A Following Sea

by Michael Lindley

  He watched as she came around the front of the car and without hesitation, threw her arms around him. "Thank you for seeing me," she said softly as she pushed back.

  Alex said, "Let's go inside. It's cooler."

  They sat across from each other at the kitchen table, two glasses of ice water in front of them.

  "How's your dad doing?" she asked.

  "Not great, as you can imagine."

  "Always liked your old man," Ella said. "Too bad it didn't work out for the two of us."

  Alex remembered the short and tempestuous relationship a couple of years after his mother died. He was surprised one of them didn't kill the other. Stories of their fights were legend around town and down at Gilly's.

  Alex wasn't in the mood for small talk. "What do you want, Ella?"

  The woman squirmed in her chair and took a drink. "It still hurts me every day, the two of you not being able to make it work."

  Alex started to protest, but she continued.

  "I know my daughter didn't behave well... the other men and everything."

  "Ella, please. We don't need to go through all that."

  "I'm so glad she's home now where she belongs."

  Alex looked back without responding. He watched as Ella Moore took a deep breath.

  "She's been away so long. She's really changed, Alex. She's finally grown up. Maybe it's the boy. She's a mother now and has to think straight about things."

  Alex had no patience to listen to the supposed new virtues of his ex-wife. "Ella, I'm sorry, but what do you want?"

  "I want Adrienne to stay here in town, to raise her son here."

  "That's up to her," he said. He reached for the glass in front of him, cool sweat streaking down the sides. He took a long drink.

  "I'm afraid she'll head back to Florida," Ella said.

  "Again, that's up to Adrienne."

  "I don't want her getting back with that Crandall man. He was never good to them," she said. "I'm glad he left."

  Alex placed the glass of water back down. "Ella, Adrienne and I need to work this out. It's going to take some time. She doesn't want to tell Scotty about his real father yet. I honestly don't know how we should deal with this, but we will."

  "Alex, my grandson needs a real father," she said. "He needs you."

  "Ella..."

  "Adrienne needs you, Alex!"

  Alex dropped Ella Moore back at her house before driving down and parking in front of Andrews Diner to get some lunch. As Lucy brought over the iced tea he'd ordered, he thought about his final words with Adrienne's mother in the car in front of their house. She had pleaded with him again to take her daughter back. He's your son, Alex. She's was your wife. You loved each other. You should be a family again.

  The bell on the front door of the diner rattled and Alex looked up to see the familiar face of Chaz Merton walking in. He and Chaz had been boyhood friends growing up in Dugganville. When Alex left for the Marines and later to college, Chaz never got away. He'd spent his adult life working a variety of odd jobs, most on the shrimper fleet. He had worked for Alex's dad for many years on the Maggie Mae.

  Merton saw him and came over.

  "Join you?"

  "Sure," Alex said, motioning to the seat across the booth from his. "How you been, Chaz?"

  The man sat down, and Alex noticed the deeply lined creases on his face from the toll of hard work and harsh elements on the water. He suspected too many late nights at Gilly's had also taken their toll. He could smell alcohol on his friend's breath and it wasn't even one in the afternoon yet.

  "Heard they took your old man down to Charleston."

  Alex nodded. "His arraignment was this morning. They'll hold him down there now until the trial."

  Lucy came up and Chaz ordered a cup of coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich.

  "Seen this comin' for a long time, Alex," Chaz said as the waitress walked away.

  "How's that?"

  "Your old man and Bayes. They been at each other for years."

  Alex said, "I know the history."

  "Hope to hell he's got a good lawyer."

  Alex nodded.

  "It don't look good, Alex," Chaz said, shaking his head and looking up when Lucy put his coffee down.

  "Who else was in Gilly's the night of the fight, Chaz?"

  The man scratched at his unshaven chin, then said, "The usual crowd."

  Alex said, "I want to talk to everyone who was there that night." He reached into the bag beside him on the seat and pulled out a notepad and pen. "Can you write down everyone you remember?"

