by Brenda Novak
Josh Hill…Rebecca felt her mood darken. To think she’d even considered becoming his friend.
Ignoring the elevator in the lobby, she took the stairs to the second floor and slipped through the double doors of the mayor’s office. Ruth, the receptionist, immediately glanced up from behind the tall mahogany desk that shielded most of her birdlike body. “Your father will be available in a moment, Rebecca,” she said stiffly.
“If he’s busy, I can come back later.”
Ruth shoved her glasses higher up on her nose. “No. I think he’d rather you waited.”
Somehow Rebecca had known Ruth would say that. Sinking into one of four burgundy upholstered chairs arranged around a small coffee table, she selected a women’s magazine from the pile at her disposal and started thumbing through it. She noticed right away that it featured a horoscope, but she purposely flipped past it. She’d heard enough about her Zodiac sign. She was marrying Buddy whether he had strong passions or not.
She read the latest Hollywood gossip, pulled out a perfume sample and rubbed it on her arm—lightly floral, pretty—and studied the hairstyles. Then she came across an article titled: “Long Distance Relationships: How To Make Them Work.”
The phone rang. Rebecca looked up as Ruth answered, heard her say, “Of course, Mr. Balough, I’ll put you right through,” and figured it might be a while before her father was free. So she settled back to read.
The article talked about the growing incidence of divorce and cited the Internet as one of the possible causes. People were meeting and marrying without really knowing each other, it said. But she knew Buddy. They’d been engaged for several months and, while they hadn’t spent much time in each other’s presence, they’d certainly communicated a lot over the phone and through e-mail.
Still…Rebecca bit her lip and glared at the discouragingly high divorce rate. She’d been so intently focused on getting married and moving away, she’d never thought much about what might happen if her marriage to Buddy failed. She’d always told herself they’d make it work somehow.
What if she was wrong? What if his mother drove her crazy and he always took his mother’s side? Or he clung more tightly to a dollar than she could tolerate? She’d seen suggestions that they were significantly different in such areas, but that didn’t necessarily mean these differences would ever develop into serious marital problems…
A compatibility quiz followed the article but, after last night, Rebecca was almost afraid to take it. How dependable could it be? What if it told her she and Buddy were incompatible and steered her toward someone tall and blond and confident—someone with enough sexual energy to light up the entire east coast?
The door of her father’s office opened and he stepped out.
Rebecca quickly set the magazine aside. She and Buddy didn’t need a compatibility test. She already knew they were perfect for each other.
“Come on in,” he said and moved out of the way so she could pass him.
Ruth studied them over the rim of her glasses, probably as surprised by the formal note in his voice as Rebecca was, but she didn’t say anything.
Rebecca followed her father inside, and he shut the door before crossing to his desk. “Have a seat.”
She glanced at her watch, wishing now that she hadn’t waited for him. His strange calm didn’t bode well. It promised to make her regret coming here. She should’ve gone to lunch, instead. “I only have another ten minutes or so. Fanny Partridge is coming for a perm at one,” she said, preparing her escape before sitting on the edge of a burgundy-upholstered chair.
He didn’t answer. He claimed his tufted leather chair behind his desk, steepled his fingers and stared at her.
She waited for whatever it was he had to say, feeling uncomfortable beneath his unswerving gaze. “What?” she finally said.
“You’re an adult now, Rebecca.” His voice was still surprisingly calm. “I can no longer tell you what to do.”
“I realize that,” she said. She thought he’d taken a little long to arrive at that conclusion, however.
“But I can tell you that getting involved with Booker Robinson is a mistake.”
“Booker and I are only friends, Dad.”
“He’s a bad seed. He’s always been a bad seed.”
Rebecca tucked her hair behind her ears, and wondered if the perfume she’d put on in the lobby was making her sick. It suddenly seemed cloying, overpowering. “Not to worry. I’m getting married soon.”
“Does Buddy know about your new living arrangement?”
“Of course.”
“And he’s okay with what you’re doing?”
“Yes. It’s only temporary.”
Her father rolled away from his desk and stood. Placing one hand against the large window that flooded his office with sunlight, he looked out, presumably at the carefully manicured grounds below. “I tell you, Rebecca, you’ve just about been the death of me. I don’t know how much more I can take.”
She made no comment.
“It’s always something, isn’t it?” he went on. “Your sisters were easy to raise. Even the other kids on the street, Josh and his brother, have turned out to be responsible, dependable adults.” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know where we went wrong with you. We certainly tried to teach you the right things.”
Rebecca squeezed her hands together in her lap. “Maybe I’m like Booker,” she said. “Maybe I’m just a bad seed.”
Straightening, he sighed. “Maybe so. In any case, your mother’s really counting on this wedding. She thinks, once you’re married, everything’ll be fine. So don’t do anything to screw it up, okay? Can you do us this one favor, Rebecca?”
Rebecca thought of Buddy’s postponement and felt a stab of foreboding. Her parents would blame her because she’d moved in with Booker. Or they’d say it was her temper that had caused Buddy to shy away.
She opened her mouth to tell her father and get it over with, but she remembered their anniversary party and hesitated. If she told him now, she’d start a ripple effect that would ruin the whole celebration.
