Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay

by Babette de Jongh

  “Yes, it’s been wonderful all these years. Yes, we all love it. But how many of you sitting out there would rather live in a thriving community with the ample jobs and infrastructure and shopping opportunities this complex will bring? Right now in Magnolia Bay, downtown stores are closing and college graduates are moving away to get jobs elsewhere. This town, my friends, is dying, and I am proposing a plan to resuscitate it.

  “We have it on good authority that the owners of the bayside property and the acreage across Winding Water Way are eager to sell. I have also spoken to the owners of the two properties adjacent to Bayside Barn, and they’ve both agreed to consider an offer.” Heat flared in Quinn’s face at the innuendo that he’d secretly been negotiating with JP, and he felt Abby stiffen beside him.

  JP looked right at Quinn and delivered the zinger: “One of those landowners is even a local contractor, and I’ve chosen him to oversee the project.” Abby jerked her hand from his and glared, crossing her arms. Edna stared at him wide-eyed, a disbelieving look on her face.

  “All that remains, good people,” JP said, rubbing his palms together, “is for us to settle on fair terms with the landholders, which we will, of course, extend to the owner of Bayside Barn. Or…” He shrugged and spread his hands wide, sending a charming grin to the city council members. “We can buy up everything around them, then claim eminent domain for the good of the community and force them out.”

  Chapter 22

  Abby waited till they got outside the building to fly at Quinn, barely restraining herself from shoving him in the chest. “What the hell was he talking about? You’re in negotiations to sell your estate to that slimeball? And you’re planning to work for that snake? After he sold you down the river? What the hell, Quinn?”

  Edna stood beside Abby, a stalwart pillar of strength with her arms crossed over her ample bosom.

  “No, it’s not true.” Quinn’s handsome face held a sincere, pleading expression. “I did talk to JP, but it wasn’t at all the way he described.”

  Abby wished she hadn’t seen enough pleading expressions on another handsome, lying face to know better than to fall for it. “Are you saying that you told him to get lost, and he misunderstood that to mean, Let’s talk money?”

  “He offered to buy the estate. I didn’t accept.”

  “But you didn’t refuse, either, did you?”

  He winced. “Not exactly, but—”

  “And what about the contractor job? Big-shot overseer of the whole operation? That’s a huge step up for you, isn’t it?”

  “I didn’t accept—”

  “Yeah, yeah. You didn’t accept, but you didn’t say no, either, right?”

  Quinn hesitated just a tick too long.

  “That’s it,” Abby said. “I’m done.”

  “Abby, it was a long time ago. He called out of the blue, and—”

  Abby turned away from Quinn. “Edna, can you give me a ride home?”

  “Sure thing, honey.”

  Quinn touched Abby’s arm, and she shrugged him off. “I really don’t want to look at you right now,” she said over her shoulder. “Much less hear your excuses. Please go away.”

  He didn’t, but she did. She left him standing on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse. Edna, bless her heart, hooked her arm in Abby’s and towed her in the direction of Edna’s car.

  They didn’t talk much on the way to the car, or even once they got in.

  Edna started the car. “If he’s consorting with the enemy, you’re well shed of him. Fasten your seat belt.”

  “I know,” Abby replied. “But it still hurts.”

  “I know it does.” Driving like the old lady she was, Edna backed slowly into the line of traffic leaving the courthouse, making all the cars behind her stand still for far too long. “It’ll hurt for a while, and then it’ll hurt less, and after that it’ll stop hurting. That’s the way life goes.”

  That was about all they could find to say about that.

  Edna steered around the town square and headed toward Bayside Barn. “Are you gonna call your aunt Reva and let her know what happened?”

  “God, I don’t know.” Abby flung her head back against the headrest and plowed her fingers through her hair. She felt like a failure and an unwitting coconspirator who’d unknowingly invited the enemy into their camp. Not only that, she’d had sex with him. “What will I say?”

