Chesapeake Tide

by Jeanette Baker

  Libby shuddered. “Doesn’t that make you feel terribly insecure to know that your wife isn’t giving as much as you are?”

  “Not at all. Nola Ruth gives more than I do because it isn’t as easy for her.”

  She looked at her father. It was easier now that his eyes were closed and his body relaxed to examine him fully. “Were you disappointed that I wasn’t a boy?” she asked out of the blue.

  He smiled. “Not for a single minute.”

  “Mama told me a story,” she hurried on. “She said you knew. Do you?”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “All that was a long time ago, Libba Jane, before your mother was even eighteen years old. Imagine having to live down something your entire life because of a blip in time that happened before you were even a woman.”

  “It was a pretty big blip, Daddy.”

  “I suppose for a woman of her class and race, it was. The truth is, it happened more often than most of us realize. It’s still happening, only the world has changed a bit, thank God.”

  “Don’t say it didn’t hurt you.”

  “Actually, it didn’t. I felt sorry for Nola Ruth, sorrier than you can imagine that she went through such pain, but it wasn’t about me. Our lives together, and with you, happened later. She was a different person.”

  Libby didn’t dare ask which of the two people her mother had been was the one he preferred. She stared out into the inky sky with its thousands of stars and was comforted by the vast randomness of it all. Maybe the life and troubles of one small person didn’t matter much in the scheme of things.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” she whispered.

  Cole didn’t answer her. He was somewhere else, far away, when the word future meant something entirely different than it did to a man approaching old age, a man with a grown daughter, a teenage granddaughter and a wife at the end of her years.

  Abruptly he stood. There was something he needed to know, something that wouldn’t wait. Only Nola Ruth had the answer. “Good night, Libba Jane.” He bent down to kiss her cheek.

  Libby looked up at him. Her eyes were liquid dark, almost black, as if the pupils had spilled their color into the irises. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered.

  “I love you, too,” he said automatically. It wasn’t his daughter’s love that he questioned.

  He found his wife in the downstairs bedroom she now occupied. For the first time since her stroke, he hadn’t bothered to knock. She was reading in bed. The unmarked side of her face was backlit by lamplight, as lovely to him as it had been when he first saw her.

  She looked up and frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”

  Marking her place with her finger, she gave him her full attention. “What is it, Cole?”

  Instead of his usual preferred spot, beside her on the bed, he took the chair near the window. “It occurs to me that I haven’t asked you the obvious in a long time. I’ve just assumed it.”

  She waited.

  He drew a deep breath.

  Her laugh was indulgent, amused. “We’ve been married a long time, Cole. Surely you can ask me a question.”

  “Ah, but it’s not the kind of question I usually ask.”

  “You’re making me nervous.”

  “I wouldn’t want to do that, Nola Ruth. Heaven forbid that I should make you uncomfortable in any way at all.”

  She stared at him. Coleson Delacourte wasn’t a drinking man, but then perhaps the circumstances had never been serious enough.

  He leaned forward. “Do you still love me, Nola Ruth?”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “Completely.”

  “What an absurd question.”

  “Answer it, anyway.”

  Color rose in her cheeks and she fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “This is ridiculous, Cole.”

  “Is that your answer?”

  “What do you want me to say? Demanding a declaration of love isn’t exactly conducive to a meaningful sentiment.”

  He stood and started for the door. “It appears I have my answer.”

  Nola Ruth’s jaw dropped. “Cole,” she cried out. “Come back and sit down.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “For pity’s sake. Shall I beg? Is that what you want?”

  He turned, his hand on the knob. “I want an answer, an honest, simple answer.”

  Her lips were dry. She wet them. “All right, Cole. I’ll tell you. I do love you. I’ll love you forever for a number of reasons, but mostly because in the nearly four decades we’ve been married, even in the heat of our worst arguments, you’ve never so much as hinted that I’m anything other than what I appear to be.”

  “That’s enough, Nola Ruth,” he said under his breath. “We don’t need to discuss this, not now, not ever.”

  Coleson Delacourte was normally not an emotional man. His feelings were buried deeply beneath a veneer of cool reserve and hardheaded logic. In the courtroom he’d been compared to a barracuda, a lawyer with a killer instinct and a keen sense of his opponent’s vulnerability. There had been other young lawyers in Washington beginning their careers at the same time, men fevered with excitement over the beginning of America’s new era—men anxious to see their names in the history books and convinced that the South was the place and civil rights the issue of the future.

  But Cole was different. Along with the fever and the instinct he brought with him to Washington an eye for detail, a nearly photographic memory and a courtroom presence that was helped by his cultured Southern accent, his lean six-foot frame and a pair of electric blue eyes that could wear down a witness’s testimony on the stand without his ever raising his voice. The court became his arena, the media his friend. He never faltered, never disappointed, never wavered from furthering his ambition, until the day he drove home for a well-earned vacation. He had plans to sleep late, drink bourbon until he was dizzy, fish the fingers of the Chesapeake and roast his catch over coals on the white sand beaches of his boyhood, dressed in nothing more than a pair of tan swim trunks and a shirt without buttons.

