two women, one blond, one brunette, sat beside her.

Slowly, Libby approached the table. “Hi,” she said.

“Well, finally,” Shelby greeted her. “I thought you were gonna cancel.”

“Sorry. I got held up.”

“It must be such a drag to have to work,” one of the women said.

Shelby held up her hand for the waitress. “Libba Jane likes to work. She's got one of those fancy degrees to prove it.”

“My hat's off to you, Libba,” the brunette said.

Libby stared at her curiously. The voice was familiar but the face was not. “Do I know you?” she asked.

“My God, Libba Jane. I'm Angie Ferguson. Have I changed that much?”

Libby's mouth dropped. Hastily, she attempted to recover. “Y-you look wonderful,” she stammered. “Have you done something with your hair?”

Angie patted the helmet surrounding her face. “I color it now and then.”

She'd also lost fifty pounds, but politeness kept Libby from mentioning it. “That must be it,” she said.

The blonde spoke up. “You remember me, Libba. I know you do. We shared a locker all through senior year.”

Libby nodded and sat down in the empty chair. “It's good to see you again, Beth Ann. How are you?”

“Busy. I'm divorced with three kids under ten. Buck pays me every month, though. He's a good daddy even if he was a lousy husband.”

“Gin and tonics all around,” Shelby said to the waitress, who'd materialized at her elbow.

Libby spoke up. “I'll have iced tea, please. I have to get back to work later this afternoon.”

Shelby removed her sunglasses. “You gotta have priorities, Libba Jane. This is Saturday at the club with the girls. Work isn't part of it.” Without pausing for breath, she turned to her friend. “I don't know why y'all are surprised that Buck didn't work out, Beth Ann. With a nickname like
hound dog
you shoulda known he wasn't gonna stay put.”

“I thought I'd be the one to change him,” Beth Ann said dreamily. “We still get together now and then. Maybe he'll come back. I wouldn't say no.”

Angie laughed. “If you don't mind his tomcattin' around.”

Beth Ann tilted her head. “Actually, I don't. As long as I don't know about it, there's no problem.”

Libby stared into her lap. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Verna Lee, spectacular in a red bikini, reading a magazine. She looked serene, cool and intelligent. Biting her tongue, Libby resigned herself to at least an hour of tedious conversation.

“What's Verna Lee doin' here?” Angie asked.

“Sunbathing,” Shelby answered.

“That makes no sense,” Beth Ann observed. “She's dark enough as it is. I still can't believe they allow those people in here. Nothin's the same as it used to be.”

“She's beautiful,” Libby said honestly.

Shelby nodded. “Libba's right. Verna Lee always did take the eye even now when she's almost long in the tooth.”

“For heaven's sake, Shelby,” Libby snapped, “she's five years older than we are.”

“Nothin's the same as it was,” said Beth Ann.

Libby desperately wanted to go home.

“I think you need a drink, Libba Jane,” Shelby observed. “I've never seen you so jumpy in your life. You look like you'd rather be anywhere but here.”

Either she was terribly obvious or Shelby's instincts had improved. “I'm sorry.”

“Never mind that. Look who's here.”

Libby started to turn around.

“No, don't look now.” Shelby clutched her hand painfully.

Libby winced and stared straight ahead.

“Don't say a word, ladies. This one's mine.”

Obeying Shelby's order, Libby focused on Verna Lee turning magazine pages on the other side of the pool.

A shadow fell across the table and Russ Hennessey's amused voice greeted them. “Ladies, what a pleasant surprise.”

Shelby fluttered her eyelashes and leaned over to better display her cleavage. “Why, Russ Hennessey, as I live and breathe, aren't you the most gorgeous hunk? But then you always were.” She pretended to pout. “I can't believe you've been in town for nearly a month and never once looked me up. I've been over to the office lots of times just to see you but you're not there. I know Libba Jane's seen you. I asked her to tell you to call me, but you never did, or she never did. I'm beginnin' to thing y'all are avoidin' me.

“It's nice to see you again, Shelby.” Russ kissed her cheek and looked at Libby. “I didn't realize I had messages to call you.”

“No one ever told me, either,” Libba replied. “Shelby, I believe your nose is growing.”

Missing the joke entirely, Shelby gasped and covered her button nose with a beautifully manicured hand. “Libba Delacourte, it's cruel of you to be pokin' fun at my nose.”

“I think she's referring to a literary character who stretched the truth,” Russ offered.

Libby stared at him. The Russ Hennessey she remembered had no interest or knowledge of literary references.

Shelby sighed with relief. “Thank goodness for that. It's bad enough havin' to watch every little thing that goes into my mouth without worryin' about my nose, too.” She smiled and lowered her lashes. “You have no idea how difficult it is tryin' to keep yourself up when you're on the wrong side of thirty. Just ask Libba.”

Russ took one look at Libby's outraged expression and laughed. “I don't think I'll do that.”

“You remember Angie and Beth Ann.” Shelby waved at them.

“Of course,” Russ said smoothly. “How are you, ladies?”

“Will you join us, Russ?” Beth Ann asked.

“Actually, I'm just passing through. Thanks, anyway.”

Libby watched him scan the pool area, nod his head and walk out through the club entrance.

Shelby sighed. “No wonder you never want anyone to see him, Libba Jane. He's too good to be true.”

“What are you talking about?” Libby asked furiously. “Russ Hennessey is an
old
boyfriend. The operative word is
old.
What was all that about telling him to call you? You never said a word. You're acting like a cat in heat and that Scarlett O'Hara routine is ridiculous. What about your husband?”

Shelby waved her hand vaguely. “Fletcher's always around, but he hasn't been too attentive lately. He's got somethin' else on his mind. I think I'm gonna forget all that advice you gave me about staying married and go after Russ. Lord, Libba, he was gorgeous when we were kids, but who'd ever think a man could look like that in his late thirties?”

“Amen,” agreed Angie.

“He's not any older than we are and we don't look all that bad, either,” Libby returned.

“My looks take hours in front of a mirror. I bet he rolls outta bed like that when he wakes up in the morning.” Shelby gave Libby a speculative look. “Not that you'd know what he looks like first thing in the mornin', or do you?”

“Of course not.” Libby's hands clenched. “And I want you to stop being absurd. You can't flirt with Russ like you do everyone else. He doesn't know you anymore and Fletcher won't like it. Russ is his friend.”

“He looks like he could handle Fletcher.” Shelby shook her finger at Libby. “What bothers you more? That Fletch might hurt him or that the two of us might hit it off?”