  “Well…” Edna stopped at a light and put her blinker on. The ticky-ticky sound emphasized the silence while she thought. When the light changed, she made the left turn and spoke. “I think you should tell her exactly what happened. We presented our case, and the opposing side presented their case, and now we’ll have to wait till the next meeting to see what the city council decides.”

  “And what about Quinn, and what he did?”

  “We don’t really know what he did, do we?” They had reached the county road leading out of town, and Edna set the cruise control for about fifteen miles under the speed limit. “We’ve heard some alarming innuendoes, but what do we know for sure? I think we should stick with what we know and wait till we figure out the rest. Why bother her with supposition?”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Why don’t you call her right now? Get it over with. I’m sure she’s anxious to hear what happened.”

  Abby tried to call, but only got to leave a voicemail. “Hey, Reva. The town hall thing went as well as could be expected. We presented our case, the developers presented theirs, and a bunch of people came to give their opinions. I think we had a lot more people on our side than they had on theirs, so that was good. The council will discuss it at their next meeting, and they’ll tell us what they decided at the next town hall. Mack said he’d call you later tonight and tell you more. Okay, that’s it. Love you. Talk to you soon.”

  She ended the call and sighed. “Done.”

  Edna reached over and patted her leg. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  * * *

  Quinn picked up Sean after the town hall meeting as planned. They didn’t have dinner with Abby as planned. Quinn had gathered the courage to text Abby to ask if they were still on for dinner, and he got his answer in her decision to ignore his text. So he’d taken Sean out to dinner instead, and they spent the evening at the pool house killing zombies on the Xbox while Quinn watched the lights go out next door.

  “I kind of miss seeing Abby,” Sean said, keeping his eyes on the screen and his thumbs working the controller. “Maybe we should go over there and say hi or something.”

  Quinn cleared his throat. “I think she’s gone to bed already. The lights are out.” Since Sean was sleeping over, the plan had been for him and Quinn to spend the night at the pool house. But they’d both gotten used to sharing meals with Abby. “She was pretty tired after that town hall meeting.” That was the excuse he’d given, and Sean had accepted it, saying, “Just us guys, then,” with an easygoing grin.

  Quinn wondered whether Abby had made the big pot of spaghetti they’d shopped for.

  A small shadow scratched at the glass door. Sean dropped the controller and hopped up. “Griff! Can he come in, Dad? Can he sleep in my bed? I’ll fix him a litter box full of sand—I can use the pan you mix grout in and some of the mortar sand you have out back. He won’t be a problem, I promise.”

  Without Sean’s help, the zombies won, and Quinn turned off the Xbox. “I don’t guess Abby would mind.”

  Sean opened the door and scooped up the heavy cat, who immediately started purring. “Text her and let her know,” Sean said as he stroked Griff’s broad head. “I don’t want her to worry.”

  After that first text was met with silence, Quinn had hoped to give Abby some space before communicating with her again. He figured he’d stay busy with Sean through the weekend and try again on Monday. But Sean was right; if they were going to keep Griff i
nside, he should let Abby know. Anyhow, the lights were out, so she wouldn’t see the text till morning, unless for some reason she woke in the night and wondered where the cat was.

  Hey, Abby, he typed. Griff wanted to come inside, and Sean wants him to spend the night. Hope that’s okay. He hesitated a second, then typed another line. Hope you’re okay.

  Sean made up the promised litter pan, then took a bowl of water and another bowl of chopped-up lunch meat to his room. He picked up the hefty, loud-purring feline and hovered in the living room doorway. “G’night, Dad.”

  “Good night, Sean. Close your door, please. Griff has a bad history of peeing on my stuff, and I don’t want him to repeat it. If he pees, it better be in that litter box.”

  “Yup,” Sean answered. “I’ll keep my door closed. But he’ll be good.” He rubbed Griff’s head and walked away, talking in a low, baby-talk tone. “Won’t you be good, Griff? Yes, you will. You’ll be a very good boy.”

