Chesapeake Summer Read Free Page B

check. See to Quentin. I imagine you have a great deal to talk about.”
    Without a word, Amanda stood, crossed the room, circled her husband’s waist with her arm and led him away.
    â€œShould we follow them?” Nola Ruth asked. Her voice was high and breathless.
    â€œI don’t think so,” replied Cole. “If the situation were reversed, I wouldn’t want anyone else around at the moment.”
    Nola Ruth shook her head. “There isn’t the slightest possibility that you would ever find yourself in Quentin’s position.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou’re that sure of me?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    â€œWhy?”
    She smiled. “You’re crazy about me. You have been from the first.”
    Cole Delacourte studied the olive and cream beauty of his wife’s face and acknowledged her truth. “I’m that obvious?”
    â€œYou are, and I’m grateful.” Nola Ruth shuddered. “I don’t think I could bear a scene like the one we just witnessed.”
    Cole found his wallet, pulled out a hundred dollar bill. “I’ve lost my appetite. Let’s go home. Serena’s bound to have something in the refrigerator.”
    Nola Ruth gathered her wrap and purse and stood. “I’m sure I can manage something.” She hesitated.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œDid you know about Quentin and Lizzie?”
    Cole nodded.
    â€œYou never said anything.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMay I ask why not?”
    He looked at her steadily until the blush mounted along her cheekbones. “We all have skeletons, Nola Ruth.”

    Even though Quentin had consumed enough alcohol to test considerably over the legal limit, he still slid behind the wheel, requiring several attempts to insert the key into the ignition. Amanda didn’t protest. In her world, men were drivers, women passengers. Normally, she turned on the air conditioner, even on a cool night, ensuring that she arrived wherever she was going with every hair in place. Tonight she left the air off and the window open, allowing the wind to do its worst. They covered the twenty miles from the restaurant to home in silence.
    Tracy was watching television in the den. She turned down the volume and peered into the hall. “You’re home early.”
    Quentin, already halfway up the stairs, didn’t answer.
    â€œYour father isn’t feeling well,” her mother replied. “Go back to what you were doing, honey. We’ll be all right.” She followed her husband into their bedroom and closed the door.
    Quentin rinsed his wounds in the bathroom sink, pulled a towel from the rack and dried his hands, leaving rusty stains on the pale beige terry cloth.
    Amanda grimaced. Turning away, she dropped her purse on the bed and sat down in front of the vanity. Staring at her reflection, she carefully removed her jewelry: the pearls she’d inherited from her mother-in-law, the bracelet she’d purchased in Annapolis, the earrings she’d picked out for her birthday that Quentin paid for. Removing her wedding ring, she reached for her lotion and began smoothing it over her palms and the dry skin on the backs of her hands.
    Quentin came out of the bathroom, naked except for his shorts. Amanda studied his reflection in the mirror. He was forty-nine years old, a hair under six feet tall, fit and unlined. Except for his steel-colored hair, he looked ten years younger. She hadn’t aged nearly as well, another of life’s inequities.
    She watched while he pulled a fresh shirt and slacks from his closet and began dressing.
    â€œWhere are you going?” she asked.
    â€œOut.”
    â€œAgain?”
    He remained silent.
    â€œAnswer me, Quentin.” His wife’s voice was cold. “You’re going to her, aren’t you?”
    Again, no answer.
    Amanda left her vanity to stand in front of him. She grabbed his arm. “I won’t have this,