Chesapeake Summer

by Jeanette Baker

  Wade didn’t contradict him. His story was nearly identical to the one Bailey relayed to him earlier that day. “We’ll let the jury decide. Meanwhile, call your lawyer.”

  Sometime later, Blake walked back into his office. Wade was still there. “It’s been a hard day. I thought you’d be long gone and celebrating by now.”

  Wade was staring at the computer. “There’s just one more thing I’d like to sew up before I go home. It’s the least I can do.”

  Twenty-Six

  The next morning Wade rang the doorbell of the Delacourtes’ big white house. Chloe answered immediately. She looked surprised to see him.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Chloe. Is your granddaddy at home?”

  She nodded. “We’re having coffee in the back. We’d love for you to join us.”

  Wade grinned. Chloe Richards might be California born, but her manners were definitely southern. He guessed that he was probably the last person on her list to invite over for a coffee break, but no one would ever have known by her polite greeting. “I’d like that.”

  He followed her through the house, down the long hall, past the kitchen where she detoured briefly for another cup and saucer, and out the back door.

  Cole sat facing the bay, protected from the sun’s glare by a large oak tree. His newspaper sat on his lap, folded and forgotten. Wade didn’t blame him. The panorama before him was difficult to take for granted even when the view was one he’d seen for a lifetime.

  It wasn’t even eight o’clock but already the temperature was peaking at ninety degrees. Out on the bay, egrets circled above the glittering water. A tardy skipjack chugged its way toward Smith Island, the smoke from its engine circling and disappearing into the cerulean blue of the sky. The lawn, a deep golf-course green, swept down to the water’s edge where late-season ducks and plump coots dived for food in the marsh grasses.

  Wade pulled his sunglasses from his breast pocket and made his way to where Cole was seated.

  The man’s greeting was just as gracious as his granddaughter’s. “Good morning, Wade. What a nice surprise.” He gestured toward an empty chair. “Sit down. Have some coffee, or would you prefer something cold? Iced tea, maybe?”

  “Coffee’ll be just fine.”

  Cole nodded at his granddaughter. “Ask Serena to bring out another cup, sugar.”

  “I’m way ahead of you, Granddad.” She set the cup and saucer on the table, filled it with coffee from the carafe and handed it to Wade. “Enjoy. It’s delicious. I don’t know what Serena does to our coffee, but you won’t find it anywhere else, not even at Perks.”

  Wade laughed. “Don’t tell that to Verna Lee.”

  “My lips are sealed.” She kissed her grandfather’s cheek. “I’m on my way to the hospital to check on Tess.”

  “Give her my love if you see her,” said Cole.

  Wade tasted his coffee, savoring the strong, rich, chicory flavor. “How is Tess?”

  “She’s not out of the woods yet, but the surgery went well.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Cole folded his paper. The skin on the back of his hands was paper thin and lined with raised blue veins. “What brings you here so early in the morning?”

  Wade looked out at the blue water. “I had a feeling you might be wondering about that body we’ve been investigating.”

  “It crossed my mind.”

  “Quentin Wentworth confessed to the cover-up of his wife’s accidental death.”

  “Good Lord. Is the body Amanda?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cole sighed. “The poor woman.”

  Wade leaned back in his chair and surveyed the bay. “There’s one more thing. Anton Devereaux is alive and well and living in France.”

  Cole closed his eyes and exhaled. “Thank God.”

  Wade waited a minute. Then he stood. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Cole nodded. “You’ll tell Verna Lee.”

  “Yes.”

  “When you see her, give her my regards…and Wade—”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you. You’ve relieved my mind, more than you know.”

  Wade’s eyes met the faded blue gaze of one of the finest old men he would ever meet. “I think I know something of your mind, sir. It’s my pleasure to relieve it.”

  Later that day, Chloe answered the door, took one look at Bailey’s face, stepped out on the porch and closed it behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s okay,” she murmured, pulling him down on the porch swing beside her. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

  “Atkins knows everything,” he said. “I told him.”