  Quinn got ready for bed and filled a big glass with ice and water. But no matter how much water he drank, he couldn’t get rid of a bad taste like old dust in his mouth. He probably should’ve told Sean that he and Abby had argued. Because Sean would expect to help out at the farm tomorrow; he had always enjoyed doing the barn chores and hanging out with the animals, especially since Quinn paid him a small wage for the time he spent helping out.

  Saturday morning, Quinn heard the donkeys braying at daylight, and wished he still had the ability to go over there and feed them. He and Elijah had developed a relationship; he’d started giving the donkey a bite of his granola bar every morning, and that gesture of goodwill had won over the strong-willed, spirited equine who would now follow him anywhere.

  As Sean slept in and Quinn sipped substandard coffee by the pool, he didn’t know whether to be pissed at Abby for not listening to his explanation, or pissed at himself for creating this situation to begin with. He decided to go with a little of both. He had definitely screwed up, but she should have heard him out and let him explain. Melissa had perfected the art of walling herself off and refusing to listen to reason. He hadn’t thought that of Abby, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe every woman alive had a tipping point past which no man could crawl with an apology for bad behavior.

  Maybe he had a knack for finding that tipping point.

  * * *

  Abby stepped outside and reached for the morning’s paper delivery, then squeaked in surprise when Wolf leaped down from one of the pool chaises, where he’d apparently slept last night. They stood staring at each other, until Georgia charged past Abby and leaped up to lick Wolf’s mouth.

  Abby picked up the paper and held it to her chest. “Thanks for this,” she said quietly. “You’re a good dog, Wolf.” And remembering what Reva had said about Wolf’s suspicion of Abby’s ulterior motives, she turned and went back into the house to pour a cup of coffee.

  She sat at the kitchen table and opened the paper, laying aside the rubber band that had held it in place. A double-page spread in the middle of the paper made her take a breath—and choke on her coffee. Eyes watering, she coughed helplessly while the headline that took up half a page swam before her:

  Citizens Clash with Developers over Plan to Build a Hotel and Marina Complex with Golf Course on Bay

  Abby scanned the article—at least, she started to scan the article—but in no time, she was reading, absorbing every word, every nuance. The article read like an in-depth investigative journalism piece that dug deep and presented an unbiased account of both sides. It listed pros and cons. The author—Abby skipped down to find the byline…Sara Prather, of course—delved into facts, figures, and projections. She wrote about the potential of financial gains for the community, but also about the potentially negative impacts on the environment. She called on city officials to conduct environmental impact studies and background checks before relying on the word of an unknown group of investors.

  Jefferson Pearson, the real estate developer heading the project, was quoted as saying that he was given an anonymous tip about a strip of bayside land that would soon be available for sale between the old boat ramp and Winding Water Way.

  Anonymous tip. Jefferson Pearson, otherwise known as Quinn’s friend and ex-business partner. The same Jefferson Pearson who had offered Quinn a cushy job after he had received an anonymous tip. Abby felt a tornado of anger swirl up from the soles of her bare feet to careen through her body and explode through the top of her head. Quinn hadn’t just considered being involved in JP’s plans; he had instigated them himself.

  “That fucker!” Abby jumped to her feet and yelled the words out loud. “That fucking fucker!” Anger propelled her out the back door with such force that Wolf scrambled around the side of the house to his safe den under the porch, and even Georgia tucked her tail and crouched as if under attack. Abby had every intention of storming next door and giving Quinn a heaping helping of what for until she heard Sean yell, “Cannonball!”

  A huge splash in the pool next door followed by the sound of Quinn and Sean laughing together brought Abby to her senses. Yes, it was bad that Quinn had probably told JP about the bayside land. But Quinn couldn’t have known what JP would make of that tip. He couldn’t have known JP would go so far as to start that petition against Bayside Barn. Quinn wouldn’t have put so much time and money into renovating that estate if he’d known all along that it would be razed to the ground. He’d been stupid, and he’d done wrong, but he wasn’t evil. Abby needed to cool her jets, give herself the weekend to calm down and think rationally. Maybe Quinn’s involvement in JP’s scheme wasn’t as bad as she thought.

