“Who did?”
“Skylar Taft. As if I’d shop with someone whose idea of fashion comes from a Barbie doll catalog.” Chloe could not have been more contemptuous.
Russ tried to remember what Tess had been wearing when he dropped the girls off at the Tafts’. “I guess pink is a popular color for little girls around here.”
“They aren’t little girls. They’re teenagers.”
“Point taken.”
“I understand about the hair.”
“The hair?”
“She said two-toned hair wouldn’t go over here. I can see that.” Chloe fingered the black tips. “I only did it to make my mother mad.”
“Do you do that often?”
“What? Try to make my mother mad?”
“Yes.”
Chloe thought for a minute. “More now than before.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s harder to live with than she used to be.”
Once again, Russ laughed. He didn’t know whether to be charmed or horrified by Libba’s daughter. She was another original. Like mother, like daughter. “I remember a time when she wasn’t so hard to live with.”
Chloe stared at him. “How would you know? Did you ever live with her?”
“Not exactly. But I knew her better than anybody, except maybe Coleson and Nola Ruth.”
“Or my dad.”
Russ didn’t contradict her.
Chloe persisted, intrigued by this picture of her mother. “Was she your girlfriend?”
He nodded. “But before that she was my friend and my brother’s friend and she was a good one.”
“Where is your brother now?”
“He died.”
“Was he a lot older than you?”
“He was my twin.”
“I’m sorry,” Chloe whispered, stricken into silence.
“Thank you.” He changed the subject. “So, how do you like living in Marshyhope Creek?”
Chloe hesitated.
“Come on,” Russ coaxed her. “You can tell me the truth. My lips are sealed.”
“It really doesn’t matter whether they are or not,” Chloe said. “Everyone knows how I feel. I hate it here. I want to go home. My dad is in L.A. and so are all my friends.”
“Your mom is here,” Russ countered, “and so are your grandparents. You can always make friends.” He looked at her approvingly. “I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that you’re good at it when you want to be.”
Chloe looked surprised. “Why would you say that?”
“You’re interesting and you say what’s on your mind. I like that. I bet other people do, too.”
“I don’t know about that,” Chloe said dubiously. “I don’t think Skylar Taft and her friends think I’m interesting.”
“Maybe you didn’t want to be. Sometimes people sabotage themselves. They think a certain thing and then make it happen just to prove they’re right.”
Chloe didn’t answer him.
“On the other hand,” Russ continued, “Skylar Taft isn’t the only game in town.”
“I’ve heard she’s the one who counts.”
“Maybe you’ll change all that.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
Russ changed his tactics. “What exactly is it that you don’t like about living here?”
“Skylar Taft and her friends.”
Russ knew from the source that Chloe’s antipathy started long before today. “Is that all?”
“I guess so.”
“So, let me get this right. If Skylar Taft didn’t matter, you’d be happy as a clam staying here for good.”
“Not exactly.”
Russ grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What else is bothering you about this place?”
“Other than absolutely no culture, no movies, no mall, no museums, no plays, I can’t imagine,” she said sarcastically. “I want to be an actress. How can I do that living here? There’s absolutely no motivation at all.”
“The high school has a fair drama department, and Salisbury and Annapolis aren’t all that far away.”
“In Los Angeles, everything is right around the corner.”
Russ conceded the point. “What else?” he asked.
“I miss my dad,” she said softly. “I hardly saw him at all when I was little and now he lives in L.A. all the time. He would pick me up for lunch and I’d go over to his house after school. All that just stopped.” Her voice shook. She looked out the window and willed the tears back, sniffing audibly. “My mother didn’t care about that at all.”
Russ’s response to that pathetic little sniff shocked him. His heart hurt and he didn’t trust himself to speak. Imagine having a daughter who wanted nothing more than to be with her father. He pulled out a tissue from a box on the seat and handed it to her. “I’ll bet your mother wanted the kind of life for you that she had. It was a pretty good one.”
“That’s a dumb excuse,” Chloe said miserably, wiping her nose. “We’re not the same people. I didn’t grow up here. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to move kids in high school.”
He’d give her points for logic. She was certainly a bright one. Not that it surprised him. He imagined that Libba’s intelligence quotient was probably off the charts as well. He couldn’t help comparing Chloe with Tess. The contrast was obvious. He pushed the thought aside, ashamed that his thoughts had traveled in such a direction. “You have a convincing argument,” he said. “The question is, what can you do to make your situation tolerable?”
“I don’t want to make it tolerable.”
Russ chuckled, looked at her expression and wiped the smile from his face. “Sorry,” he said.
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 w
asn’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.”
Seventeen
Libby 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 mothe
r’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.”
Chesapeake Tide Page 19
