Sixteen

Chloe sat on the frilly daybed, her feet tucked under her, an artificial smile pasted on her face. Tess Hennessey perched beside her, nervously dragging her fingers through her thin sandy hair. Skylar Taft lounged on one of the overstaffed chairs and Casey Dulaine on the other. Two girls whose names Chloe couldn’t remember and who hadn’t said a word between them the entire evening stretched out on the carpeted floor, pillows tucked under their arms.

Chloe would have been amused at the color scheme if only she hadn’t been so bored. The entire room was decorated in various shades of pink—pink curtains, pink comforter, pink carpet, even the wallpaper was awful with pink flowers on a paler pink background. As if there wasn’t enough already, Skylar’s nightgown was pink with tiny pink rosebuds around the hem. Chloe’s lip curled. She couldn’t imagine anyone choosing to live in this juvenile cotton candy nightmare. Marshyhope Creek was light years behind the times.

Chloe decided that Skylar was the big cheese. She called the shots and dominated the conversation. “Have you been shopping for school clothes yet?” she asked her audience.

The two nameless girls nodded and offered nothing, as usual. Casey Dulaine, a plump redhead, waved her hand and shook her head. “Not yet, but Mama promised to take me to Annapolis next weekend.”

“What about you, Tess?”

Tess Hennessey shook her head nervously. “I think I’ll wait and see what everybody else is wearing.”

Skylar nodded at this piece of wisdom while Chloe rolled her eyes. Typical, she thought.

“Will you be going to school with us, Chloe?” Skylar asked.

“I’m not sure.”

Skylar leaned forward. Silky dark hair fell across her cheeks. “This is just a suggestion, but if I were you, I’d lose the black on your hair.”

“Oh?” Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “Yours is black.”

Skylar ignored her. “It may be okay for California, but here it’ll make you stand out. We don’t go for two-toned hair around here.”

“Maybe I’ll start a new fashion,” Chloe suggested.

All the girls except Tess tittered.

“Trust me,” Skylar said. “It won’t happen.”

Chloe’s smile thinned. “I’ll keep your suggestion in mind.”

“What about clothes?” Skylar persisted.

Chloe’s hands closed into fists. “What about them?”

Skylar made a sweeping gesture with her hand to encompass her friends. “We can help you, if you want. There’s nothing worse than giving everyone the wrong impression on the first day.”

Chloe could imagine much worse, but she kept her mouth shut. There was no point in letting the natives in.

“Have you seen Bailey Jones lately?” Casey changed the subject. “He’s a hunk.”

Skylar pulled out a cigarette case and lighter that anyone who had seen early Clark Gable movies would have recognized as a copy.

Chloe watched, fascinated, as Skylar flicked open the lighter and expertly lit her cigarette.

‘‘Who cares?” Skylar said after she’d blown out a lungful of smoke. “He’s always been good to look at. That doesn’t change what he is.”

“What is he?” Chloe asked.

Skylar flicked the end of her cigarette with perfectly manicured fingers. “His mama is part Cherokee and part high yellow colored. No one knows who his daddy is. My guess is he doesn’t, either.”

Chloe’s ears burned. “Why doesn’t he know?”

“Because Lizzie Jones is a hooker.”

Chloe looked at Tess. She appeared the most sensible of the bunch.

Tess nodded. “My mama says Lizzie’s had so many men it’d be hard to pin down exactly which one fathered Bailey.”

Sweet, sad Lizzie Jones. Chloe’s stomach heaved. She fought back the gag reflex.

They stared at her, daring her to say something. This was it, the place where she should say something, anything, to stick up for Bailey, to show loyalty to her friend. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth.

A soft knock on the door distracted her. Quickly, Skylar ground out her cigarette, moved the ashtray under a low chair and waved the air in front of her face. “Perfume,” she muttered, “hand me the perfume.”

Casey reached across Tess, grabbed a bottle from the dresser and tossed it to Skylar, who sprayed bursts of fragrance around her head.

“Come in,” Skylar called out.

A black woman poked her head into the room. “I laid out a spread for you in the dining room whenever you’re ready.”

Skylar stood. “Let’s go,” she said, a queen commanding her court.

Chloe was the last to follow. Halfway down the hall, she whispered to Tess. “I’m not feeling good. I need to find a bathroom.”