  Intent on his task and the twenty-pound test line that had suddenly gone taut, he didn’t notice the girl with the golden skin and spectacular legs until she was nearly upon him. When he turned to look at her, for the first time in his life he lost the ability to speak.

  Nola Ruth Beauchamp held out her hand. “Hello,” she said in her slow, Southern, Delta-flavored voice. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

  Cole didn’t remember his response. He only knew that nothing would ever be the same for him again.

  Nineteen

  Russ nodded at Libby warily. He was checking the instruments on one of his skipjacks while Fletcher Sloane loaded bait into the tank.

  Fletcher grinned. “Well, well, well, if it ain’t Libba Jane Delacourte. What brings you down to our neck of the woods so early in the mornin’?”

  Libby smiled but her heart wasn’t in it. “How are you, Fletcher? I could ask the same of you.”

  “Doin’ well, thanks. I’m givin’ ol’ Russ here a hand. We watermen have to help one another out occasionally, don’t we, Russ?”

  Russ Hennessey grunted. He had a sixth sense when it came to Libba and it told him she wasn’t bringing good news. “I’ll be done here in a minute if you care to grab a cup of coffee.”

  She nodded. “Don’t rush.” She didn’t tell him it might be his last run for some time. That would come later when she could break it to him alone.

  His hair was still too long, she thought irrationally, but otherwise Shelby was right. There was nothing wrong with the rest of him. Russ Hennessey always did draw the eye. It was more than a combination of coloring and feature. He moved with a kind of boneless grace, as if he were utterly comfortable in his own skin, and he had a way of looking at a woman that made her believe she was the only one worth talking to in the entire room. He had a charming, effortless smile that exuded goodness and that h
e called up often, and he would do nearly anything for someone in trouble, whether he knew the person or not. Not a bad set of characteristics all in all.

  He tossed the clipboard to Fletcher. “Take this back with you when you’re done and give it to Billy. He has a few repairs to make.”

  Fletcher returned a mock salute and turned back to the bait tank.

  Russ jumped from the boat to the dock and fell into step beside Libby. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  “Why is Fletch working for you?”

  “His boats are grounded. One of his skippers disregarded the buoys and got a second citation. Fletcher’s got a family to support. We all help one another when we can. You know that.”

  Libby remembered Shelby’s lacquered nails and her brittle laugh. “Does Shelby know?”

  Russ shook his head. “Shelby doesn’t take bad news well.”

  “She’s his wife. He should tell her.”

  “I agree, but then I’m not married to Shelby. Poor sucker.”

  “That’s not very flattering.”

  “It’s not my mission to stroke Shelby. Fletcher made his bed. Let him roll in it.”

  “Like you did?” Libby asked pointedly.

  Russ thought a minute. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Except that I had the good sense to cut my losses and leave when the time came.”

  Libby stared at her feet, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Russ. That was uncalled for.”

  He nodded. “No problem. Now, about that cup of coffee.”

  Perks was busier than Libby had ever seen it. A young girl Libby didn’t recognize served up coffee and muffins while Verna Lee manned the register. Russ and Libby took their places at the end of the line.

  This time Verna Lee smiled at Libby. “How was your afternoon at the club?”

  Libby rolled her eyes. “I left early.”

  “I noticed.”

  Russ looked from one to the other. “Did I miss something?”

  “Just an inside joke,” answered Verna Lee. “What will y’all have?”

  “Coffee for me,” Russ said, pulling out a handful of bills from his pocket. “And a latte for Libba.”

  “That has a ring to it,” said the black woman. “Libba’s latte. Maybe I’ll name an espresso drink after her. How about it, Libba Jane? How would you feel about seeing your name on the menu?”

  “I’d be honored.”

  Verna Lee laughed and turned to the next customer.

  Russ nodded to an empty table. “Shall we stay here or do you want to talk in your office?”

  “It’s not good, Russ.”

  “Then it had better be your office.”

  They covered the distance from Perks to the EPA office without speaking. Inside, Libby pulled her chair from behind the desk and motioned for Russ to take the other one.’ “I wanted to tell you before it’s official,” she began. “There was an e-mail from Cliff this morning. A moratorium is being placed on commercial and recreational fishing for a hundred square miles of the Chesapeake. After Friday you won’t be able to go out, at least not here. I’m sorry.”

  “What’s happening?” he asked tightly.

  “The official word is mercury levels are at an all-time high for fish this size and mutations due to PCBs have been found all throughout the bay.”

  “Is it the farms?”

  Libby shrugged. “Partially, but we’ve always had farm runoff. It’s more than farm pesticides. I’m working on the specifics. I’ve contacted another lab where I can run independent tests. Right now, word has it that whatever’s out there is enough to cause problems in the human population.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. Cliff isn’t the communicator I’d like him to be. There’s no point in speculation until the facts are all in.”

  He believed her. Not that it helped much, but he figured she wouldn’t hold back if she had more information, not when it was this important to him. “It’s not just me,” he said slowly. “It’s the men I’ve hired. Jobs aren’t all that easy to come by in this economy. I have enough put away to last awhile, but a fishing moratorium means people here go hungry. That’s all they know. You know as well as I do that welfare isn’t something these men turn to, even in an emergency.”

