Chesapeake Summer

by Jeanette Baker

  In the beginning, the other men didn’t bother him. Lizzie was who she was and didn’t pretend to be anything more. As long as he could have her when it suited him, he couldn’t complain. And it suited him regularly, two or three times a week, without interruption, except for the brief period after she told him about the child.

  Quentin hadn’t counted on a child and he was furious with what he believed to be her carelessness. She said nothing while he berated her, called her names and swore they were finished. She looked at him calmly, her hands resting on her knees. When he was finished, she turned away from him, picked up a paring knife and continued peeling potatoes. “Don’t forget to close the screen door on the way out,” she said.

  “It’s probably not even mine.” The minute the words were out he wished them back. Of course the child was his. Lizzie was incapable of lying.

  She turned on him, brandishing her knife, her voice deadly calm. “Don’t say that. I know who fathered this baby. I’m not asking for anything, but don’t you ever say that again.”

  He left her, storming out to his car, and didn’t come back for nearly a month. When he did, they never spoke of her condition, simply continuing as they had before except, now, Quentin paid all her expenses.

  The baby, a boy, was black haired and black eyed with the clean, chiseled features of his mother. Quentin avoided him, always visiting Lizzie after he was asleep. They’d gone on that way for years until three weeks ago when Lizzie announced, without explanation, that they were finished.

  Quentin threatened, pleaded and offered money. But this time she hadn’t wanted money. She wanted what he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give: respectability, a wedding ring and a name for her child.

  Where once Lizzie was warm and giving, now she was cold, single-minded and stubborn. They could go away, she’d said, somewhere fresh where no one knew them. He told her it wasn’t possible. He’d argued his case well, explaining that social status was harder to come by than a wedding band. His career would be forever stalled. Supporting his own family would take most of what he had and he wasn’t young anymore. His reasons were valid but dishonest.

  The truth, as he saw it, was so much more indefensible. He didn’t want to nest with Lizzie, to settle down into the kind of life he knew with Amanda. Lizzie was exotic, alluring, beautiful. He didn’t want to wake up with her in the morning, share the newspaper, discuss finances. He certainly couldn’t see their families mingling—Benteen Jones, town debaucher, and Gaylord Wentworth the Third, businessman turned politician.

  The passion he felt for Lizzie was based on the excitement of forbidden fruit, the clandestine meetings late at night, stolen moments, secrecy, unpredictability, frantic, raw sex performed in silence while her boy slept on the other side of the wall. Respectability would kill the fever. They would settle in. The adventure would end. Normalcy would accentuate their differences. Life would be one long unalterable regret.

  Quentin didn’t want to go there, not again, not with Lizzie. He stayed away, hoping she’d cool off and reconsider. Three weeks passed and he hadn’t seen her, until tonight. Watching her with another man, knowing she’d gone back to her former trade enraged him. He’d behaved badly in front of the Delacourtes. Amanda had been publicly humiliated. She would take her pound of flesh. She always did.

  He pulled up to the house he’d paid to have built while Lizzie waited for their child to be born. Hers was the only car parked out front. The house was dark. Quentin hadn’t considered what he would do if she wasn’t alone. Mindful of the boy, he knocked softly. She didn’t answer. Carefully, he turned the knob and stepped inside. A single candle flickered on the coffee table. Lizzie was lying on the couch, smoking a cigarette, one leg bent over the other to form the number four. She still wore the red dress.

  Circles of smoke spiraled toward the ceiling. Her eyes were closed.

  “Lizzie,” he began and stopped.

  “I know it’s you, Quentin. Go home. We have nothing to say to each other.”

  “How can you say that after—” he faltered.

  Her eyes opened. She challenged him. “After?”

  “After all we’ve been to each other?”

  She sat up, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. “What have we been to each other?”

  He searched for words to convince her. “A comfort. We’ve been a comfort to each other.”

  She laughed the light, silvery laugh that wound itself around his heart and made him believe all things were possible. How could he live without that laugh?

