Chesapeake Summer (22 page)

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.”

A
t 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.”

Libba leaned against the sink. “It isn't that I don't like him, it's just that his upbringing has been so unconventional.” She appealed to Russ. “How can he know what to do?”

“People know, honey, sometimes with less than Bailey has.”

She sighed. “It's ridiculous. Chloe's young. I'm worrying for nothing.”

“That's my girl. Is there anything else you want me to do before I start cooking?”

She shook her head.

Carrying the ribs, he headed out toward the grassy patch where the barbecues were set up, lifted the lid of one, arranged the slabs of meat over the smoldering wood chips and closed it again.

“Yoo-hoo. We're here.” Shelby Sloane's shrill voice called out from the road. “Something smells really good.” She nudged her husband, a tall balding man with a protruding belly. “Doesn't it smell good, Earl?”

Earl Sloane bent over the ice-filled bucket of drinks and pulled out two beers. He tossed one to Russ. “Mighty good. I heard your little darlin' caught herself a fish the size of Texas.”

Russ popped the top of the beer can. “Almost. Libba said she was quiet as a mouse waiting for it, too.”

“She's a chip off the old block.”

Shelby looked around. “Lordy, it's a hot one. Where's Libba Jane?”

“Did I hear my name?” Libba, balancing two platters of food, opened the screen door with her foot.

Shelby held out her arms. “Hand one of those to me. Why don't you open your mouth and ask for help when you need it?”

She handed a platter to Shelby. “I didn't know you were here.”

“Hi, Mom.” Chloe walked up the bank, her arm tucked into her grandfather's.

Libba smiled warmly. Chloe looked lovely in a white cotton dress, her tanned shoulders and legs a striking contrast to the delicate material. There was no sign of Bailey Jones. “Hi, sweetie. Hi, Daddy.” She kissed both her father's cheek and her daughter's. “Help yourself to whatever you like. I have iced tea inside.”

Cole headed for the door. “That sounds perfect.”

“Chloe Richards,” said Shelby. “You look wonderful. How do you manage to stay so cool in this scorching weather?”

Chloe lifted a delicate eyebrow. “Granddad has air-conditioning.”

Shelby groaned. “Don't tell me that. I might just scratch out your eyes I'm so jealous. Do you hear that, Earl? Cole has air-conditioning.”

“When I'm as rich as Cole Delacourte, you'll get air-conditioning, too.”

Shelby rolled her eyes. “I guess that means never.”

“I like the heat,” Libba announced.

“That's because you and yours tan up like the trunk of one of those oak trees.”

“It's cooler on the porch,” said Libba. “Let's have something to drink and get out of what's left of the sun.”

Gradually the deep lawn filled with people. Soft laughter floated on the breeze rising off the bay. Alcohol-slurred voices carried across the cut grass. Women in white shorts and skimpy tops clustered on the steps. Men in long, loose shorts and polo shirts gathered around the barbecues, their voices lowering in direct proportion to the crudeness of their jokes. On the porch, Gina Marie held court over three small children, their lips and hands stained Popsicle blue.

Libba, happy with the success of her party, filched a carrot from the vegetable tray in the kitchen.

Shelby followed her inside. “I have some gossip,” she announced.

“Oh?” Libba stirred blue cheese into the sour cream. “What gossip?”

“Wade arrested Quentin Wentworth today.”

Libba set down her spoon, her vegetables forgotten, and stared at her friend. “What are you talking about?”

Shelby, delighted with the results of her disclosure, climbed onto a bar stool and crossed her legs. Libba's undivided attention was something she relished. “Earl went into town this morning and ran into Blake Carlisle. The body the geologist found in the swamp is Amanda Wentworth.”

“You're making this up.”

Shelby shook her head. “I'm not. You know Blake Carlisle. He isn't one to keep anyone in jail without a good reason.”

“People are innocent until proven guilty, Shelby.” She turned away. “I don't want to hear this. Gossip is dangerous.”

“You're no fun,” Shelby continued. “I never did like Wentworth. Amanda always looked scared to death. Earl says Quentin was having an affair with Lizzie Jones. He says that Bailey—”

The screen door opened. Horrified, Libba recognized the black-haired young man who stood beside Chloe. “Shelby!” she cried out an instant too late.

Shelby turned. Her green eyes widened, but only for an instant. “Speak of the devil. We were just talking about you.”