She couldn’t do that. What difference would twelve days make, anyway? They could blame her after the party as easily as before.
“I’ll do my best,” she said and walked out.
* * *
WHEN REBECCA RETURNED to Hair And Now, Katie handed her a key.
“Josh Hill dropped this by.”
Rebecca stared at her palm. It was the extra key to her storage unit. After what he’d done, she’d never dreamed Josh would dare show his face at the salon today. She’d assumed he’d mail her the key, give it to her parents or wait for her to show up and demand it. The fact that he’d risked a face-to-face confrontation showed her just how brazen he was.
“He has some nerve,” she replied.
Momentarily between clients, Katie was busy sweeping up hair clippings. “He can have all the nerve he wants,” she said. “There isn’t a better-looking man within a hundred miles of here. Except his brother, of course.”
The buzzer over the door squawked, and Mary Thornton stepped inside. “Hi, everyone.”
Mona, who worked only half a day on Tuesday, did Mary’s nails every other week. She’d arrived sometime while Rebecca was gone and was now busy setting up her station. Erma, the owner of Hair And Now, took Tuesdays off, and they rotated to be sure there’d always be someone available to close the salon at night.
“Hi, Mary. I’m almost ready,” Mona said. “Come on over and have a seat.”
“We were just talking about your boyfriend,” Katie volunteered.
Mary pulled off her sunglasses and slipped them into her purse, along with her car keys. “What were you saying about Josh?”
“Just that he’s handsome as the devil.”
“And rich, too, which certainly doesn’t hurt,” Mary said, smiling proudly.
Rebecca gritted her teeth and headed purposefully to her own station. She wasn’t going to get involved, wasn’t
going to say anything.
“When do you think you two will be getting married?” Katie asked.
Mary sauntered over to Mona’s chair and settled in for her appointment. “I’m thinking December might be nice. I’d like to give Ricky a father for Christmas. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Great, she really would be the last in her group of peers to marry, Rebecca thought. “I didn’t realize the two of you were engaged,” she said, unable to keep her silence any longer.
Mary twisted to look at her. “Well, it’s not official or anything, but everyone knows it’s just a matter of time. We’ve been together for six months.”
Rebecca remembered Josh’s answer when she’d asked him if they’d be getting married soon. I don’t know. Do you think we should? He’d sounded almost flippant, definitely not as certain as Mary. And there’d been other moments when he’d seemed less than committed. Just before he stormed out of Rebecca’s house was one of them. And then, on the telephone he’d said, “Anytime you want to let that fiancé of yours off the hook and come on out here…” He hadn’t even mentioned Mary.
Probably because he was all talk, Rebecca decided. He’d made that offer assuming she’d never take him up on it. But he still seemed far from devoted….
“Well, money isn’t everything, you know,” Rebecca said.
Mary laughed and shook her head. “Only you would say something like that. Everyone else knows Josh has it all.”
Rebecca knew it, too. She’d heard it her whole life. Most often from her own father. But she wasn’t about to admit—to anyone—that, deep down, she agreed.
“What’s his brother doing these days?” Katie asked Mary. “Is he still seeing that woman from McCall?”
Rebecca knew Katie was trying to make the question sound nonchalant. She failed miserably, but Mary was so caught up in flaunting her plan to become the wife of the most admired man in town, she didn’t notice. “I think so,” she said absently. “I suspect he’ll be getting married soon, too.”
A sad expression flickered over Katie’s face, but Mona had already started Mary’s manicure, so Rebecca was the only one watching. Catching the younger woman’s eye in the mirror, she said, “You never know about those things, Katie. A wedding’s not a done deal till both parties say ‘I do.”’
Katie smiled gratefully, but it was Mary who answered.
“Oh, it’s pretty much a done deal for me and Josh,” she said. “All we have to do now is set the date.”
* * *
REBECCA CLOSED HER EYES, took her first sip of coffee and told herself she could relax at last. She was at Jerry’s Diner. Grandmother Hatfield couldn’t bother her here.
“I thought you told me she’d have a few chores for me, nothing too arduous,” she complained to Booker, who sat in the booth opposite her.
Booker still wasn’t quite awake. She’d gotten him up before dawn and dragged him out to breakfast, hoping for a reprieve—anything to stop Hatty from banging on her door at seven o’clock to ask for some new favor. They’d lived together for a week now, plenty long enough for Rebecca to learn that Booker’s grandmother was no one’s fool. She came off as fragile and elderly, but she knew what she wanted and how to get it. Rebecca had already spent as many hours helping the old woman make raspberry jelly, varnish the kitchen cupboards and label the shelves in the cellar as she’d spent at the salon. Now she understood why Hatty had been so agreeable about letting her move in. She was actually getting the better end of the bargain. Especially because she kept Booker as busy as Rebecca. He’d already changed her oil, rotated her tires, fixed a few broken sprinklers, organized the shed and was now in the process of cleaning out the garage—which hadn’t been done since Mr. Hatfield died twenty years earlier.