Tess looked concerned. She pointed to a door at the end of the long corridor. “I hope you don’t have to go home.”

Home, that was it. “Tell Skylar not to wait for me,” Chloe said. “My stomach really hurts. If it gets worse, I’ll call someone to pick me up.”

Tess nodded. “I’ll tell her.”

Gratefully, Chloe turned into the bathroom, locked the door and waited until there was only silence in the hallway. Then she slipped back into the bedroom for her backpack. Carrying her shoes, she tiptoed down the stairs and out the front door. Once she’d cleared the porch, she began to run until she reached the shelter of a copse of trees. Panting, she leaned against a huge oak to catch her breath and consider her options. She couldn’t go home. She didn’t want to answer her mother’s questions. Bailey would be a logical person to call, but she was still mad at him. The only other person she knew in Marshyhope Creek was Verna Lee. Maybe she would let her stay awhile, at least until they were all asleep at home.

Chloe threw her backpack over the fence, pulled on her shoes and wiggled through the two rails. If only Bailey would drive by in his truck. She would tease him out of his mood. That is, if she could stop thinking about Lizzie. Not that Skylar Taft could be considered a reliable source of information, but Tess had corroborated her story. During the ten-minute ride with Tess on the way to Skylar’s, Chloe had decided that although Tess Hennessey was afraid of her own shadow, she was harmless. She wouldn’t spread rumors about Bailey’s mother, not unless they were true and she was asked. Skylar was another story. Poor Bailey. Verna Lee was right. He needed to find a way out of Marshyhope Creek.

She slid her arms through the straps of her backpack and began trudging toward town and the descending sun. Twenty minutes later the heat and humidity had taken its toll. Chloe was thirsty and exhausted. She’d underestimated the distance. Her spirits were low. She had no idea if Verna Lee would take her in.

A car engine hummed in the distance. Too tired to even turn, Chloe kept walking, her eyes on the ground in front of her feet.

Russ Hennessey saw the slim, blond girl hugging the shoulder of the road, and drove on. He glanced into his rearview mirror, frowned and glanced again. Then he swore softly and pulled over. Setting his parking brake, he opened the door, stepped out and waited.

Chloe didn’t look up until she was almost upon the Blazer. At first she didn’t recognize Tess’s father. When she did, her eyes rounded with fear. “H-hello,” she stammered.

“Hello, yourself. Didn’t I just drop you and Tess off about two hours ago?”

Chloe nodded mutely.

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t working out.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged again. Desperate circumstances called for desperate measures. “Would you mind driving me home?”

“Not at all.” Russ reached for her backpack, walked to the passenger side of the car and opened the door.

Chloe hopped in and buckled the seat belt.

Russ swung out onto the road. “Tell me what happened, Chloe,” he said. “I’m the one who suggested you be invited to this party. If anyone has done anything to you, I feel responsible.”

“It’s not your fault,” Chloe assured him. “They’re just not my kind of people, except for Tess,” she said hurriedly. “She’s very nice.”

Russ laughed. “Tell me what you really think.”

“No, really, she’s the nicest of them all. It’s just—”

“Just what?”

Chloe sighed. “Everything in Skylar’s entire bedroom is pink, even the toilet seat.”

Russ winced. “Ouch.”

“She volunteered to help me pick out clothes for school.”

“Who did?”

“Skylar Taft. As if I’d shop with someone whose idea of fashion comes from a Barbie doll catalog.” Chloe could not have been more contemptuous.

Russ tried to remember what Tess had been wearing when he dropped the girls off at the Tafts’. “I guess pink is a popular color for little girls around here.”

“They aren’t little girls. They’re teenagers.”

“Point taken.”

“I understand about the hair.”

“The hair?”

“She said two-toned hair wouldn’t go over here. I can see that.” Chloe fingered the black tips. “I only did it to make my mother mad.”

“Do you do that often?”

“What? Try to make my mother mad?”

“Yes.”

Chloe thought for a minute. “More now than before.”

“Why is that?”

“She’s harder to live with than she used to be.”

Once again, Russ laughed. He didn’t know whether to be charmed or horrified by Libba’s daughter. She was another original. Like mother, like daughter. “I remember a time when she wasn’t so hard to live with.”

Chloe stared at him. “How would you know? Did you ever live with her?”

“Not exactly. But I knew her better than anybody, except maybe Coleson and Nola Ruth.”

