Chesapeake Tide

by Jeanette Baker

  Chloe disappeared down the hall. Libby glanced at her father. “Wish me luck,” she said softly.

  “She can take it, Libba Jane. Give her some credit.”

  “I don’t want to tell her this minute.”

  “I’d warn her about the rumors,” Cole warned her. “News spreads fast in a small town. She’ll hear it at school. Give her a heads-up so she’s prepared. You want her to have the advantage, don’t you?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Would you like me to drive her to school?” her father asked.

  Libby shook her head. “No. I’m her mother. I’ll do it.”

  Cole smiled approvingly. “Good girl.” He cleared his desk, reshelving his books and sweeping the pens into the top drawer. “Now, I think I’ll look in on your mother and Verna Lee. My guess is the fireworks are over.”

  “Is it what I think it is?” Libby asked.

  “You always were a clever child,” said her father. “What gave it away?”

  “Besides the fact that the resemblance is remarkable?”

  He nodded. “I’ve always thought so. Usually no one looks past color. I’m surprised you did.”

  “All the years I grew up here, I missed it. It took a seventeen-year absence to see what was right in front of my nose.”

  “You aren’t taking it too badly,” her father observed.

  “Don’t think for a minute it isn’t important to me, Daddy. I like Verna Lee, more now than I ever did when we were kids. It’s what Mama did that’s disturbing. I’m not sure why, but I feel as if she’s betrayed us, somehow. As for my not becoming hysterical, there are more important things to worry about, like euthanasia, for instance.”

  “It’s a tangled web we mortals weave,” he said softly. “Don’t take too much on yourself, Libba Jane. It’ll work out the way it’s supposed to. Meanwhile, I want you to do something for me.”

  “All right.”

  “Keep on this pesticide thing. There’s more here than we know. If you have to go public, do it. I can’t help thinking these two incidents, Drusilla Washington and Bailey Jones, are related.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  Chloe poked her head in. “Are you coming?”

  “Right now, honey. I’m on my way.”

  Chloe followed her mother into the front door of the high school attendance office. Her head felt light and distant, as if it was attached to someone else’s body. She waited while her mother filled out the requisite papers and said something about the yellow one Chloe was to take around to the teachers whose classes she’d missed. She wondered what Bailey was doing and why he’d wanted to go back so soon to that horrible place where it had happened. He wouldn’t be here today. She knew that. But maybe she could pave the way, somehow, and make it easier for him to come back.

  She walked outside, waiting for Libby to say goodbye. Her mother was the goodbye queen. She couldn’t just get it out with a simple two-syllable word. She had to drag it out, kiss one cheek and then the other, stroke her hair, touch her arm, hug her once and then again, all the while saying things like “Have a good day” and “Work hard and pay attention” or “I’ll miss you” and always, always the proverbial “I love you.”

  Normally Chloe would have remained stoic, neither complaining nor condoning her mother’s separation anxiety, but today, in light of Bailey’s loss, she welcomed it, even going so far as to encircle Libby’s waist and kiss her cheek.

  She pulled away and saw that her mother’s eyes had welled up. “Don’t cry, Mom,” she said, embarrassed. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Chloe,” Libby began. “There’s something you should know.”

  “If I don’t go now, I’ll be late for another class.”

  “This is important.” Libby pulled Chloe down on a bench outside the office. “Bailey may be in some trouble.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “No, Chloe. I mean legal trouble.”

  “What kind of legal trouble?”

  “Oh, God.” Libby’s hands twisted in her lap. “I didn’t want to do this now. Can’t we just go home? I don’t want to leave you here, not after you hear this.”

  Chloe’s temper flashed. “Just tell me.”

  Libby wet her lips and strove for a matter-of-fact tone. “Lizzie Jones was very ill, but she didn’t die because of that. She suffocated, Chloe. The police think someone smothered her. There’s a possibility that Bailey may be charged.”

  Chloe’s mouth dropped. Her eyes were two blazing slits of blue in her pointed little face. “That’s insane. Bailey loved his mother.”

  “He may have loved her so much that he did what she wanted him to. She was in terrible pain with no hope of recovery.”

  “He wouldn’t do that. I know he wouldn’t.”

  Libby looked down at her clenched hands. “Maybe he wouldn’t.”

  “There’s no maybe about it,” Chloe insisted. “He wouldn’t.”

  “Can we go home, Chloe? Others may know and say things. I don’t want you to face that right now.”

  The girl shook her head. “No way.”

  Libby stared at her daughter. “I don’t know what to say to you. I’m frustrated and yet I’m incredibly proud of you. You’re the bravest person I know.” Once more she kissed the smooth, young cheek. “Good luck, love. Call me if you need me. You aren’t alone.”

  Chloe picked up her backpack and walked slowly up the steps into the student entrance of the brick building.

  Libby watched until her daughter had disappeared behind the double glass doors. For the first time in years, she felt the urge to genuflect before a church altar and light a candle. She sat for a minute inside her car waiting for the air conditioner to kick in. Then she pulled out on to the road and made her way slowly into town. Work was what she needed. It would pass the time and keep her mind off of Chloe’s ordeal.