  Chloe closed her eyes. “What did you tell him?”

  “I was there when the judge and Mrs. Wentworth were struggling. The gun went off.”

  “You were there? Where?”

  “At home with my mother. Quentin Wentworth was having an affair with my mother. Turns out he’s my father.” His laugh was a sharp crack, completely without humor. “I thought Tess would tell you.”

  “Tess knows?”

  He nodded. “She guessed. Then I went to Quentin. It’s all true.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “I’ve suspected for years.”

  “You and Tess are related.”

  “She won’t want anything to do with me, not after she knows I’ve put away her grandfather.”

  “You didn’t put him away, Bailey. He put himself away. What he did was wrong.”

  “My mother was a part of it, too.”

  Chloe didn’t disagree. Poor, sad Lizzie Jones. “She’s gone. There’s nothing you can do about that. As for Tess, she’ll understand. I know she will.”

  Bailey shook his head. “It won’t happen. You always think the best of people.”

  “Why is it so important for you to be accepted by the Wentworths? If they don’t want you, why do you care?”

  He looked around, at the lush green lawn, at the diamond-bright water, at the gracious old home and attempted to explain. “You’ve never known a single moment of not being wanted. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you have that security blanket behind you, your mother, your father, your grandfather, Russ and probably a dozen other people I don’t even know about. It’s different for me. I grew up knowing I wasn’t welcome.”

  “Your mother loved you.”

  “She loved me, but I wasn’t convenient, not until she went blind. After that she needed me. But that’s it, Chloe. There’s no support group to pick me up when I fall. It’s all me. You ask why I want acceptance from them. It’s because they’re the only family I’ve got. If your family doesn’t want you, nobody does, or at least that’s what you believe. How does a person go on, if nobody wants him?”

  She wanted to tell him that he would never be in that position, that wherever he went, whatever he did, people would know that he was beautiful and interesting and dangerous and different, but she kept silent. Somehow she understood that it wouldn’t be enough. He wanted something more, something intrinsic and fine to hold on to, to take out and examine when she was no longer with him.

  She began slowly, finding the right words, gathering momentum as she spoke. “When it comes to family, some people are born luckier than others. But the ones who don’t have perfect families aren’t doomed, Bailey. They can’t be. The way I see it is, you learn from the mistakes your parents make. If you don’t, you end up repeating them.”

  He was silent for a long minute, searching her face. “What did you learn?” he asked.

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “I’m asking a serious question.”

  “I don’t know. You’re putting me on the spot. I guess I learned that every story has two sides and that gorgeous people sometimes make lousy parents. I learned that people change and that you should never judge them before you meet them just because you’ve heard stories from someone else. And, I guess I learned
that sometimes your first love is the one that counts.” She smiled into the night. “I’ve learned practical things, too.”

  “Such as?”

  “I know how to bake the best peach cobbler in the state of Maryland. I can suck every bit of meat out of a hard-shelled crab. I make a wonderful cup of coffee. I can recite The Little Engine That Could from beginning to end without once looking at the words.” She looked at him. “So, what do you think?”

  His hand settled on her bare leg. “What I think, Chloe Richards, is that I’m lucky to know you.”

  She nodded, satisfied. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Libba hooked the back end of the crawfish she was using for bait, lifted her elbow and with a quick flick of her wrist, cast her line just past the shoals of the finger lake. Then she dug the end of the pole into the sand and beckoned to Gina Marie. “Hold on like this,” she instructed the child. “When you feel a pull, hang on tight and give a shout. Okay?”

  The little girl nodded, straddled the pole, gripped the striped end and planted her bottom in the sand.

  “Hang on to her, Libba Jane.” Verna Lee pulled her feet into the center of the blanket. “There’s a current close to the shore.” She muttered under her breath, “Why on earth does a little girl need to know how to fish?”

  “I heard that, and it’s fun,” returned Libba.