“Or my dad.”

Russ didn’t contradict her.

Chloe persisted, intrigued by this picture of her mother. “Was she your girlfriend?”

He nodded. “But before that she was my friend and my brother’s friend and she was a good one.”

“Where is your brother now?”

“He died.”

“Was he a lot older than you?”

“He was my twin.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe whispered, stricken into silence.

“Thank you.” He changed the subject. “So, how do you like living in Marshyhope Creek?”

Chloe hesitated.

“Come on,” Russ coaxed her. “You can tell me the truth. My lips are sealed.”

“It really doesn’t matter whether they are or not,” Chloe said. “Everyone knows how I feel. I hate it here. I want to go home. My dad is in L.A. and so are all my friends.”

“Your mom is here,” Russ countered, “and so are your grandparents. You can always make friends.” He looked at her approvingly. “I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that you’re good at it when you want to be.”

Chloe looked surprised. “Why would you say that?”

“You’re interesting and you say what’s on your mind. I like that. I bet other people do, too.”

“I don’t know about that,” Chloe said dubiously. “I don’t think Skylar Taft and her friends think I’m interesting.”

“Maybe you didn’t want to be. Sometimes people sabotage themselves. They think a certain thing and then make it happen just to prove they’re right.”

Chloe didn’t answer him.

“On the other hand,” Russ continued, “Skylar Taft isn’t the only game in town.”

“I’ve heard she’s the one who counts.”

“Maybe you’ll change all that.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

Russ changed his tactics. “What exactly is it that you don’t like about living here?”

“Skylar Taft and her friends.”

Russ knew from the source that Chloe’s antipathy started long before today. “Is that all?”

“I guess so.”

“So, let me get this right. If Skylar Taft didn’t matter, you’d be happy as a clam staying here for good.”

“Not exactly.”

Russ grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What else is bothering you about this place?”

“Other than absolutely no culture, no movies, no mall, no museums, no plays, I can’t imagine,” she said sarcastically. “I want to be an actress. How can I do that living here? There’s absolutely no motivation at all.”

“The high school has a fair drama department, and Salisbury and Annapolis aren’t all that far away.”

“In Los Angeles, everything is right around the corner.”

Russ conceded the point. “What else?” he asked.

“I miss my dad,” she said softly. “I hardly saw him at all when I was little and now he lives in L.A. all the time. He would pick me up for lunch and I’d go over to his house after school. All that just stopped.” Her voice shook. She looked out the window and willed the tears back, sniffing audibly. “My mother didn’t care about that at all.”

Russ’s response to that pathetic little sniff shocked him. His heart hurt and he didn’t trust himself to speak. Imagine having a daughter who wanted nothing more than to be with her father. He pulled out a tissue from a box on the seat and handed it to her. “I’ll bet your mother wanted the kind of life for you that she had. It was a pretty good one.”

“That’s a dumb excuse,” Chloe said miserably, wiping her nose. “We’re not the same people. I didn’t grow up here. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to move kids in high school.”

He’d give her points for logic. She was certainly a bright one. Not that it surprised him. He imagined that Libba’s intelligence quotient was probably off the charts as well. He couldn’t help comparing Chloe with Tess. The contrast was obvious. He pushed the thought aside, ashamed that his thoughts had traveled in such a direction. “You have a convincing argument,” he said. “The question is, what can you do to make your situation tolerable?”

“I don’t want to make it tolerable.”

Russ chuckled, looked at her expression and wiped the smile from his face. “Sorry,” he said.

Chloe stared out the window.

“You’ve got an advantage here, you know.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re Libba’s daughter. People in this town have long memories and she was a favorite. You’re bound to benefit.”

“I don’t think Skylar Taft cares about my mother’s popularity a century ago.”

“No, but her mother does. She was one of those who wanted to hang around your mother, to bask in her glow, so to speak.”

Chloe looked at him, suddenly curious. “What about Tess?”

“What about her?” Russ asked warily.

“Where does she fit into the Skylar Taft picture?”

Russ waited a full minute before answering, wondering whether he should couch the truth or just go for it. He decided she would find out, anyway. “I don’t know, Chloe,” he said honestly. “I wasn’t around for a good part of Tess’s life. I saw her periodically but not regularly, if you know what I mean.”

Chloe nodded. “My dad was the same. Did you travel?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

“I designed houses.”

