The next time, the letter came with explicit instructions. Endorse Lyndon Johnson’s candidacy or the political career of Cole Delacourte was finished. Nola Ruth’s annulment would become front-page news. The marriage alone would have posed no problem. The Catholic Church had assured Cole of that. It was his illusive nemesis’s knowledge of her adopted child that swayed him. Blackmail was repugnant to Cole. Normally, he would have accepted the challenge, but this time there were others to consider. He couldn’t forget Nola’s face when she confessed her sordid tale all those years ago. And now there was Libba to consider as well.
After his less-than-enthusiastic public endorsement of the president who, in the end, decided against another term, Cole retired from politics and began his own practice in Marshyhope Creek. The golden years were over. He preferred small, noncontroversial cases, although he continued to take on needy clients. Slowly, he amassed a comfortable living. Life was good, but uninspired. There were moments of regret for the man he had been, the one who couldn’t be bought. With them came the knowledge that Nola had been right from the beginning. A man with his future should not have married a woman with her past. Then he would look at her face, run his hands down the ivory-skinned length of her body, feel the blood-searing heat of his need and her answering passion, and know it could have turned out no other way.
Twenty-Two
Chloe turned around and looked over her shoulder into the mirror, adjusting the new denim skirt and sleeveless yellow top. Her hair was her own again, shiny straight and very blond. Last night she’d allowed her mother to trim off the black ends. Despite her protestations otherwise, she was nervous and more than a little concerned about making the right impression on her first day at school. At least she didn’t have to walk in alone. Tess Hennessey was meeting her in front of the flagpole. Chloe wanted to go with Bailey, but he wasn’t sure if he was going to show up at all.
The verdict was still out when it came to Bailey Jones. He fascinated and repelled her at the same time. She’d never known anyone who was allowed such freedom, and yet, in Bailey’s case, it came with huge responsibilities. She definitely didn’t want to trade places with him. His mother was dying and he could do nothing but make her as comfortable as possible and wait. It wasn’t as if he was frightened about what would happen after she was gone. Bailey had been on his own for a long time.
“It’s time, Chloe. You don’t want to be late the first day,” her mother called from the hallway.
Chloe slipped her feet into red mules, grabbed her backpack and ran downstairs. “I don’t think I want to buy lunch today,” she said. “I’ll just grab an apple from the refrigerator.”
Libby dug into her purse, producing three one dollar bills. “Take these, anyway. You might change your mind.”
Chloe tucked them into her pocket. “Thanks, Mom.”
Libby bit her lip. Her heart overflowed with love for this gamin-faced, difficult child.
“Chloe, you’ve been a good sport about this, especially lately. If it doesn’t work out for you, we’ll figure something else out. Okay?”
Chloe nodded. “Okay. Let’s go, Mom. We don’t want to be late.”
The green lawn surrounding the brick buildings of Marshyhope Creek’s single high school milled with adolescents sporting bright new clothing, summer tans, tentative smiles and shoes not yet broken in. Boys and girls congregated in small groups segregated by race, laughing, talking loudly and animatedly gesturing. Libby’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. What had she done? Had she been insane to think that Chloe, an outsider from California, could actually infiltrate one of these tightly knit groups and be accepted? Suddenly she felt ill. She turned to Chloe, words of apology forming on her lips.
Chloe stared out the window, eyes narrowed. Then her face lit with relief. “There’s Tess, by the flagpole. You can let me out here.”
“Are you sure, Chloe?” Libby whispered.
Chloe frowned at her mother. “Are you sick? You look really pale. Maybe you should go back home and lie down.”
“I—I’m fine,” stammered Libby. She leaned over to kiss Chloe’s cheek. “Have a good day.” She watched as more than a few heads turned to follow Chloe’s progress across the courtyard. Resting her head against the window, she waited until Tess Hennessey and another dark-haired girl separated to include Chloe into their circle. Unable to stand the drama any longer, Libby pulled out onto the road and drove the rest of the way into town.
Perk’s Open for Business sign hung in the window. Libby parked, grabbed her wallet and keys and walked inside. A bleary-eyed Verna Lee sat at the counter nursing a cup of coffee.
Libby sat down beside her. “What’s new?” she asked.
Verna Lee threaded her fingers into her long curls and pulled them through. “This has been the longest week of my life. You probably already know they let my grandmother out on bail. Apparently they didn’t think she was a flight risk.”
“I should think not.”
The black woman shook her head. “Don’t be too sure. She’s talking about going away, disappearing. She thinks she won’t get a fair trial.”
“Of course she will.”
Verna Lee’s yellow eyes flashed. “You know that, Libba Jane, and I know it, but we’re talking about an old black woman who’s lived through some tough times. It shouldn’t surprise anyone to learn that my grandmother doesn’t trust our judicial system.”
“Does she have a choice? Where would she go?”
Verna Lee sagged against the counter and pressed her palm against her forehead. “I don’t know.”
“What about you? Do you trust the judicial system?”
Verna Lee’s lower lip pursed. “To tell you the truth, Libba Jane, the only one I trust is your daddy.”
“That’s not a bad place to start. Drusilla’s out on bail, isn’t she?”