Libba couldn't read Bailey Jones, but she knew her daughter. Chloe was fighting pure, unrelieved rage.

Blindly, Libba stepped into the maelstrom. “Please,” she whispered. “This isn't what it seems. Shelby was telling me about Judge Wentworth's arrest.”

Chloe's voice was bitter. “That isn't all she was telling you.”

Bailey didn't speak. Instead, he took Chloe's balled fist in his hand.

Libba recognized the gesture, the sheer power of its statement. History, she vowed silently, would not repeat itself. “Please,” she said, placing one hand on Chloe's shoulder, the other on Bailey's. “Please, stay. You're welcome here. You're both welcome here.”

“Don't fret, Miz Hennessey. I'm not runnin' away.”

Shelby slid off the bar stool. She cleared her throat. “Listen, you two. You can think what you like, but the truth is, I mean no harm. If I've offended you, I'm sorry.” With that, she picked up the cauliflower salad and left the kitchen.

Libba drew a deep, shuddering breath and forced herself to meet Bailey's gaze. “I apologize. I shouldn't have listened.”

“From what I heard, you were trying not to.”

“I encouraged her. I have no excuse. It was just so shocking.” She pressed her palms against her flaming cheeks. “Never mind. I'm making it worse. Please, stay and enjoy the party.”

Chloe hadn't spoken. Her lips were pressed tightly together. Bailey's thumb moved back and forth across Chloe's knuckles. His voice was expressionless. “You may as well know, she was telling the truth. The sheriff arrested Quentin Wentworth. He's my natural father. He and my mother had an affair. She took money from other people for sex, but not from him. She loved him. He didn't share the sentiment. His wife found out and came after him with a gun. There was a struggle and Mrs. Wentworth died. He took the body away and buried it in the marsh.”

Libba didn't think she'd ever heard such painful words spoken with less expression. Her hand moved to her throat. “My God. What about Amanda's funeral? How—who—”

“I don't know about that. I'm sure Atkins does, but I doubt he'll say anything.”

“How do
you
know all this?”

Bailey's dark eyes didn't waver. “I was there.”

Libba moaned and closed her eyes. Fifteen years ago, Bailey was a little boy.

She felt his hand on her arm and opened her eyes. He was standing directly in front of her. “Take it easy, Miz Hennessey. I've been livin' with this for a long time. Nothing's changed for me except that now other people know.”

“All those years you said nothing. How awful for you. Did Quentin know you were his son?”

“He knew.”

Libba's eyes filled. “I'm so sorry, Bailey. I'm sorry you had to go through this. Is there anything we can do?”

“Your family's been good to me, ma'am. Your daddy gave me a life. I like your husband and I guess you know your daughter's the best friend I've ever had.”

Libba sniffed, searched for a tissue, dabbed at her nose and laughed. “I'm getting the point. Why don't you go outside and socialize until the food's ready. Save me a place at your table. Maybe, after tonight, you'll like me, too.”

Bailey grinned. “I'm sure, when you set your mind to it, you can be fairly persuasive.”

Chloe wasn't as easily pacified. “We're not staying late.”

Libba's heart sank. “You need to eat.”

“Granddad doesn't like to stay out late anymore. I made peach cobbler for the three of us at his house.”

“I won't complain if you leave after dinner.” Libba handed a platter of sliced watermelon to Chloe. “Would you mind putting this on the long table for me? Oh, and say hello to Gina Marie. She misses you.”

“She'd rather be with you.”

“Of course. I'm her mother, but she loves you, too.”

Bailey took the platter from Chloe. “I'd like to see the little terror again myself.”

“Gina's not a terror,” Libba said indignantly. “She has personality.”

“Whatever you say, ma'am.”

The door closed behind them. Libba breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a close call, no thanks to Shelby.

Russ poked his head into the kitchen. “The food's ready. Verna Lee's here and she's giving Wade a wide berth. Shelby's sucking down Jack Daniel's like it's lemonade. We need you outside.”

Libba shook her head. “Were people always like this around here, or do we notice because we left and came back?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Shelby's drama. Quentin Wentworth's hypocrisy.”

“I won't disagree with you there. Quentin always was a son of a bitch, but now he's no longer my father-in-law, it doesn't bother me.”

“He's Tess's grandfather.”