Chesapeake Tide by Jeanette Baker

Indian red, reflecting the tastes of seven generations of Delacourte ancestors.
    She opened the back door and gazed out at the wide expanse of water, the Chesapeake at sunset. The smell of it assaulted her senses and stopped her short. She breathed deeply and clung to the pillar on the back porch. Had she forgotten that it smelled this way, brackish and metallic, pungent, a mixture of fish and salt and pine and dirt, teeming with underwater life? Or maybe she’d never noticed because she’d grown up on its shores and known nothing else?
    Chloe passed her and looked back curiously but didn’t stop. Libby drank in the view; the rich green grass sloping gently downward to the bay; blue water, glassy beneath the setting sun; a lone trawler, silhouetted against a copper-penny sky; a single blue heron circling in the distance; the white gazebo and lawn chairs; her father depositing her mother in one of them, her daughter flopping down at their feet as if she’d done so a thousand times.
    Emotions surged through her body, overwhelming, threatening, more than frightening. Libby sat down on the porch and rested her head against the pillar. Her stomach lifted and the sky spun drunkenly.
    â€œLibba Jane,” her father’s voice called to her. “Come along, honey. Have some lemonade.”
    The command steadied her, turned her thoughts toward her father. He’d changed, become confident, assertive, more present than she remembered. She’d always adored him, but her memory was that of a remote, soft-spoken, apologetic man, content to leave the raising of his child to his wife. She walked across the lawn, accepted the sweating glass of lemonade and sat down in an Adirondack chair. “This is beautiful,” she said softly. “I’d forgotten.”
    Cole Delacourte nodded. “I can’t think of another view that compares with this except for Hennessey House.”
    â€œWhere is that?” Chloe asked.
    â€œAcross the water, set back a ways from town,” said her grandfather. “It was closed up for a while, but Russ Hennessey’s had it opened up again. He’s coming back home to run his daddy’s business.”
    Libby’s cheeks burned. “I thought he moved away years ago.”
    Nola Ruth spoke up. “He’s coming back. Beau Hennessey left the business to both boys. After Mitch died a few months ago, Effie Blair kept on working the office. She said that Russ was moving back. Working a fleet of trawlers is a young man’s job.”
    Cole shook his head. “Mitch’s death was a tragedy. He was all set to marry Sue Ellen Cavendish when he was diagnosed with leukemia. He went quickly, thank God.”
    â€œLeukemia?” Libby frowned. “That’s unusual, isn’t it, for a man his age?”
    â€œThe townspeople here have had their share of illnesses,” said Cole, “but I don’t know that it’s unusual.”
    â€œHas anyone else in the area come down with leukemia?” asked Libby.
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I think we’ve had several cases. No one we know personally, except for Mitch. Why do you ask?”
    â€œLeukemia is found in adults who’ve had exposure to radiation or chemicals. Is anyone investigating the cause?”
    â€œThere’s been some rumor in town. The Environmental Protection Agency has opened an office. I never put much credence in blaming the water, although that’s what some folks are saying. We’ve had problems with overfishing for years. More than likely the federal presence is here to enforce commercial fishing limits.”
    â€œIt’s possible. The EPA has more than one role.”
    â€œAs I was saying,” Nola Ruth interrupted impatiently, “Russ Hennessey is coming back to town and he has his work cut out for him.”
    â€œWhy is that?” Libby was surprised. “Russ is a born fisherman.” There was much more she could have said.