She didn’t miss the past tense. “Do you still do that?”

He shook his head. “Now I run a fishing fleet that’s been in my family for generations.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather design houses. Do you miss it?”

He laughed. “Not as much as I miss other things.” He turned down the brick drive that led to the Delacourtes’. “They won’t be expecting you home.”

She sighed. “I know. There’ll be another showdown with my mother. Thanks for the ride.”

“Do you want me to come inside with you?”

Chloe turned to him hopefully. “Would you?”

“Sure enough.” He drove around the circular driveway and parked. “Shall we brave the lions?”

She laughed for the first time since climbing into the car. “It won’t be that bad,” she assured him. “My grandparents are really polite and my mom won’t say anything while you’re there.” Chloe tilted her head thoughtfully. “I guess you know all that already. You probably know them better than I do.”

He smiled down at her. “That was a long time ago.”

“It’s weird to think my mom had a boyfriend who wasn’t my dad.”

“I imagine it is.” He followed Chloe up the porch steps.

She opened the door. “Here goes.” She braced herself. “Hello, everybody,” she called out. “I’m back. Is anybody home?”

For a moment there was only silence. Then, simultaneously, Coleson walked out of his study at the end of the hall and Libby peered over the balcony at the top of the stairs.

“Chloe?” her mother said. “Why are you home?” She saw Russ and her eyes widened. She ran down the stairs. “Has something happened?”

Russ waited for Chloe to answer. From their brief acquaintance, he was quite sure she could handle the situation. And he was curious. He wanted to see this interaction between mother and daughter. Chloe was nothing like Libba physically except for a certain leggy slimness, but they were similar in other ways. Watching the two of them, he knew he would have taken Chloe for a Delacourte even before she told him. They squared off, facing each other like two boxers in a ring.

“I decided to come home early,” Chloe announced.

Cole Delacourte moved closer to the action.

“Why?” Libby asked.

Russ had to hand it to her. She wasn’t hysterical, just surprised and obviously willing to allow her daughter the benefit of the doubt. His respect for her rose.

“I wasn’t having a good time.” Chloe was deliberately holding back.

Libby glanced at Russ and then back at Chloe. “I see you found Mr. Hennessey. Do you mind telling me how that came about?”

“I was walking home,” Chloe explained, “and he came by. Since I already knew he was Tess’s father, I thought it would be okay if he gave me a ride.”

It wasn’t, but Libby had no intention of verbalizing her disapproval in front of Russ. “Did something happen, Chloe?” her mother asked.

“Not directly. But I couldn’t stay there. I was miserable. I’m not like them.”

Libby sighed and Cole stepped in and spoke to his granddaughter. “Are you hungry, Chloe? We’ve eaten, but Serena can put something together for you.”

Chloe nodded. She looked at her mother. “May I go now?”

“You may, but we’ll finish this later. I have one more question, before you go. Did you tell anyone you were leaving or did you simply disappear?”

“Tess knows. I told her I didn’t feel good. She promised to tell the Tafts.”

“I’ll call them and explain,” Libby said.

“What will you say?”

“Exactly what you told me. You were feeling poorly and couldn’t stay.”

Chloe turned to Russ. “Thanks again for the ride, and for coming in with me. I guess I didn’t need you after all.”

Cole laughed, tucked his granddaughter’s hand under his arm and led her out of the room.

Libby looked at Russ. “What’s your version?”

He grinned. “She’s a handful.”

“Thanks a lot. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I found her walking along the road. It’s a good seven miles from the Tafts’ into town.”

Libby frowned. “Why was she going into town?”

“To wait out the storm, I imagine.”

Libby exploded. “What storm? This is ridiculous. It’s not as if she hasn’t been completely indulged her entire life. What’s gotten into her?”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Russ said slowly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If everything’s always gone her way, think of how she must feel now that it isn’t.”

Libby crossed her arms. “She’s going to have to get used to it.”

“Hey,” he said softly. “Don’t bury the messenger. I’m on your side. I also think she’s a great kid. She’s bright, she’s got interests and more than her share of spunk. You’ve done a fine job, Libba.”

Libby blinked, completely thrown. She wasn’t good with compliments, professional ones, yes, personal ones, no. She tried to maintain her poise, tried not to melt or appear too pathetically grateful. “I—I don’t know about that,” she stammered.

“Just say thank you.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”