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college, successful this time, and a career he’d tired of, given up and sold out in order to come home. It was a crapshoot, giving up a successful architectural company, starting over at his age, but the way he saw it, he had no other option. He’d come for Tess, his love, his only child, his fifteen-year-old daughter, whose recent behavior had forced his ex-wife to break down and ask for his help.
    Russ acknowledged that he’d been a disappointment as a father. He hadn’t wanted a child, not at first, and not with Tracy. The idea of having a child with Tracy Wentworth left him shuddering. She was dangerous, spoiled and self-absorbed, and she had no concept whatsoever of child-rearing. As long as Tess was obedient, dressed well and disappeared when her mother was occupied, all was well. But now that Tess was growing up, now that she had opinions and preferences and a will of her own, Tracy couldn’t cope. Russ had sued for custody, but Judge Wentworth, Tracy’s father, had influence.
    Not only had Russ been denied custody, he hadn’t even been awarded normal visitation privileges. Throwing up his hands, he’d left town, preferring to see his daughter on rare occasions when Tracy needed a break, rather than haggle over alternate holidays and weekends. It wasn’t his first mistake. He realized that now. Tess needed something solid in her life. She needed a role model, someone other than her frazzled, hysterical mother, a woman who had no interests, served no useful purpose and had difficulty concentrating on a serious conversation.
    Russ turned off the engine, climbed out of the car and walked down the bank to the water. The Chesapeake— America’s giant protein factory, environmentalists had called it in earlier, richer days. It was no longer true. Commercial harvests of American shad had almost disappeared in the Virginia and Maryland portions of the Chesapeake. Valleys of underwater greenery, life support for dozens of species of fish and fowl, simply vanished. Pollution and commercial fishing were cited as the primary causes. The environmentalist’s answer was to remove the fishing pressure and allow the spawning stocks to rebuild, a harbinger of death for the watermen of the bay.
    He hoped the fishing lobbies had enough power to hold them off. If not, he was doomed before he ever took over the Hennessey Blue Crab and Fishing Fleet.
    Cupping his hands, he bent down and dipped them into the sun-warmed water, then tasted it. Nostalgia flooded through him. He’d swallowed his first mouthful of salt-tinged bay water when he was only three years old. Clutching Mitch’s hand, he’d waded in up to his waist under the anxious gaze of his mother and the approving one of his father, and lost his balance. He’d been under for a full ten seconds before he was pulled, waterlogged and gasping, up on the beach. Four years later, he’d pulled in his first shad. Libba was there by then. She’d been there when he’d captained his first trawler, nursed his first hangover, brought down the largest harvest of the summer and beat his daddy’s shucking record. She’d been there for every first he’d ever had, first date, first dance, first kiss, first—
    He stood abruptly and walked back to the car. That kind of thinking served no purpose. The pain had dissipated long ago, leaving nothing more than a slight regret. He’d moved on. Better to leave it at that.
    A single car with a yellow decal signaling a Hertz rental hugged the road ahead of him, moving at the speed limit. Obviously, the driver was a woman. Deciding against passing, he resigned himself to a tedious three miles or so until the road forked into two lanes near town. He fiddled with the radio, reduced his speed and settled into a reasonable following distance when the car turned down a private road. Russ stared after it curiously. He knew that road better than anyone except for the three