  Chaz took the pen. "Everybody saw the fight, Alex. Ain't no mystery there. Your old man was jawing with Horton about something happened out on the water and the next thing you know, they're throwing each other around the bar."

  "I know that, Chaz. Just write down the names you can remember."

  Alex watched his old friend start writing names on the pad. He looked at his worn and weathered face and remembered times when they were boys. Chaz had been a great pitcher on their high school baseball team. A few small colleges had shown interest in bringing him in on scholarship until they saw his grades. He barely made it out of high school and would have no chance in college. It wasn't that he didn't have the intellect, he just could never focus on anything but girls and parties. Alex was sad to see how little his life had become.

  Chaz was still writing names when he said, "Saw Adrienne this morning down at the docks. She was walking with her boy."

  Alex just nodded when Chaz looked up at him.

  Chaz said, "Damn, she's a looker. Sorry 'bout you two, man."

  "Just give me the names, Chaz."

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Hanna drove down the tree-lined West River Drive in Atlanta on the way to her father's house. The massive old brick and stucco homes were set well back from the road, many with ornate gates closing off long curving drives through the trees. She had grown up here and many of her friends had lived in some of these houses. She knew her childhood was not ordinary. The wealth and excess had always embarrassed her. Friends had often teased her about shrugging off the trappings of her family's abundance. When others were driving Mercedes and BMW's to school, Hanna had insisted on a used Honda Accord when her father offered to get her first car. She named the car "Harry" for some reason she couldn't remember now and had driven it all through college up in North Carolina. She was driving a new Honda now and prided herself on her frugality and the good mileage the car got her.

  When she faced near complete financial ruin after her husband's death, Hanna never considered calling her father for help. She refused to take anything more from the man. He had been incredibly generous with her throughout her childhood and all the way through law school, but in Hanna's mind, that was enough. As an adult, she always felt she needed to face life on her own, good and bad, and take responsibility for her own future. She was never sure if it was just foolish pride or some deeper resentment of her father and continuing efforts to control her life and bring her back to the family law firm in Atlanta.

  Hanna saw the drive to her parent's house coming up on the left and she slowed and turned in. Tall brick columns held a bronze gate that was closed and locked, weathered to a blue green patina over the years. She opened her window and reached for the keypad. The four numbers were her mother's birthday... 8643. She forced thoughts of the plane crash and her mother's death away every time she came back here and had to enter the code. She was surprised her father’s new wife hadn’t changed the number.

  The two-story white brick house could be seen up ahead through the tall oaks and pine trees. A broad veranda ran the full length of the first floor of the enormous house that had the look of a classic southern plantation but was far bigger than any she had ever seen. Hanna thought of her ancestor's old plantation house, Tanglewood, near Georgetown, back in the Low Country and her great-grandmother, Amanda Paltierre Atwell. She still kept and oft
en read the woman's journal that had proved such comfort to her during the difficult times after Ben's passing. The old photo of her family from the Civil War that was a gift from the new owners of Tanglewood, now hung in Hanna's house out on Pawleys Island.

  Hanna pulled to a stop in the circle drive around the front of the house. She sat for a minute trying to push thoughts of her long drive up from Charleston and the relentless doubts that had been swirling through her mind about Alex Frank and the conversation they'd had that morning about his ex-wife and a new son in his life. At times, she was so frustrated with the whole situation, she was tempted to call Alex back and tell him to stay in Dugganville with his ex and his son and never call her again. She thought about how many times in her life she'd vowed to never let her guard down again. Her first love in college, the photographer Sam Collins, had left and never returned. Her marriage to Ben Walsh had been, for the most part, a happy union, but the last few years had turned into a nightmare beyond belief. His betrayal had pushed her to make the vow again... no more men! And then Alex Frank had come along and eventually that promise to herself slowly faded.