  * * *

  Quinn loaded a small, soft-sided cooler with soft drinks, bottled water, not-quite-stale chips, and cold pizza left over from lunch. Then he and Sean hauled the paddleboards and all the related paraphernalia to the boat landing. They got all the gear situated under the bungee nets on the front of the boards, then put the boards in and started paddling out. A bank of dark clouds hung over the distant horizon, but the weather report claimed zero chance of rain.

  “Dad,” Sean said, his voice thoughtful. “Do you think they’ll really build a hotel here?”

  “I don’t know, Son.” Quinn thought of all the damage construction would do to this wild and beautiful space. The developers would fill in the marshes and build high retaining walls along the bayou, which they’d dredge out to allow large, deep-drafted yachts to come in. “I hope not.”

  “Look, Dad!” Sean pointed up into a tree on the far side of the bank. A bald eagle sat on the highest branch of a towering cypress tree. The nest she guarded was a flat platform built from thick twigs and long, woody reeds. “Is that an eagle?”

  Quinn treasured the sound of Sean calling him Dad in the same tone he’d used back when he was a young kid whose father was someone he looked up to and admired, but more than that, truly loved. “Yes, that’s a bald eagle.”

  He pointed to another eagle who glided effortlessly in the sky high above them. “That’s one, too, flying overhead. He’s young, so his head hasn’t gone white yet, but it will. Eagles have been making a comeback around here, especially along these marshland inlets where the fishing is good. Eagles love to fish.”

  Sean watched the eagles in awe. He sat relaxed on his board, his attention on the world of plants and animals that went on about their lives, unconcerned with the two humans drifting past in the dappled shade of the small bayou. Sean let the paddle rest on his crossed knees. “I bet they’ll leave if a hotel gets built here.”

  “Not just the eagles, but all the animals who live here now. Even old Goliath, who’s probably been living here for the last umpteen years.” Quinn felt a long-fingered grasp of breathtaking fear clench around his heart. “I’m afraid you’re right, and I hope it never happens. Because if developers move in, the animals will have to move out.”

  Move out sounded like the animals had a choice, ano
ther place to go. When the stark truth was that they wouldn’t move out, they’d just die, because the ecosystem that sustained them would be destroyed, and they’d have no place else to go. If that happened, Quinn hoped to God that Sean would never find out that the daddy he was once again beginning to look up to had helped JP get his clutches on this unspoiled land that abounded with life.

  Sean pointed to a long, black snake that draped like a Christmas tree garland over a low-hanging branch that hung out over the water. “What kind of snake is that?”

  Quinn paddled closer to get a better look. “It’s a black racer. You can tell because his body is long and slender, and he’s all black except for a white chin.”

  Sean paddled closer, too, but kept behind Quinn’s board when he examined the snake. “Is it poisonous?”

  “Well, snakes aren’t poisonous. Plants are poisonous; snakes are venomous. But no, he’s not venomous. He’s harmless to humans, but he eats frogs and bird eggs and even small venomous snakes. He’s a good snake.”

  “Mom says that only a dead snake is a good snake.”

  Quinn nudged Sean’s board and turned them both back into the bayou’s central flow. “Your mom isn’t wrong about much, but I’d beg to differ with her on that point. Even venomous snakes have their place in the world, and they won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.”

  “Uncle Jim says that a water moccasin will come after you. He says they’re aggressive and territorial.”

  Quinn’s older brother, Jim, was a hunter and outdoorsman who loved to tell tall tales of daring and adventure, and Jim’s tales got bigger with each retelling. The story Jim liked to tell about that event bore little resemblance to what actually happened, and Quinn knew because he’d been there, an unwilling witness to a soul-sickening attack that he, as the younger brother, had no power to stop. “Something you should probably know about your uncle Jim: he’d climb a tree to tell a lie when he could stand on the ground and tell the truth.”