“She takes that saying, the one about idle hands being the devil’s workshop, seriously,” he said. He rested one arm over the back of the booth, letting his black leather jacket gape open to reveal the white T-shirt beneath.
“No kidding,” Rebecca grumbled. “So how did you manage to get into so much trouble when you were a kid?”
Judy delivered his breakfast, a big plate of eggs, bacon, hash browns and pancakes, and he started right in. “Like any other self-respecting punk,” he said between bites. “I’d sneak out.”
“Sort of like we’re doing now?”
He poured ketchup over his hash browns, then added half a bottle of Tabasco sauce. “Exactly, babe. You learn fast. But don’t worry. Granny’ll chill out once she feels caught up.”
Rebecca suspected Hatty would never feel “caught up.” She was the kind who believed in spring-cleaning—all year round. Rebecca had never met such a clean freak in her life, and she’d always thought she and her own mother were pretty scrupulous in that area. But she didn’t want to disabuse Booker of his pleasant illusions. With her luck, he’d bail out and leave town, and she’d be left alone with Hatty until her wedding in January.
“I used to look forward to my day off,” she said, stirring another packet of Sweet-’N Low into her coffee. “I used to sleep in and do laundry and go grocery shopping and—” She dropped her spoon. “Oh God,” she said. “Can my luck get any worse?”
“What are you talking about?” Booker wanted to know.
“Don’t turn around now, but Josh Hill just walked in.”
Without bothering to put down his fork, Booker immediately twisted in his seat to stare at Josh.
“Booker! I told you not to turn around,” Rebecca whispered harshly. “I don’t want him to see me. I’ve had enough of him and his girlfriend.” But it was too late. Josh had spotted her and Booker, had obviously noticed Booker’s less-than-friendly glare and was busy returning it, with interest.
“Hi, Josh, just one today?” Rebecca heard Peggy, the other waitress, say.
“Two,” he said, but he didn’t break eye contact with Booker.
“Just ignore him and eat your food,” Rebecca muttered.
Booker listened about as well as he had the first time. He smiled, rather malevolently, at Josh as the hostess began to lead him to a table.
With Booker working so hard to attract Josh’s attention, Rebecca couldn’t exactly cower in her seat and hope to go unnoticed. Folding her arms, she lifted her chin and watched her nemesis draw closer.
As she should have expected, he recognized the challenge in her eyes (or maybe it was Booker’s glare that did the trick) because he stopped as soon as he reached their table. With a tip of his black cowboy hat, he even had the audacity to flash her that crooked grin of his—the one that showed the dimple in his right cheek—as though he hadn’t left her furniture sitting out, unprotected, on the lawn. It had taken her and Booker two evenings to put it all back.
“How’d the move go?” he asked.
“Great. Thanks to my friend Booker.” Spine rigid, Rebecca forced a taunting smile of her own, irritated that the sight of Josh always seemed to kick up her pulse. But it had been that way for so long, she doubted it was likely to change—another reason she was glad to be leaving Dundee.
“You get your key?” he asked.
“Katie gave it to me.”
“Your table’s the one over there,” Peggy said, briefly interrupting to point Josh in the right direction.
Josh nodded to acknowledge her words and she hurried off to take care of the customers still crowding the entrance. “Well, next time you want to wake me up at night, don’t bother calling, Rebecca. Just come on out,” he said. Then he winked at her, grinned at Booker and took his seat in the booth across the aisle.
“What was that all about?” Booker asked.
“Nothing. Josh has some sort of problem, but I don’t know what it is.”
Booker downed one piece of bacon and then the other. “I already told you what it is.”
“What?”
“He wants you.”
“He left my furniture on the lawn!”
“So?”
“You have an amazingly simplistic view of life,”
she said.
“You’ve mentioned that.”
“I suppose you think I should tell him to go to hell.”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
For once, Rebecca tended to agree, but she wasn’t about to say anything right now. Mary Thornton had arrived and was giving them a condescending smile as she passed their table on her way to join Josh.
“Too bad she’s so uptight,” Booker said, shaking his head and staring after her. “She’s got a nice ass.”
Judy brought them their check, and Rebecca quickly threw down her credit card. Suddenly Hatty’s house didn’t seem like such a bad place to be. Canning pickle relish was certainly preferable to watching Josh and Mary eat. “I really don’t want to hear about Mary’s ass,” she said once the waitress moved away.
“Okay.” He shoveled another mouthful of food into his mouth. “Can we talk about Katie’s?”
Rebecca arched an eyebrow at him. “To think I once had a place of my own.”
“Did you get me a ticket to your parents’ big bash yet?” he asked after swallowing.
“I can’t begin to imagine why you’d want to come. You know my father hates you. He’s told the chief of police to keep an eye on you.”
“Barney Fife can follow me around all he wants. He’ll get damn bored after a while, though. It’s not that exciting watching me clean out the garage.”
Rebecca laughed in spite of herself. Regardless of what others said about Booker, she found him rather endearing. “I’ll call my father when we get home. The worst he can say is no.”
“That’s the attitude,” he said. “You want the rest of my pancakes?”
“No.” Rebecca tried to keep her attention on Booker and her own coffee, but she couldn’t help listening for Josh’s voice.