  Hanna knew in her heart that Alex was caught in an untenable situation. She knew he didn't intend to hurt her. The fact he'd had so much trouble telling her the truth about what he was faced with, did trouble her. She would have hoped they'd become close enough he would be able to share anything with her. Apparently not.

  Alex said he would call tonight, she thought. She sighed when she considered he may well tell her he was taking Adrienne back, that he wanted to raise his son in a real family. Would Alex Frank just be the latest man in her life to leave her alone and devastated? She cursed silently for letting herself fall vulnerable again.

  Hanna got out of the car and looked up at the big house and the double doors that led into a grand entry. Thoughts of her mother came back. She would always come hurrying out that front door when Hanna came home for a visit. Her mother had been gone now nearly twenty years, but the pain of her passing in the plane crash in the Bahamas still cut deep and Hanna thought of her most every day since. Her brother would have been? forty-two now, she thought, closing her eyes and trying to push back the dark mood coming over her.

  The front door did open, but it wasn't her mother. Martha Wellman Moss, her father's second wife, came through the door with a flourish of smiles and colorful scarves flowing in all directions. Hanna immediately noticed the hair was a new shade of blond and cut more severely than her previous long and curly styles. She was still trim and fit in her mid-fifties, near daily workouts with her personal trainer in the massive gym in the basement of the house having their effect. Hanna cringed at the woman's fake enthusiasm at her arrival.

  "Oh, Hanna!" she said, rushing down the long row of brick steps. "Welcome home, dear!" She rushed up to Hanna and gave her an effusive hug. The perfume was overpowering.

  Hanna pushed back. "Hello, Martha."

  "Oh dear, I'm so glad you've come," her stepmother said. "I must tell you, your father is not doing well at all. You'll be quite surprised when you see him. He's lost so much weight and he's become quite weak the past month or so."

  Hanna was suddenly alarmed. She knew her father was facing a serious follow-up surgery for his heart disease, but he hadn't let on how poorly he was feeling. She remembered how weak his voice had sounded on the phone earlier in the week.

  "Where is he, Martha?"

  "Up in our room, dear. He's so excited you've come."

  Hanna went to the back of the car to get her bags, but Martha said, "Don't worry about your things. I'll have Anna bring them in for you."

  Anna Parsons was the long-time housekeeper and cook who had been with the family since Hanna was in grade school. The old black woman was one of Hanna's dearest friends and confidants. She had helped to keep her and her brother grounded in their earlier years when the wealth and privilege could have easily been taken for granted and expected.

  Hanna saw Anna in the kitchen and had a quick reunion with her before heading upstairs. She gasped when she came into her father's bedroom and saw him sitting up against the headboard reading the Atlanta Constitution. He looked even worse than Martha had described. His face was not only gaunt, but a sickly pale. She rushed over to the bed and sat beside him, taking his hand.

  "Hello, Daddy." His grip was weak and the skin on his hand was mottled with dark spots. She felt it quiver in her grasp.

  "Hey, Kiddo," he said slowly, smiling now with surprising white and even teeth.

  "How long has this been going on?" she asked.

  "Oh, I'm just a bit rundown," he said. "I've been a little worried about them carving open my chest again tomorrow."

  Hanna felt Martha sit beside her on the bed. "Dr. Mason is the best," the woman said. "He's taken very good care of your father."

  It certainly doesn't look that way, Hanna thought. She couldn't believe the difference in appearance from the strong, dynamic litigator and community leader she was accustomed to seeing on her visits home.

  Her father said, "Thank you for coming. It means a lot."

  "Of course," Hanna said. "What time is the surgery tomorrow?"

  Martha jumped in. "We're taking him to the hospital at seven and Dr. Mason has the procedure scheduled for late morning."

  Hanna looked back at her ailing father. "Daddy, you should have called me earlier."

  "I don't like to bother you. I know you're busy with your clinic and this new man in your life. What's his name?"

  She was sure her father knew Alex's name, but she didn't protest. "Alex Frank."

  "Right, Alex..."