  “It’s fun when you’re seven. She’s three.”

  Libba raised her eyebrows. “No one would ever believe you were born and raised right here in Marshy Hope Creek. Fishing is our life.”

  “Bite your tongue. After those condos go up, none of us will be doing much fishing.”

  Libba leaned over her daughter. “Are you all right, sugar?”

  Gina nodded, her eyes narrow and intent on the churning water, her small fists gripping the pole.

  Libba sat down on the blanket beside Verna Lee and brushed the sand from her feet. She looked thoughtfully at her sister’s golden shoulders and light brown hair. “Did you bring anything to put on except that halter?”

  “No. Why?”

  “We’ll fry out here. Let’s pull this blanket into the shade. I’ll pull. You carry the basket.”

  Comfortably ensconced in the shade of a huge pine, Verna Lee began rummaging through the picnic basket and pulled out a can of beer and a jug of lemonade. “Which do you want first?”

  “Lemonade, please.”

  Verna Lee poured two cups and handed one to Libba. “I was hoping you’d choose the beer,” Libba said.

  “Why is that?”

  “So you’d get just a little bit drunk.”

  Verna Lee raised her eyebrows. “You want me to get drunk?”

  Libba nodded. “Otherwise you won’t talk about Wade Atkins.”

  Verna Lee turned her gaze back to her niece. Gina appeared perfectly and unusually content with her hands on the pole and her eyes fixed on the white chop. She was Russ’s daughter without a doubt. “There’s nothing to tell,” she replied.

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “You can’t believe everything people say.”

  “I know. That’s why I want to hear it from you.”

  “He had me checked out.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He made it his mission to find out about Marin County.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  “He didn’t give me a chance.”

  Libba stared out at the water and the slow, steady descent of the sun. “You know what I think, Verna Lee?”

  Verna Lee sighed. “I imagine you’ll tell me anyway.”

  Libba ignored her. “I think that most people are like ships passing in the night. Sometimes we get close, but not close enough to really connect. There might be lots of Mr. Rights out there for you, but you’ll never know it. You won’t know because when one of those people gets close, you’ll invent something, a fatal flaw you can’t get your mind around, a bad habit that’s too annoying to forgive, a reminder of the man you married. You’ll be glad there’s something wrong because God help you if you ended up with someone like him again.”

  “Are you saying that Wade Atkins could be Mr. Right?” Verna Lee’s voice rose and cracked.

  “You said you liked him, more than you liked anyone else in a long time.”

  “I haven’t been anywhere in a long time.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “Am I supposed to turn the other cheek when he couldn’t trust me enough to wait until I was ready to tell him about a seriously traumatic event in my life? He spied on me, Libba Jane.”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  “Why not?”

  “I think Wade has fallen for you. I think it scared him. I think you’re a fool to throw away someone you’re seriously attracted to because of a mistake in judgment.” Libba smiled. “In other words, don’t waste years of your life the way I did. Give Wade a shot. If it doesn’t work, you won’t spend time living with regret.”

  “You’re describing you and Russ.”

  Libba’s hands, long-fingered and brown, clasped her knees. “I waited twenty years to come home.”

  “I don’t think—”

  Gina Marie shrieked and leaped to her feet. “I feel it, Mama. I feel it.”

  Libba moved quickly. “Hold on, sugar. Hold on tight.” She gripped the pole just above Gina’s hands, knelt in the sand and began reeling in the test. “It’s a good one, Gina.” She released the clip and the tension eased.

  “Where did he go?” Gina asked, disappointed.

  “He’s still with us. We’ll let him take the line. It’ll tire him out a bit and then we’ll bring him in.”

  “Don’t lose him, Libba,” Verna Lee called out.

  Once again, Libba pulled back on the pole and reeled in the line. “That’s it, baby. Good job. One more time. Hold on, Gina.” Alternating between reeling in and pulling back, reeling and pulling, she shortened the line until the fish, a healthy-size bluegill, was close enough to net. “Okay, Gina. Don’t let go of the pole, no matter what. I’m going in to get him.”

