Chesapeake Summer by Jeanette Baker Read Free Book Online

“Can it wait until after you’ve had a drink?”
    â€œIs it that bad?”
    She sighed. “Yes, it is.”
    â€œI’ll wait.”
    The Pelican, a small restaurant with white tablecloths and tables with spectacular views of the bay, was nearly empty. Cole ordered a martini for himself and a glass of South African sauvignon blanc for Nola Ruth. After settling on crab cakes, salad and corn chowder, they tore off hunks of hot sourdough bread dripping with olive tapenade, ate and sipped their drinks, allowing the sense of calm serenity that alcohol and carbohydrates often brings to seep through them.
    Cole wisely refrained from pressuring his wife to reveal whatever was bothering her conscience. He talked of inconsequential matters, the house, their next vacation, her upcoming birthday. Eventually, after they were halfway through their lunch and well into a second round of drinks, his patience was rewarded.
    â€œI have something to tell you,” she began.
    He waited.
    â€œI withdrew eleven hundred dollars from our checking account.”
    â€œYou take care of the bills, Nola. I don’t monitor how much you spend.”
    She held up her hand. “There’s more. Please hear me out.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œOn Monday I got a call from Drusilla Washington. I know we haven’t spoken of this for years, but you do remember Anton Devereaux?”
    Cole’s expression didn’t change. “I’m not likely to forget.”
    â€œDrusilla told me he was arrested for speeding. Apparently, he spent the night in jail. He was driving a late-model Mercedes. I bailed him out. Sheriff Grimes never read him his Miranda rights.”
    â€œI have a few questions,” Cole said. “But I’m sure you’ve already anticipated them.”
    Nola Ruth nodded. “You want to know what he was doing here in the first place.”
    â€œThe thought crossed my mind.”
    She played with a forkful of crab. “He was looking for me.”
    â€œUndoubtedly.”
    â€œHe spent ten years in a Mississippi state prison for miscegenation. No one cared that he didn’t know I was white.”
    â€œIt was 1962. His reasons wouldn’t have mattered.”
    â€œHe blames me. He wanted to know why I didn’t try to find him.”
    â€œDid you tell him?”
    â€œI told him to go away and never come back.”
    â€œBut you bailed him out of jail.”
    She nodded. “It was the least I could do.”
    â€œHe’ll have to come back for his court date.”
    â€œI don’t think so. He lives in France. He’s a vintner.”
    Cole swallowed the last of his martini. “Is that all?”
    â€œPeople saw us, Cole. We had a very public argument. I was so angry and ashamed. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to help him.”
    Cole leaned forward and took his wife’s hand. “Why did you?”
    She looked directly at him. “What happened to him was my fault. I never told him who I was. He was the one who paid with years of his life.”
    â€œYou paid, too, Nola. You paid dearly. You’re still paying.”
    â€œSo is he,” she whispered. “He just doesn’t know it.”
    Cole signaled for the check. “This ends here,” he said firmly. “We won’t speak of it again.”
    â€œThere’s something else I should tell you.”
    â€œI don’t need to hear it. You’ve said enough.”
    â€œBut, Cole—”
    â€œNo more, Nola.” He stood. “I’ll see what happened to the check and meet you in front.”
    She stared after him in disbelief. Cole was a firm believer in self-disclosure. This was a side of him she’d never seen.

    On his way into the office the following morning, Cole swung by the Marshy Hope Creek Police Station. Sheriff Grimes was sorting through his mail. He looked up briefly. “What can I do for you,