  Martha said, "We do hope to meet him soon, dear."

  Hanna felt a surge of doubt and uneasiness. Would they meet Alex someday soon or was that chapter closed now?

  Martha stood and reached for the newspaper he was holding. "I've been trying to get your father to rest all afternoon."

  He replied, "I want to talk to Hanna for a moment, dear."

  A cell phone started to buzz, and Hanna watched as Martha pulled her iPhone out of the white silk pants she was wearing. She walked toward the door, waiving to them as she answered the call and then she was gone.

  Hanna turned back to her father. "I'm sorry, Daddy, but you look like hell."

  He laughed weakly. "Never felt better."

  "How long have you been doing this poorly?"

  He scrunched up his face in thought. "A couple months, maybe."

  Hanna felt a flush of anger that no one had alerted her to this. Again, she had the nagging suspicion that Martha, the new wife, would prefer her father be on his way to the Pearly Gates. God only knows what she's managed to get put in his will, she thought.

  He squeezed her hand and said, "Hanna, I know how you feel about the firm here in Atlanta, but..."

  "Daddy, can we not do this now?"

  "Moss Cooper has been led by our family for decades now."

  "I know that. We've had this discussion a dozen times."

  She watched his face sag even more and his eyes began to mist. "Hanna, dear, I may or may not even survive this procedure tomorrow." Hanna began to interrupt but he continued. "But, that's not what scares me today. What really scares me is the thought of someone else taking over our family's law office."

  "The firm will be fine, Allen," she said, returning to his preferred name use. "Cooper has two sons who've joined the office, right?"

  "They’re total idiots," her father hissed.

  Hanna looked back at her father and his almost pleading expression. "Let's just worry about your health and getting you back on your feet."

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chaz Merton had never owned a car. He occasionally managed to keep enough money together from odd jobs that he considered buying an old pick-up truck for a few hundred bucks, but he always decided against it at the last minute. His old Schwinn 3-speed bike got him around town and to work down at the docks just fine. He lived in a o
ne room apartment on top of a garage just two blocks from Main Street. He'd rented the place for over ten years from old Mrs. Grange who lived in the main house.

  Chaz had left Alex Frank at the diner just a few minutes earlier and was riding his bike back down to the Richards Fisheries plant across the river from the Frank's docks and house up on the hill. He got some part-time work there, filleting fish for the market the Richards had there in a storefront on the docks. He figured with the Skipper's boat no longer available for work and Horton Bayes about to be put six-foot under, his shrimping days would be limited for a while. Most of the seafood the Richards took in was sold wholesale to restaurants and grocery stores, but they kept some of each day's catch for the locals to get fresh fish.

  He had been surprised to see his old friend, Alex Frank, back in town and in the diner for lunch. He was also surprised he was taking a leave from the Charleston PD to help with his father's trial. He wasn't exactly sure what Alex planned to do with the long list of bar patrons he'd just given him, but he was sure that some of the people he had written down would not be happy about getting drawn into the case. He'd asked Alex not to tell anyone he had provided the names.

  He pulled his bike into the drive at Richards and laid it against the wall of the building that held the market store. He saw Connor Richards come around the corner and get an angry look on his face.

  "Merton, where the hell you been?" Connor yelled. "You're twenty minutes late from lunch and we got fish stackin' up in there. I give you a damn job and this is how you start?"

  "Sorry, boss," Chaz said. "Won't happen again. Ran into an old friend down at Andrews and the time got away from me."

  "Get your ass on the line in there," Connor hissed. "And there won't be any second chances, you hear me?"

  "Yessir, boss!"

  Alex was finishing his iced tea at Andrews and considering the list of names Chaz Merton had just left him. Most of the names were familiar to him as long-time residents of Dugganville. Several he knew were "regulars" at Gilly's and friends of his father. A few names didn't ring a bell. He noticed both Beau and Connor Richards had been in the bar that night, slumming again, Alex thought.