Bay Song

by Noelle Adams

  “Why wouldn’t I? I have everything I need here.”

  “But aren’t you lonely? Don’t you want a normal life? A family or whatever?” His eyes were searching her face again, so deeply she wasn’t sure what he might see.

  “Being normal isn’t important to me. My life isn’t empty here.” She had no idea why she was going so deep with him, sharing with him feelings that were no one’s business but her own.

  “I didn’t say it was. I would just think it might feel a little… incomplete.”

  It did. Of course it did. But some things were more important than the things that were missing. “Everyone’s life is incomplete in one way or another.”

  “Maybe.”

  She gave him a sharp look, deciding she better turn the conversation around before she revealed even more. “I bet you’re missing a few things in your life.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like…” She mentally hunted for the right word and ended up with “…earnestness.”

  His eyes went wide. “Earnestness?”

  “Yes.” She gave him a cool glare. “You say it like it’s a bad word. Why has it somehow become silly to feel things deeply, to take things seriously?”

  “I don’t think it is.”

  “Yes, you do. You’d be embarrassed to express real, true feelings about life.”

  “I would not.” He was starting to look a little offended.

  “Yes, you would.” She was feeling more confident now, far less vulnerable, now that the tables were turned. “Tell me someone you love.”

  He frowned at her.

  “Do it,” she said.

  He sighed as if he were humoring her. “My mother.”

  She felt the most foolish glint of pleasure at the words, at the idea that the first person who came to mind that he loved was his mom. “Why do you love your mother?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “It’s a real one. Why do you love your mom?”

  “I don’t know. Because she’s my mom.”

  “See? You can’t even be earnest about how and why you love your mom. It makes you feel awkward and uncomfortable. That’s because you don’t know how to be earnest.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it. I just said that it was a part of your life you were missing. Everyone is missing something. Everyone is incomplete in some way. I choose what to have in my life, just like everyone else. There’s no reason for you to assume it’s somehow half a life.”

  “I never thought it was half a life.”

  She met and held his eyes. “Yes, you did.”

  They’d walked the width of the beach and back, so she walked up to sit on the bottom step leading down from the walkway the way she had yesterday. Cade followed and sat beside her.

  He seemed displeased, uncomfortable, like he hadn’t liked the turn of the conversation. He almost looked bad-tempered for the first time since she’d met him.

  It was interesting, that he would react this way to the conversation. And it felt like the feeling from him was sincere, not tempered by a calculated charm the way he had felt in most of the rest of their interactions.

  But if he was bad-tempered, he might not want to keep talking to her, and she wasn’t quite ready for the conversation to end yet.

  So she said in a different tone, “Let’s talk about something else.”

  He turned his head and slanted her an amused look. “Sounds good to me. What do you want to talk about?”

  She said the first thing that came into her mind. “What book were you reading yesterday?”

  “What?”

  “We can talk about books, as a new subject. What book were you reading yesterday?”

  There was a strange flicker of expression on his face—something between guilt and reluctance. She wondered if he couldn’t remember what he’d been reading.

  “Oh,” he said then, his face clearing. “It was a spy novel.”

  She didn’t like to read spy novels. She didn’t like any of those action-adventure best sellers. “Was it any good?”

  He gave a half shrug. “It was okay. It passed the time.”

  “Do you always read those kinds of books?”

  “Sometimes. I read a lot of different kinds of books.”

  “What is your favorite book?”

  He answered without hesitation. “In Cold Blood.”

  “What is that?”

  “Truman Capote?”

  She shook her head, wondering if this was a book that everyone knew and she was displaying some sort of embarrassing ignorance. She hadn’t gone to school until she was eleven. Her mother had taught her at home. So there were still gaps in her education. “Sorry. Haven’t read it. I only read the books on my bookshelf in the house and what’s in the Cape Charles library.”

  “They might have it in the library.”

  “They don’t.” She was sure of this. She knew exactly what was in the very small branch library. She’d read everything that was of any interest to her. “What kind of book is it?”

  “It’s true crime. About the murder of the Clutter family in Kansas.”

  “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose, thinking about the last book she had read, also true crime. “I don’t like those kinds of books.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t like to read about people doing evil things to other people.”

  “But the books aren’t all about evil. They can be about justice, about how truth can come out, even in the worst of circumstances.” His tone was slightly defensive, which was interesting.

  She supposed since they were his favorite kinds of books, he would take any critique of them personally.

  “Maybe.”

  Still frowning, he said, “I bet you haven’t even read any of them.”

  “I have too. I just finished reading a new one about a serial killer in Arizona. He was killing migrant workers.”

  Cade gave a little jerk. “Oh. You read that one, did you?”

  “Yes. I did. I read all his books.”

  “Why do you read his books?” His tone was different now, but she didn’t understand why.

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “I thought you didn’t like true crime.”

