Terry McLaughlin - A Small-Town Homecoming

She agreed and disconnected without asking any questions, and he was grateful she’d chosen not to press him for more information.

He squatted on his heels and stared at the ground beneath the tool carrier, careful to keep a safe distance from the edge of the spill. Whoever had done this had known exactly what to do, precisely how to deliver the most damage with the least effort. Quick, neat, efficient. Disable a vital piece of equipment. Tear up the site. Tie up the project for weeks-maybe months-during the cleanup. A cleanup that could cost hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of dollars. Guarantee headlines that could turn public opinion against Tidewaters before it opened.

Rising, he stared at the shifting ripples of the bay. And then he stooped to grab a fist-size stone and pitched it with all his might and all his frustration and all his fury into the gunmetal-gray water.

TESS SIPPED her drive-through coffee, curling her hands around the hot cup and wishing the warmth of the drink could banish the icy dread layered beneath her skin.

A few yards away, Quinn huddled with the men who’d arrived in the police cruiser and the city vehicle and the county van and the state Department of Fish and Game truck. She had no idea how much longer they’d stand there, gesturing and making notes on clipboards. Or how much longer she’d have to wait for their decisions about Tidewaters’ future.

Overhead, gulls swooped and jeered, their harsh voices grating on her nerves. Everything seemed brittle and cold this morning, although the sun was erasing the last of the morning mist ahead of schedule and the temperature was inching toward midsummer range.

She’d been so warm, so cozily content and relaxed a few hours ago, snuggled deep in her soft bed and wrapped tight in Quinn’s embrace. So filled with drowsy what-ifs and dreamy plans, concerned with nothing more important than where to go for coffee and whether Quinn liked his eggs poached or scrambled.

She and Quinn should be in bed together right now, she thought with a pang of regret, scattering pastry crumbs in her sheets as they refueled for another session of lovemaking. Yet that lovely, soft-focus image seemed to blur and distort, as if she viewed it through a long, warped tunnel. At this moment, in this place, with the heavy odor of the spill tainting the sea air, the intimacies and whispers of last night seemed to have taken place years in the past.

Now she watched her lover prowl a wide perimeter around his vandalized equipment. His face was taut with worry and his eyes shadowed as he listened to the engineer from En-Tech. Were there signs of seepage near the southwest corner? They weren’t discussing tearing down that bearing wall and digging out the foundation, were they?

She turned and stared at the building-their beautiful, wonderful building. Its pristine skeleton and patches of plywood skin, bright with promise in the sunlight, stood solid and secure a safe distance from the ugly smear on the ground.

It was a safe distance, wasn’t it?

Quinn left the group behind and strode past her, headed toward his office trailer. “How are you doing?” he asked in a gruff, tight voice.

“Just for the record,” she answered as she sipped at her drink, “I don’t do mornings.”

He paused, and a corner of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile. “Just for the record, it doesn’t matter.” And then he climbed the trailer steps and closed the door.

She could follow him. She could badger and pester and pry some more information out of him. He should have some more for her by now, considering how long he’d been in conference with the others. But she knew tests would have to be run, estimates made.

And she was afraid to learn the answers to her questions.

Geneva exited the Tidewaters building and slowly picked her way over the uneven ground to join Tess near the trailer. She glanced at her watch. “How much longer do you think this will take? I told Maudie I’d meet her for brunch today. We have wedding plans to discuss.”

“Can you cancel?” Tess sipped again and then tugged her sweater around her middle and rubbed one hand along one arm. “I’m sure Maudie would understand.”

“I don’t see the need for all three of us to stay. And it appears that Quinn has matters under control.” Geneva frowned as a voice crackled over the radio in the nearby patrol car. “As much as any of this can be under control, at any rate. Disgusting,” she muttered. “Beyond contempt.”

Tess shivered. “He can’t stay. He’ll need to pick up his daughter soon.”

“Is she home alone?”

“No. She’s at an overnight party.”

“Couldn’t he arrange for someone else to do it?” Geneva asked. “Couldn’t you, perhaps?”

“No. He should be there for her. It’s important for Rosie to-” Tess knew she’d said too much when her grandmother aimed a sharp, assessing look in her direction. “It’s important,” she finished lamely.

“I don’t know whether to be pleased or dismayed that you’re taking such an interest in your general contractor’s personal life.”

“He’s not my contractor-he’s yours. And don’t trouble yourself on my account. Or his.” Tess set her cup on her car’s hood and shoved her hands into her sweater pockets. “It probably won’t last long.”

“No. It seems these things never do.” Geneva held out her hand. “Loan me your phone, please, Tess dear, so I can arrange a later date with Maudie.”

Geneva took the phone and wandered toward her car for some privacy, and Tess scowled and hunched her shoulders. She hated the way Mémère could make her feel as if she were five years old and covered with incriminating cookie crumbs. She was a grown woman, and if she chose to indulge in an affair, that was her decision to make. There was nothing wrong with enjoying the occasional adult relationship while she was waiting for the right circumstances and the right partner.

When she finally settled into marriage, it would be for all the right reasons-reasons that included the likelihood of financial stability and a suitably sophisticated groom. Someone who’d be a perfect match for her, in style and sensibilities. With no children thrown into the bargain. Getting used to having a man in her life would be tough enough without tripping over a smart-mouthed kid.

And if she was feeling a little wistful about the idea of Quinn going off by himself to pick up Rosie and hear all about the party…well, that was just part of the normal morning-after sentiment that was sometimes a by-product of the night before. It happened. Sometimes. Sort of.

Okay, not like this, maybe, but it was to be expected. It had been a long time since her last lover, and Quinn had been…exceptional.

She snapped out of her daydreamy mood as a green compact edged through the gate. “Shit.”

Geneva returned the phone and nodded toward the approaching car. “Is that who I think it is?” she asked.

“It is if you think it’s that Channel Six weasel Gregorio.”

“I’m glad I stayed.” Grandmère straightened and donned her regal attitude. “I believe I have a few things to say this morning, if Mr. Gregorio will be so kind as to listen. On the record,” she added with a frosty smile.

GENEVA SET ASIDE Monday’s edition of The Cove Press when Quinn walked into the Crescent Inn. He spoke to the cashier, nodded at her response and then strode down the aisle in Geneva’s direction. Tall, athletic, purposeful-a rugged, good-looking man, a man who never asked more of his employees than he was willing to do himself. Very much like her own husband when she’d first met him, Geneva mused as he neared her table. “Good morning, Quinn.”

“Good morning.” He slid into the booth opposite her and murmured his thanks as he took the menu from Missy. “Thank you for meeting me this early,” he told Geneva. “I seem to be making a habit of disturbing your mornings lately.”