  “I won’t let go,” the child promised, planting her sturdy legs in the sand.

  True to her word, she held the pole steady while Libba flipped the fish into the net.

  Back on the blanket, Gina proudly held up her prize to show Verna Lee.

  “Mighty fine work, sweetie pie,” her aunt said admiringly. “Your daddy is gonna be so proud of you. I’ll bet he’ll cook it up tonight at the barbecue.”

  “Can we eat it?” Gina asked.

  “You bet,” her mother promised. She smiled at Verna Lee. “Russ said he’d have everything ready at seven-thirty.”

  “You’re spoiled, Libba Jane.”

  Libba refused to be baited. “Everyone’s coming, except for Tess, of course.”

  “How is she doing?”

  “Better than expected. She’ll make a full recovery.”

  Verna Lee sighed. “Thank goodness.”

  Libba stood. “It gives us one more thing to celebrate. C’mon help me roll up the blanket.”

  Twenty-Seven

  At seven o’clock the sun was still high enough above the horizon line to keep the mercury at an uncomfortable ninety-two degrees. But it wasn’t enough of a deterrent to keep anyone away from a Hennessey party. The deep green lawn was awash with the promise of the evening to come.

  Russ had been productive. Colored paper lanterns hung on clotheslines, waiting for darkness. Coal pyramids reeking of lighter fluid filled two commercial-size barbecues. Aluminum buckets, heavy with melting ice, soft-drink cans, wine and beer bottles sat in the shade of the patio. Protected by plastic wrap, platters of luscious fruit weighed down the picnic tables. Freshly picked sweet corn, still in their husks, lined the breezeway. On the kitchen counter, chicken, ribs and Gina Marie’s bluegill sat marinating in Russ’s secret recipes.

  Upstairs in her bedroom, Gina slept the sleep of the innocent, comfortable in the wake of two oscillating
fans. Libba, fresh from her shower, stepped into a lemon-yellow shift of cool linen, applied a sweep of mascara to her lashes, glossed her lips, slipped on her kitten sandals and released the clip from her hair. It grazed her shoulders, thick, shining, coffee-colored.

  She smiled at her husband who lay on the bed, content to watch the miracle of his wife’s transformation. “How do I look?”

  “You are one beautiful woman, Libba Jane Hennessey.”

  She blew him a kiss. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “I’ll start the salads. We have about thirty minutes. Shelby and Earl are coming. They’re never late.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised.

  Downstairs, she moved from room to room turning on the fans, pulling chairs into conversational groupings, laying out fresh finger towels in the bathrooms, setting out the appetizers and cocktail napkins, breathing in the thick, brackish air wafting in from the bay.

  Libba smiled. She loved parties. Tonight was special. The mix of people would be eclectic, Verna Lee, their high-school friends Shelby and Earl, a few neighbors, Cole and Chloe, Blake Carlisle and Wade Atkins. Libba’s smile faded. Would Chloe invite Bailey Jones? She hoped not, but if she did, Libba refused to let it spoil her evening.

  Russ came down the stairs, shower tracks evident in his hair. “I’ll start the ribs.”

  “Russ?”

  He stopped, one hand on the refrigerator, and waited.

  “Do you think Chloe will bring Bailey Jones?”

  “Probably.” He pulled out the pan of ribs.

  She poured ranch dressing on the cauliflower salad. “I knew you’d say that.”

  “I like Bailey,” Russ said quietly. “He’s had a bad rap. He’s a hard worker and he’s done well for himself.”

  Libba tossed the salad and returned it to the refrigerator. “I don’t think he’s right for Chloe.”

  “I think you’re reading too much into this. Let it be and see what happens. Do you really think you can change anything with your disapproval?”

  “No.”

  “It might be best not to offer an opinion. More than likely it’ll go against you if she thinks you don’t like him.”