  “We’ve been nothing to each other, Quentin. You despise your wife and the daughter she’s raised in her image. You say you love me and yet you won’t name the child we share. What do you want from me? What’s to become of me? I have nothing to show for eight years with you.” She shook her head. “I’m moving on. It’s over. Go home to Amanda.”

  He stared at her, realizing for the first time that this wasn’t a ploy. She was leaving him and she wouldn’t be changing her mind. “What about this house? It’s mine.”

  “Take it,” she said wearily. “I want nothing of yours.”

  “And the boy?”

  “Bailey’s mine. You never wanted him.”

  “How will you live?”

  Her mouth twisted. “Like I’ve always lived.”

  “That’s no life for a child.”

  “I’ll worry about that.”

  Thrusting both hands into his pockets, he leaned heavily against the wall. “I can’t leave you like this. What can I do?”

  She sat up. “What did you come for, Quentin? Is it sex? From now on, if you want sex you’ll have to pay just like the rest.”

  Even now, his body stirred at the thought of sex with Lizzie.

  Headlights lit the window and bathed the table and chairs in white light.

  Quentin frowned. “What in the hell—? Are you expecting anyone?”

  She didn’t answer. Rising from the couch, Lizzie pulled back the curtain and looked out the window. “My God, we’re in for a scene. Whatever happened to discretion, Quentin? Since when did you start informing your wife that you were visiting your mistress?”

  “What are you talking about?” Pulling her away from the window, he took her place, squinting at the glare from the headlights.

  “What is Amanda doing here?”

  Lizzie’s mouth turned up in amusement. “This is just a wild guess, Quentin, but I think she came for her husband.”

  He gritted his teeth. “I won’t tolerate this.”

  She taunted him “Are you familiar with the term paying the piper?”

  “You sound as if you’re enjoying this.”

  “Oh, I am. Believe me, I am.” Lizzie dropped the curtain, flipped on the lights and walked to the door. “Do you think she’ll knock?”

  “I know you’re in there,” Amanda cried. “Open the door or I’m coming in.”

  Lizzie threw open the door. “By all means, Mrs. Wentworth. Join our little party, but please lower your voice. My son is asleep.”

  “Bitch!” Amanda hissed. “Whore!”

  Quentin strode to the door and grabbed her arm. “Go home, Amanda. You don’t belong here. Think of Tracy and Tess.”

  “How dare you.” Her voice shook. “You’ve never once thought of them. Do you think no one knows about you and this slut? Do you imagine they believe the boy isn’t yours?” She pulled a revolver from her coat pocket. Steadying it with both hands, she aimed at his chest.

  He stepped in front of Lizzie. “Amanda, my God!”

  Lizzie was still and silent as stone.

  Quentin held out his hands. “Easy now, Amanda. You don’t want to do this.”

  “I think I do, Quentin. I really think I do.”

  He forced himself to speak gently. “You don’t mean that, Mandy. Put the gun down. We’ll go home. Everything will be all right. Just give me the gun.” He held out his hand. “You don’t want it to go off. Hand it to me, Mandy, and we’ll go home right now.
”

  She shook her head. “It’s too late.”

  “It’s not too late. It’s never too late.” He’d nearly reached her.

  Rubbing his eyes, seven-year old Bailey Jones appeared in the hallway. “Mama. I heard yelling.”

  “Bailey, go back to bed, honey,” his mother shouted.

  Brandishing her revolver, Amanda whirled toward the sound at the same time Quentin threw himself at her. They fell to the floor, a tangle of writhing limbs.

  Lizzie leaped over both of them and grabbed her son, sheltering him with her body. Seconds passed as Quentin struggled with his wife. A single shot rang out. More seconds passed. Blood gushed on to the floor. Lizzie screamed and then there was silence.