“For the time being. I just wish—”
Libby waited but the woman didn’t finish. “What?” Libby prodded her gently.
Verna Lee shrugged. “It’s nothing. It’s just that I feel very much alone. Some people are never here when you need them.” She laughed bitterly. “That says something, doesn’t it?”
Privately, Libby agreed with her, but she kept thoughts of Cliff Jackson to herself. She slipped her arm around Verna Lee’s shoulders. “How about dinner? It’s Chloe’s first day of school. She’ll torture us with details about who wore what and who said this or that until you’re so confused you won’t be able to think about this for a while.”
“Dinner?” Verna Lee stared at her. “At your house?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so, but thanks for the invitation.”
“We could do lunch,” Libby suggested.
“I stay open for lunch. It’s my busiest time.”
Libby shouldered her purse. “Suit yourself. It seems to me that you could use a friend.”
Verna laid a placating hand on her arm. “I appreciate your offer, Libba Jane. Really I do. It’s just not the right time. I’m sorry.”
Libby studied the black woman. Verna Lee was lovely and scared and very proud.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Another time, maybe.”
Verna Lee nodded. “Maybe.”
Outside again, Libby looked at her watch. It wasn’t even nine o’clock in the morning and a wet September heat had already blanketed the bay. Praying that the air-conditioning in the EPA office had kicked in, she drove down the street toward the dock. If all had gone as planned, Russ’s meeting was scheduled for tonight.
She heard their voices before she stepped out on the street. His was low and measured. Hers, high, strident, close to hysterical. Both were obviously furious. Libby stepped into the fray. Russ was seated behind his desk. Tracy stood near the door.
“Good morning,” Libby said brightly. She looked from Russ to Tracy, once more making a mental note of the woman’s clear gray eyes. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Russ said bluntly. “She was just leaving.
”
Two bright spots of color dotted Tracy’s cheeks. Her eyes glittered. “Hello, Libba Jane. What do you think of a man who refuses to take financial responsibility for his own daughter?”
He cut her off. “Did you think of that one all by yourself, Tracy, or did you swim along the bottom with your mouth open?”
“I can’t believe I ever thought you were a gentleman.”
“I can’t believe you would use Tess as leverage to get more money from me,” he countered. “She’s a child, not to be used for purposes of blackmail. Support has nothing to do with visitation. Besides, the issue has already been settled legally. Your own daddy couldn’t get any more from me than you already do. If you need more money, get yourself a job.”
“How can I work when I have Tess?” she snapped. “I’m a mother.”
“So is Libba and she’s worked since her daughter was born, along with the majority of the American work force, which you would know if you ever picked up a newspaper.”
“Really?” The spots of color on Tracy’s cheeks deepened. “Well, bully for Libba Jane and all the other superwomen in America.” She picked up her purse. “I wasn’t raised to work, Russ. You knew that when you married me.
“The circumstances are different. You’re a single mother. You have one child and she’s in school most of the day. I’m not asking you to leave a baby. Hell, I’m not even asking you to work if you don’t want to, just live within your means like the rest of the world. You might like working, maybe find some purpose to your life, besides Tess. You might even meet someone and find some happiness. How are you gonna do that holed up in your daddy’s big white house all day?”
“One venture into marriage was disaster enough for me,” Tracy said primly. She nodded at Libby. “Good day, Libba Jane.”
Libby waited until Tracy’s steps died away on the boardwalk. Then she turned to Russ, her eyes wide and amused. “My goodness. I had no idea she was such a drama queen. Her talents are wasted here in the Creek.”
He laughed, pushed his chair away from the desk and walked around it to stand in front of her. “She always wants more money. Her daddy spoiled her. She’s thirty-six years old with nothing to show for it except a useless college degree that’s as untouched as the day she got it. She’s smart enough, but her sense of entitlement makes it hard for her to associate money with working. She’s undisciplined and mentally scattered, hardly employee material. Tess gives her an excuse to harass me.”
Libby stared at him. “This can’t be good for you, Russ. How’s your blood pressure?”
“There isn’t much I can do about it. She’s got my daughter.”
Libby folded her arms and looked at the floor.
“I know that look,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”
“It seems to me you can do a lot about it.”
Russ frowned. “How?”
“Don’t allow yourself to get so upset. You said you have a legal agreement. Stick to it. Stop arguing. Be logical and brief and mature. Don’t allow the manipulation. When you feel yourself losing it, tell her you’ll get back to her later.”
He was silent for a long minute. Libby wondered if she’d gone too far.
Suddenly he smiled. “Where did you get to be so smart?”
She groaned. “I’ve spent my purgatory in the D.A.’s office in Ventura County watching lawyers mediate between angry parents.”
“Good Lord. I’m sorry.”
“That’s behind me for the time being.” She changed the subject. “I wanted to know how long the meeting will be tonight and if there’s anything specific you want me to cover.”
“Just be up front. Explain why there’s a fishing moratorium and what you’re looking for. You might give them some background on some of the side effects of PCBs in drinking water and fish. Allow about a half hour for your talk and then some time for questions. Anything less than that and they’ll feel it wasn’t worth the trip.”