  On another day she would have stopped at Perks, but it was closed. Verna Lee was otherwise occupied. Libby pulled into the diagonal parking space in front of the EPA office beside Russ’s Blazer. He sat in the front seat holding a cup of coffee and a sugary beignet.

  She waved. He grinned and handed her a second cup of coffee and a beignet through the window. Her heart lifted. “Thanks,” she said softly.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You mean you don’t know? I thought everyone would know.”

  He shook his head. “I fell asleep last night beside a beautiful woman. I woke up less than an hour ago and she was gone. I don’t know about anything.”

  Libby blushed. “Lizzie Jones is dead.”

  Russ looked puzzled. “I didn’t realize you were friends,” he said carefully.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Russ. You know we weren’t friends. But Bailey and Chloe are and she was there when the police came.”

  “Whoa, Libba.” He reached out, removed the coffee and beignet from her hands, set them on the roof of her car and drew her to him. “Slow down and tell me what happened.”

  Libby closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. They were in the middle of Main Street at nine-thirty in the morning and she didn’t care who saw them. Without embellishment of any kind, she told him, beginning with the police lights flashing in front of her family home, to her last conversation with Chloe. She finished with “And there’s every possibility that Verna Lee Fontaine is my half sister.”

  He whistled softly. “Holy Christ, Libba Jane. No wonder your heart’s fluttering like a shad caught in a net.”

  She laughed in spite of herself. “You certainly did stay southern.”

  “Only for effect.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  He lifted her chin and looked down into her face. She was smaller than she looked, a combination of long brown legs and thigh-skimming shorts. “How about if we go for a drive?”

  She nodded. Sensing her mood, he dumped the food into the nearest trash receptacle, settled
her into the Blazer and climbed into the driver’s seat. Within minutes Marshyhope Creek was behind them. “Will you be hungry some time today?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I could eat, I suppose.”

  “If we took the ferry, we could be at Steamers by noon.”

  Libby hesitated. It was appealing, but there was Chloe to think of.

  He read her mind. “We’ll be home in plenty of time for you to pick up Chloe from school.”

  Suddenly the idea of Steamers’ hush puppies wrapped in newsprint and eaten on a picnic table overlooking the bay sounded wonderful. It was like time rolling back before all the trouble. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Russ grinned. “Good girl.”

  Steamers sported a new coat of paint, but otherwise it was exactly the same. The food was still limitless, dumped in piles in the middle of tables. The hush puppies were just as tasty and the corn as sweet. Libby bit into the last fried chicken leg, tossed the remains on the table and sat back with a contented sigh. “That was delicious. What a great idea.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You never answered my question.”

  “I’m getting around to it. You asked me what you should do. A question like that requires some thought.”

  “And?”

  “What comes to mind is that it isn’t about you, not any of it, and you can’t really do anything that will make a difference.”

  “Explain that, please.”

  He signaled the waitress for a refill on his iced tea. “Do you want another glass of wine?” he asked Libby.

  She shook her head, waiting for him to resume his conversation.

  “Chloe will have to tell what she knows whether you go back to California or stay here, and your father will represent Bailey. Both of those things will happen no matter how you feel about them. As for Verna Lee and your mother, that’s their story. I’m not saying you don’t have an interest, but they’ll make their own peace or they won’t.” His voice gentled. “Relax, Libba Jane. Don’t try to control the world. Things’ll work out.”

  She didn’t know whether it was his straightforward Hennessey logic or the mellowing effect of copious amounts of protein and the glass of wine she’d consumed with her lunch, but suddenly she felt better. She laughed out loud. “You’re right. Have you learned a lot in the last seventeen years or was I just too blind and stupid to notice?”

  “A little of both.”

  “You’re different,” she said bluntly.

  “I hope so.”

  His answer surprised her. “Why is that?”

  “I’ve been around awhile longer. Experience is worth something.” He reached for his cigarettes, remembered he’d quit and drummed his fingers on the table.

  She leaned forward. Her hair in the sunlight was a deep, rich brown. “Do you have demons?”

  “Everyone has demons.”

  “What are yours?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “You seem so grounded,” she replied slowly. “I want some of that.”

  “Why, Libba Jane,” he teased her. “I thought I’d made it quite clear you could have it any time you wanted.”

  She sighed. “Don’t make this into a game. I’m serious. If I’m prying, just tell me it’s none of my business.”

  His eyes narrowed. Against the backdrop of the water they were a thin line of glittering blue. “I thought it was fairly obvious that my worst demon is my ex-wife and the power she continues to wield over me because of Tess.” He laughed bitterly. “I had no idea I’d care about a child like this. The funny thing is, I wanted a boy. I was disappointed when it turned out she was a girl. Now I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “That isn’t unusual, Russ. Statistically, most men, and women, too, want their first child to be a boy.”

  He reached across the wooden table and linked her fingers with his. “You’re pretty good with those statistics.”

  “Occupational hazard.”

  “Let me ask you this. What are the chances of two blue-eyed people producing a brown-eyed child?”

  She looked out across the bay, unable to meet his gaze.