  “I don’t.” She sighed. “I loved his first book—about the Eastern Shore. I read it over and over again. It’s so beautiful and… I don’t know, rich. So I keep reading the rest of his books.”

  “If you don’t like the rest of his books, why do you keep reading them?”

  “I don’t know. It feels like… a responsibility.”

  His chuckle was strangely ironic. “It’s a strange thing to read out of a sense of responsibility.”

  It probably was. He probably had no idea what drove her, why she felt the way she did. “Yeah. I guess it is.” She stared down at the sand, feeling a little glum.

  He reached over and tilted up her chin with his hand so she was looking him in the eye. His expression was soft, questioning, like he wanted more of an answer than she had given him.

  And like he didn’t want her to feel bad.

  She swallowed and explained, “I don’t know. I guess it’s just that he’s given me so much pleasure in his first book that I owe it to him to read the rest of them. All his books are beautifully written. I guess I just want to see more… more…”

  “More what?” It sounded like he really wanted to know.

  “More heart,” she concluded, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. “Especially the later ones. They’re more head than heart.”

  She had no idea why she felt awkward. They were just talking about books—nothing personal at all.

  “Maybe he doesn’t have much heart,” Cade murmured. His tone was strangely intense too, as if he were taking the conversation personally, just as she was.

  “If you’d read his first book, you wouldn’t say that.”

  “Hmm. True crime probably sell
s better.”

  “I’m sure it does. There’s a lot of people who have never experienced it, so maybe they can use it for entertainment.” Her words sounded slightly bitter, and she didn’t like to hear it there.

  Cade didn’t say anything at all.

  They sat in silence for a long time, lost in their own thoughts. Then Holly looked over at him and couldn’t look away.

  He was still staring out at the beach, apparently not even aware of her beside him. He looked different, more vulnerable, more human.

  She was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to touch him.

  Before she could fully process the feeling, he turned his head toward her. Their faces were only a few inches apart as they gazed at each other.

  She didn’t know who moved first. It could have been her since she was so overwhelmed with a flood of hunger, attraction, human connection.

  But, however it happened, their faces drifted closer together until their lips were brushing softly against each other.

  The light touch triggered a tidal wave of pleasure, starting in her head and rushing through her body.

  Cade made a soft noise in his throat and raised a hand to her face, his lips moving against hers a little more urgently.

  And she wanted it. She wanted even more of it. She was almost paralyzed by how deeply it affected her.

  Probably because it had been so long since she’d touched anyone at all.

  When the feeling became too intense, she pulled back. She wasn’t opposed to kissing him, but she wasn’t ready for anything more.

  Not yet anyway.

  Cade looked rather stunned, like he was affected by the kiss too. But he didn’t try to touch her again. She wasn’t sure if he was just being careful not to spook her or if he wasn’t sure whether this was really what he wanted to be doing.

  He had rented out the house next door for the rest of the month, so they’d have time to figure it out.

  Holly didn’t believe in rushing.

  Eight

  Cade was starting to feel rattled.

  It wasn’t a normal feeling for him. He was either bored or interested or relaxed or stressed or disappointed. The last two more than anything else lately. He very rarely felt unsettled, self-conscious, or anxious, and he was beginning to feel all three at once.

  He didn’t like the feeling. At all. He wasn’t even sure where it came from. But, as he left Holly on the beach, he was definitely rattled—from the conversation with her, from the ways she was making him feel, and from the kiss.

  He knew enough to realize that he needed to get some distance, so when he got back to his rented beach house, he tried to do some research into Rosie Meldon. Surely someone knew what happened to Meg Chaney, and her old friend was the only lead he had. If he focused on the investigation, maybe he wouldn’t keep thinking about Holly.

  His research was hampered, however, by the fact that there was no Internet access in the house, so he had to do everything on his phone. After an hour, he decided he was spinning his wheels, so he drove back to his mother’s house.

  He might have to put up with nosy questions, but at least there was wireless Internet there.

  When he arrived at his mom’s Victorian, he slipped into the house unnoticed and went upstairs to his bedroom. He shut the door and opened his laptop and started to work.

  Eventually, after doing endless searching and making a number of calls, he was able to discover that Rosie Meldon was now in a nursing home up in Ocean City, Maryland. With some difficulty, he tracked down her son, and Cade did some very smooth talking, explaining that he was working on some research on Cape Charles for his mother and he’d heard Rosie might know some of the people he couldn’t find.

  His son was very friendly and evidently way too gullible. He said he’d be happy to take Cade over to the home to visit his mother, but she was in and out of lucidity, so she might not be able to give him much information. Then he said that he was leaving town on business tomorrow, so if Cade wanted to talk to her soon, he’d have to come up this evening.

  Cade had been planning to go back to the beach to spend the evening with Holly. He needed to keep deepening his connection with her if she was ever going to trust him. Plus he wanted to see her again right away.