“I think I can manage that.”
His face changed. “You’re beautiful,” he said unexpectedly. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that, but you are. More so than when you were a kid.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’d like to kiss you, Libba,” he said softly. “In fact, I’d like to do a whole lot more than that. Will you let me?”
He’d tossed her the ball. It was a new strategy for him. Libby had been perfectly willing to assume the subservient role, justifying her response by claiming he’d swept her off her feet. But he’d pulled the rug out from under her, forced her to step up to the plate and stand by her actions as an equal participant. She stared at him, lost in a quandary of surprise and indecision.
“What’s the matter, Libba Jane? Cat got your tongue?”
She shook her head.
“Say something. I’m not gonna jump your bones unless you want me to.”
“That’s—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “That’s just it.”
“What, sweetheart?”
“What if I want it now and not later, or what if you do and then later don’t?”
“You’re confusing me.”
She tried again. “What if one of us changes our mind and the other doesn’t?”
“That’s life, Libba Jane,” he said gently. “No one knows how he’s gonna think or feel in ten years. It’s a crapshoot. You just do what you feel is right and see where the roll takes you.”
“That philosophy didn’t work for me before.”
“For me, neither,” Russ agreed. “But would you change it now that you have Chloe?”
“I’d change a lot of it.”
“No, you wouldn’t. If Eric Richards hadn’t come into your life you wouldn’t have that gorgeous blue-eyed spitfire of a daughter.”
She almost said what she was thinking, but decided against it. She would not open the subject of blue eyes with Russ.
He reached out and took her hand, pulling her closer.
His throat was brown from working on the trawlers. He smelled like salt and soap and sun. This was better, much better. She wasn’t comfortable being the initiator.
He bent his head. His lips touched her ear, his breath stirring the wisps of hair at her temple. “I asked you a question. What’s your answer?”
She closed her eyes. “A kiss,” she whispered. “A kiss would be nice. You always were a good—”
His mouth, warm and firm and assured, stopped her words. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was long enough for her to know the answer to the rest of his question. She wanted Russ Hennessey, more than she’d wanted him all those years ago when he’d first sweet-talked her out of her virginity. Her hands sifted through his hair. She twined her right leg around his left and pressed against him.
“Jeez, Libba Jane.” His voice was air-filled, shaky. He held her away from him, searching her face. Her eyes were brown-black, the pupils and irises all one color. Her mouth was soft and kiss-swollen. He swore softly and dropped his hands. “You better mean this.”
She stared back at him. “I need you to promise me something.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
“If we do this, you can’t do it with anyone else.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You heard me,” she said calmly. “If we have sex, I want you to stop having it with anyone else.”
“Are you accusing me of something, Libba Jane?”
“No.”
“That’s all? No explanation.”
“Just say yes or no, Russ. It doesn’t require anything beyond that. If you say yes, I’ll believe you. If it’s no, we can leave it at that.”
“Negotiating terms is a hell of a way to begin a relationship.”
“We’re not beginning a relationship. We already have one, or we did,” she amended. “We’re discussing whether you’re willing to be sexually faithful. This is a small town. We both have children. It can’t be any other way for me.”
“There won’t be anyone else. If there was, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
“When you don’t want me anymore or if you decide you want someone else, you have to tell me before it happens. I don’t want to be made a fool of.”
His voice gentled. “What happened to you, Libba?”
“I grew up. Fairy tales are for children.”
“You didn’t just grow up, honey. You’ve been emotionally beaten and you have the scars to prove it.”
Libby didn’t answer.
“Do you want to tell me about it, tomorrow, over dinner? I’ll take you out for the best crab cakes on either side of the bay. And then we’ll talk about telling our girls about us.”
She wanted to, more than anything, if only for the look on his face when she told him that he was the one who’d done the beating. But she wouldn’t. The damage had already been done and he couldn’t take it back. “Dinner sounds great,” she said, “but let’s keep the conversation light.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
It was while driving back to her office that Libby had her first serious doubts, and every one of them had Chloe’s name on it. She sighed, summoning her stiffest resolve. Thirty-seven was too young to throw in the towel on the rest of her life. Chloe would have to adjust.
Twenty-Three
Cole Delacourte leaned back in his well-padded chair and fingered his notes. The courtroom in Salisbury where he’d practiced for more than three decades had changed enormously. Court reporters had replaced stenographers, typewriters had given way to computers, and an efficient air conditioner kept the rooms at a constant and comfortable sixty-eight degrees. A different type of attorney now walked the halls. She was usually female or black or both. Jurors lounged about in sandals and T-shirts, carrying laptops and cellular phones, and smoking was no longer allowed in the main building.
There was no doubt about it. Things had changed and not necessarily for the better. Cole missed the old days. There had been a grandeur to the bench that he could no longer find. It had disappeared along with the mildew when the new air conditioner was installed. He missed waking the heat-stunned jury with an eloquent opening. He missed the deference of his secretary and the way she would knock softly on his door every hour to ask if he would like his coffee or iced tea freshened. He missed the hum of portable fans set up in the four corners of the courtroom. He missed the grateful looks on the faces of the court when he asked for an early dismissal on account of the weather.
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