  “Answer me, Libba Jane.”

  “You know the answer to that, Russ. We both took first-year biology.”

  He sighed. “Any chance for error?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Why ask me this now? You’ve had years to ask questions.”

  He was silent for a long time. Finally he spoke. “Mitch died of leukemia. Mutations are occurring all over the bay. We’ve got an unusual number of birth defects in a town this size. I’ve checked it out.”

  There was something he wasn’t telling her. She could feel it.

  “I’ve been to a urologist.”

  She waited, heart pounding, wanting to help and yet not wanting to hear.

  “My sperm have no motility. I can’t father a child outside of a test tube. It’s quite a common phenomenon for Vietnam vets in the sixties and seventies who were exposed to Agent Orange. Tess isn’t my daughter, Libba. I don’t know whose daughter she is and now I wonder if it matters. Not that I don’t want to murder Tracy. All those years of child support, making me feel guilty because I wasn’t here and the kid isn’t even mine.”

  Libby gripped his hand. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Russ. There are other possibilities.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Maybe Tracy went to a sperm bank.”

  “Why would she do that? We were only married two years.”

  “Maybe there was something wrong with her and she didn’t tell you. Maybe there was a reason for her to choose genetic selection. I have no idea. The point is, you already know it doesn’t matter. If you suspected this from the beginning you should have done something earlier. Now it’s too late. Tess is your daughter. You love her and she loves you. She has no other father. The courts see it that way, too. They won’t order a DNA test after a child is eighteen months old. Emotional bonding is more important than a shared gene pool. You know that.”

  Some of the tension left his shoulders. “You’re right. There’s no point in confronting Tracy. She’d use it against me with Tess. The part that galls me the most is that I can’t even tell her I know. She has the satisfaction of believing she’s pulled something over on me.”

  Libby shook her head. “I doubt it. If it were me, I wouldn’t be thinking that way, not after all this time. I’d be thinking you and I share a daughter, that’s all.”

  Russ looked at her, a creamy-skinned woman with whiskey-brown eyes. If it had been her, they wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. “Let’s take the day off tomorrow and go to the beach,” he said.

  “We’re taking a day off today,” she reminded him.

  “Tomorrow will be better. We’ll take the boat and go over to the island like we used to.”

  Libby hesitated. It was terribly appealing, but there was so much work to do.

  “Your watermen wouldn’t approve if they knew I was slacking off while they’re working.”

  “Write off the day if it makes you feel better.”

  “I’m not independently wealthy, Russ.”

  “Don’t tell me your daddy makes you pay rent, because I wouldn’t believe it.”

  “All right,” she said recklessly. “Maybe, to make it legitimate, we could do a little investigating on the way.”

  “We could,” he agreed easily. “Shall I pack a lunch or will you?”

  “I’ll do it if you pay today.”

  “You’re on.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Chloe was very subdued that evening and Nola Ruth said nothing at all. Dinner was strained, nearly without conversation, even though Libby and her father tried valiantly to maintain a semblance of normalcy. Eventually, Chloe excused herself to finish her homework, Cole disappeared into his study, and Libby wheeled Nola Ruth into the den to watch the news.

  “
Would you like me to stay here with you, Mama?” Libby asked.

  Nola Ruth looked at her for the first time that evening. “We should probably talk sometime soon, Libba Jane, but not tonight. I’m exhausted.”

  Libby nodded.

  “Do you have plans for tomorrow?”

  Libby drew a deep breath. “Actually, I do. I’m going to the beach with Russ Hennessey.”

  “Don’t you have to work?” asked her mother.

  “I’m taking a break.”

  There was a silence and then a cool “I hope you know what you’re doing, Libba.” Nola Ruth’s Louisiana accent was very pronounced, a sign that she was troubled.

  Libby frowned and lowered her voice. “I never realized that you disliked Russ as much as you do.”

  “It isn’t Russ that I disapprove of.” Nola Ruth pronounced her words carefully. “I just wish you would involve yourself with someone other than the Hennesseys.”

  “No one else is breaking down my door.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve always had your sights in Russ Hennessey’s direction. I guess nothing’s changed. I just don’t want any more of my family hurt.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It isn’t just you anymore. There’s Chloe to consider. If she attaches herself to Russ, she’ll be hurt all the more if it doesn’t work out.”

  “What makes you think it won’t?”

  Nola Ruth dismissed her question. “I won’t argue with you. Just don’t get so mule-headed that you can’t see what’s plain to everybody else.”

  Libby was speechless. Never, in her entire adult life, had her mother been less subtle. The lovely southern charm so characteristic of Nola Ruth was bluntly, unpleasantly absent “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s a stubborn streak in you, Libba Jane. Not too many women would run off and, except for a few brief visits when Chloe was little, stay away for seventeen years. You certainly have your share of pride and that isn’t a compliment.”

  “Really?” Libby said sweetly. “It sounds like it’s exactly what you did except that I didn’t give birth to and give up a daughter.”

  The good side of Nola Ruth’s mouth turned up. “It’s like I said, honey. I know what I’m talking about. Don’t make my mistakes.”