  Four

  Verna Lee sat on the weathered dock beside an old pontoon boat, hugged her knees to her chest and reveled in a day of freedom. The marina, nestled in a flat expanse of marsh grass, was at its most serene at this time of morning, long after the commercial shrimp trawlers had motored to fishing grounds but still too early for the pleasure cruisers. Snowy egrets shared the pilings with brown terns, gulls circled over her head and dragonflies and mosquitoes skimmed across the water’s surface. She was conscious of the silence, of gray water and blue sky and green grass, of hot, humid air, the taste of salt on her lips, the black flies biting at her legs and the thick, brackish smell of the bay, teeming with life. Somewhere, close by, was Marshy Hope Creek, its Peninsula Bank, John’s Food King, Taft’s Hardware—the synthetic world built up along the banks of the Chesapeake. But here and now, there was only silence.

  Lizzie was late but Verna Lee wasn’t concerned. She would show or she wouldn’t. Either way, the day would move along with or without her friend. They’d planned on clamming at Tom’s Cove, swimming and then maybe grabbing a bite to eat at Steamers. Bailey loved the ice cream at the Island Creamery and Verna Lee was set to indulge him.

  She must have dozed because she woke to Lizzie’s breathy voice. “Sorry we’re late. Bailey slept in this morning and after the night we had, I didn’t have the heart to wake him.”

  Verna Lee stood and stretched. “No problem. What happened?”

  Lizzie raised her eyebrows and nodded at Bailey. “I’d rather not say.”

  “Suit yourself.” She tousled the boy’s dark hair. “How’re you doing, Bailey?”

  He stared at her with expressionless, black eyes.

  Verna Lee frowned. “What’s the matter, honey? Don’t you have anything to say to Auntie Verna Lee?”

  Bailey remained silent.

  Verna Lee looked at Lizzie. “What’s going on?”

  Lizzie bit her lip. “Can’t we just get started?”

  “Sure.” She gestured toward the boat. “Hop in.”

  Lizzie, clad in worn cutoff shorts, a shirt tied in a knot under her breasts and stained deck shoes, jumped into the boat.

  Verna Lee took Bailey’s hand. “One big leap, Bailey.”

  Bailey jumped into Lizzie’s waiting arms. Verna Lee unwound the line attaching the boat to the dock, hopped onto the deck and started the outboard motor. It revved into life at the first pull and they were off toward the channel. The whisper of a cool breeze blew across the deck.

  Keeping one hand on the wheel, careful to dodge the sandbars, Verna Lee pointed out the red-and-white stripes of the lighthouse. Bailey nodded, climbed to the foredeck and lay on his stomach, head over the edge of the boat in an attempt to spot the local fish that had earned this part of the cove the name an angler’s paradise.

  Verna Lee kept her voice low. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  Lizzie narrowed her eyes against the sun. “Quentin came over last night. We had a fight. Bailey woke up. He hasn’t said a word since.”

  “I thought you were through with the judge.”

  “I am, but he’s resisting. He mentioned something about taking back the house.”

  “Tell the son of a bitch you’ll sue him for child support.”

  “I can’t prove anything, Verna Lee.”

  “You won’t have to. The scandal alone would make it difficult for him to live here. He won’t want that.”

  “It won’t be easy for me and Bailey, either.”

  “Is it easy now?”

  Lizzie sighed. “No, but there might be a better way.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to ask Quentin to give my daddy’s land back.”

  Verna Lee shook her head and lifted the mop of curls off the back of her neck. “That’s a tall order. I think you’d have more luck with the house.”

  “The house means taxes I can’t afford. The land is nothing but undeveloped swamp. Taxes are low. I can sell off a small part for enough to buy a mobile home. That’s all we need. I think I can swing it without—” She stopped.

  “How will you live?”

  Lizzie crossed her ankles, closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sky. “I’ll apply for Aid to Dependent Children. Then I’ll go to school.”

  “What will you study?”

  “Nursing. I can start out learning to be a licensed vocational nurse.” She shrugged. “After that, if I’m good at it, I could take more classes, maybe even earn a degree.”

  “What about Bailey?”

  “I’ll find somebody to watch him while I’m gone.” She pushed the hair back off her face. “Maybe I’ll ask Drusilla.”

  Verna Lee didn’t say anything.