  “You can lay them off.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”

  “If you lay them off, they can collect unemployment.”

  “That’s not an alternative, Libba, not around here. You know that.”

  “It could be,” she urged him. “At least for a while. It’s better than nothing. And maybe by the time their benefits run out, the moratorium will be lifted.”

  He stared at her, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. “I could talk to them,” he said, thinking aloud. “Maybe it would fly.”

  “Give it a try. It buys us some time.”

  Us. She said us. “Can we do dinner again,” he asked abruptly, “this time with the girls?”

  She looked surprised. “What brought that on?”

  “I’ve met Chloe, but you’ve never met Tess. How about it?”

  “Why would you want to put yourself through something like that?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Libby waved her hand. “Come on, Russ. Chloe isn’t stupid and I’m sure Tess isn’t, either. They’re going to wonder why we’re doing this. They’re going to think something’s going on with us.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Chloe’s just getting used to my divorce. It hasn’t been that long. I don’t want her to think I’m bringing someone else into the picture.”

  “Why can’t two old friends get together with their children?”

  She held him with her gaze, forcing him to maintain eye contact. “Is that what it would be?”

  He gave up. “It’ll be whatever you want it to be, Libba. I’ve never been a slow learner and I’m no masochist. You’ve given me enough heartache for one lifetime. If you think I’m standin’ in line for any more, you’re wrong.”

  “Don’t make more of us than we were,” she said shortly.

  He stood, his brows drawn together. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “We were twenty years old.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Heartache is a strong term, don’t you think?”

  “Not for me.”

  She leaned across the desk, eyes wide and dark as old mahogany. “Are you deliberately trying to make me feel guilty?”

  The old Russ, the boy she’d cut her teeth on seventeen years earlier, would have lashed out with something like, if the shoe fits, but Russ was no longer a boy. He inhaled deeply. “I’ll tell you what. If I can get Chloe to want us both there, will you come?”

  Her body relaxed. The tension left her face. “Are you a miracle worker, Russ?”

  He grinned. “Not a miracle worker, but definitely an optimist.”

  “You’re on.”

  He collected their empty coffee mugs. “I’ll return these to Verna Lee. And then I’ve got work to do.”

  Libby didn’t think for a minute that he would be successful at either task, but she’d bet her last nickel that convincing the watermen of Marshyhope Creek to accept what was tantamount to welfare wouldn’t be as hard a sell as convincing Chloe to agree to an excursion with Russ and his daughter.

  She finished up her report and e-mailed it to Cliff. Evidence of PCB contaminants was definitely greater in the shallow, saltier side of the bay. But it wasn’t enough. There was a leak somewhere else and she needed manpower to flush it out. One person simply wasn’t enough.

  She called home to check on Chloe. Serena said she’d left with Bailey Jones nearly two hours ago. The two had carried fishing poles and a picnic lunch, neither of which allayed Libby’s fears. She couldn’t really prohibit Chloe from seeing Bailey. She just wished her daughter’s preferences would have found a different direction. She needed a break and a tall, cool
iced coffee.

  Perks was empty now except for Verna Lee and the girl who was filling sugar jars.

  “I came back for a refill, only cold this time,” Libby said.

  Verna Lee pulled out a pitcher from the refrigerator and filled a glass with amber liquid and ice cubes. “Here you are,” she said, handing the glass to Libby.

  Libby thanked her, sat down on a low sofa and picked up a copy of the local newspaper.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” Verna Lee asked.

  “Please.” Libby moved to make room. “You’ve done a great job with this place.”

  “Thanks.” Verna Lee sat down, crossed her legs and tucked her hair behind her ears. “What about you, Libba Jane? Are you here for good?”

  “I think so. I took a leave of absence from my job in California, but that’s nearly up. I have to go back or give final notice.”

  Verna Lee frowned. “It’ll be hard on Cliff if you go home. I’m sure he’s counting on you to stay awhile.”

  Libby nodded. “We’ve been over that. It really depends on Chloe and school.”

  “How so?”

  “If she settles in, we’re staying.”

  “I don’t have any kids,” Verna Lee said slowly, “but it seems like they have a way of settling in as long as you don’t give them too many choices.”

  Verna Lee was interesting and intelligent. Why, then, was Libby offended when she offered her advice? “In other words, tell Chloe we’re staying and she has to make it work.”

  Verna Lee nodded. “I’d use different language, obviously, but that’s the gist of it.”

  “You don’t know Chloe.”

  The woman’s face closed. “I guess not.”

  Libby changed the subject. “Why didn’t you ever marry?”

  “How do you know I haven’t?”

  “All right. Have you?”

  “Yes,” said Verna Lee. “It was a long time ago and mercifully brief. We had no children, although I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Oh, Lord. I don’t know. That was years ago and miles away.” Verna Lee spooned sugar into her coffee and stirred slowly, her pinkie extended.

  Libby laughed. “You do that exactly the way my mother does.”