  But the degree of his desire to see her again worried him, so it was clear he needed to regain more objectivity. He agreed to drive up that afternoon, and he made plans with Rosie’s son to meet at six thirty at a coffee shop near the nursing home.

  It was less than a two-hour drive up the coast, so Cade didn’t need to start until after four. It was just after one now, and he realized he was hungry, so he went downstairs to the kitchen.

  His mother was there now, bustling around in her normal fashion, putting napkins and utensils into a basket. The room smelled like chicken—only better.

  “Cade!” she said, turning around to see him. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I slipped in earlier. I had some work to do.”

  “Are you working then? I thought you were down at Bob Ellis’s beach house.”

  “I was. But I’m there to get some work done.”

  She frowned. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable writing at a desk?”

  “I’m not writing yet. I’ve got to do the research first.”

  “Is that what you were asking about Meg Chaney for? We’ve never had a serial killer in this town. You know that. I don’t think there’s a story there for you.” She was looking worried as she pulled a casserole dish out of the oven.

  Cade recognized it. It was her poppy seed chicken, and she always made it for families in the community who were dealing with a bereavement.

  “Who died?” he asked, mostly to change the subject.

  “Poor Earl Hart did. He had another heart attack on Monday, and this time he didn’t make it. I’m taking a meal over to Macy.”

  “That’s nice of you.” Cade meant it too. He wondered if any of his friends would even think of doing something so nice and practical if he was ever going through a hard time.

  The thought of any of his friends in the city making a meal at all almost made him laugh.

  “Well, people have to eat.” His mother scanned him from top to bottom—from windblown hair to dirty shoes. “What have you been up to, Cade?”

  He supposed she really didn’t want to hear that he’d been trying to manipulate a mysterious, reclusive girl and had been kissing her this morning on the beach. So all he said was, “I’m trying to figure out my next book.”

  “Okay. You… you don’t look right.”

  For no good reason, Cade felt a tightening of defensiveness. “Well, there’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “Are you sure you’re not getting into trouble?”

  He managed to smother a groan. “How would I get into trouble around here?”

  “You managed it when you were a boy.”

  That was definitely true, but that was also a long time ago. “I’m not a boy anymore.”

  She sighed and stepped over to pull his face down and kiss his cheek. “I know you’re not. But you’re still my boy.”

  “I know.” He thought about Holly asking him why he loved his mother and remembered that he’d had absolutely no answer for her. She’d said he didn’t know how to be earnest. That was probably why he felt so uncomfortable right now.

  To distract him from the thought, he glanced at the basket she’d packed up. “Do you need any help getting that over to Macy Hart?”

  “Yes, you can carry it for me, if you don’t mind.”

  It was getting toward the hottest part of the day, and the humidity was so dense it was like walking through soup. He started to sweat almost immediately as he carried the basket, and they strolled a few blocks down the sidewalk to the Harts’ house—which was also a Victorian, although the Harts’ was a cheerful yellow.

  “I can’t stay long,” Cade said as they turned up the front walk. “If you want to stay and chat, I should
let you go in by yourself.”

  “You should pay your respects to Macy. She taught you Sunday school.”

  “I know she did. I feel bad for her. But I don’t have enough time for a long conversation today.”

  His mother tsked her tongue at him. “You never have time for long conversations with anyone here at home.”

  Cade brushed off the comment, although a little part of himself wondered if that was true. “I’ve got to drive up to Ocean City this afternoon.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “I need to talk to someone—about this stuff I’m investigating.” He didn’t want to give his mother a lot of details because he didn’t want everyone in town to know what he was up to.

  “I don’t want you to be digging up a lot of dirt on nice people, Cade.”

  “I’m not going to dig up dirt on nice people. The people I write about aren’t nice.”

  “I know they’re not. But you were asking about Meg Chaney. She and her family were Cape Charles folks. They’re your people, Cade. They’re not just puzzles to solve.”

  They were not his people. Cade didn’t have any people—at least not in the sense that his mother meant. But she was being serious, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He also didn’t want to extend this conversation any longer than it needed to go. So he said, “I know, Mom. I’m not going to turn people into puzzles.”

  She narrowed her eyes against the sun as she peered up at him. “Oh, Cade. You do it all the time.”

  Cade clenched his jaw so he wouldn’t say anything cool or sharp, but his mother could obviously tell he wasn’t pleased by her comment.

  “Don’t be mad at me now,” she said with a smile. She took the basket from his hands. “I’m just your old mama, after all.”

  He let out a long breath as she started to walk up to the Harts’ house alone. “I know you are.”

  Cade got to the coffee shop in Ocean City at a little after six, so he had to wait around until Rosie’s son, Kevin, showed up.

  He kept glancing at his watch, thinking about Holly. She would be going down to the beach right about now for her swim. He closed his eyes as he pictured her pulling her dress off and walking across the sand to the water in her little white bikini.