  “You’re not buying it, are you?” Lizzie asked.

  “It’s not that. I’m just wondering if you plan on staying here. Salisbury is the closest community college. That’s a long commute. Even if you managed it, what about after you’re finished? Where do you plan to work?” The unspoken message was clear.

  “This is my home, Verna Lee. I know that certain people don’t want me around, but others won’t mind.” She smiled. “Who I am doesn’t bother you.”

  “We’ve known each other a long time.”

  Lizzie considered her friend. “Why doesn’t it bother you?”

  “I didn’t say that it doesn’t bother me. I hate that you have to support yourself by selling your body. But I understand why you do it. You’ve had it rough from the beginning.”

  “Don’t be feeling sorry for me, Verna Lee. I don’t want pity.”

  “I don’t pity you. I admire you.”

  “Really?”

  Verna Lee nodded. “The most amazing thing about you is that you don’t make excuses. You just take what you’re given and keep going. What’s not to admire about that?”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “I hope you get your land back.” Verna Lee spread her arm to encompass the water, land and sky. “Look at all this.” Flat marshland covered with coarse grass grew along the shoreline. Haughty cormorants, their long legs rooted in the sand, waited patiently for the leap of flashing silver that signaled lunch was at hand. Egrets, blue heron and an occasional bald eagle sailed across the tranquil sky. Gulls circled the pilings, their sharp eyes intent on a pair of terns arguing over the remains of a mussel. Farther down, pine forests grew right up to the edge of the sand. The harsh soil, rich in salt, deterred all but the fittest. Weak and diseased Virginia pine lay dead on the shore, their white salt-encrusted roots faceup on the banks. The air was alive with the chirping of cicadas, the croaking of frogs and the screams of gulls. Nearly hidden in the shade of an enormous pine, a family of deer waited, silent and motionless.

  Quick tears rose in her eyes, momentarily blurring her vision. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”

  “It’s beautiful,” Lizzie replied quietly. “I mean no disrespect, Verna Lee. I know how you feel about this land. But I have Bailey to think of and we need to live.” She touched her friend’s shoulder. “Besides, it belongs to the Wentworths. I’m not sure Quentin will give it back.”

  “I have a strong feeling he will.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We wouldn’t be having this conversation
if you didn’t think it was as good as settled. You have an ace up your sleeve. What is it that you aren’t telling me?”

  Lizzie’s smile faded. “There are some things that aren’t meant to be told.”

  A cold chill made its way toward Verna Lee’s heart. She fought it back. “If you need anything, Lizzie, you can count on me.”

  “I know that. It’s a comfort to me.”

  “Maybe some of that Mississippi Mud ice cream from the Island Creamery will get Bailey talking again.”

  Lizzie glanced at her son. His flamingo-thin legs, mosquito-bitten and brown as dried berries, looked even longer jutting out of last summer’s threadbare shorts. His hair badly needed cutting and the way he favored the right side of his mouth when he chewed made her wonder if he should see a dentist. She sighed. Would there ever be a time when she didn’t have to worry about money? “I’m sure he’d like that. Thank you for thinking of him, Verna Lee.”

  Verna Lee nodded and turned away, angry at the swift and unexpected emotion that closed her throat. People like Lizzie were grateful for the simplest kindness while others were never satisfied. It all boiled down to expectations. If they were low to begin with, every gift was cherished, no matter how small. She couldn’t help contrasting Bailey and his mother with the spoiled children, and their parents, she’d wasted nine years of her life attempting to educate.

  Verna Lee dropped her beach bag, stepped out of her sandals and turned on the hose to rinse her feet. Drusilla kept an immaculate kitchen and didn’t appreciate sand on her floor.

  “Is that you, Verna Lee?” her grandmother called out from the back porch.

  “It’s me, Gran. Can you bring me a clean towel?”

  “Give me a minute. I’m folding laundry.” A few minutes later Drusilla opened the screen, handing over a warm towel. “Lordy, I thought you’d never get home. Where you been?”

  “I took Lizzie and Bailey out on the boat.”