by Brenda Novak
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Mary responded, and Rebecca ground her teeth. Couldn’t that woman have an opinion of her own?
She glanced back at the two of them, curious to see the expression on Josh’s face, but his menu was in the way. All she could see was the adoration in Mary’s eyes, the solicitous hand on his arm—and thought she might be sick. Let Josh marry Dundee High’s old cheerleading captain and have a passel of brats as empty-headed as their mother. Rebecca was getting out of town, anyway.
“Rebecca?”
She turned back to Booker. “Hmm?”
“You want to tell me what suddenly has you so preoccupied?”
“Nothing,” she said, fiddling with the sugar substitute because she could no longer meet his eyes. “I’m just ready to go.”
He said nothing for a moment. When she thought it was safe, she looked up, but he was still watching her closely. “You’re scaring me, babe,” he said.
She took a sip of her coffee, even though it had grown far too cold. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leaned closer. “For a minute there, I thought you wanted Josh Hill right back.”
“No way,” she said, “That’s crazy.”
He chuckled and didn’t pursue the subject, but she knew he didn’t believe her for a minute. And she couldn’t blame him.
* * *
LYING ON HER BED, feet dangling over the side, Rebecca stared at the message Hatty had handed her as she came in.
“Buddy can’t make it next week. Something came up. Says not to worry about the airfare, though—he never purchased his plane ticket. Give him a call.”
Rebecca crumpled the paper and tossed it at the waste-paper basket in the corner of her room, then rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. Damn! How could Buddy miss her parents’ anniversary party? She’d told him how important it was to her, how badly she needed to see him. Shortly after the party, she’d have to announce that he’d postponed the wedding; in order to avoid the inevitable skepticism, she needed Buddy to smile and hug her and let everyone know that he still wanted her. If he didn’t show up, all the murmuring and knowing glances were going to be much worse. And now that Josh was apparently on the verge of getting engaged, and Delaney was so close to the end of her pregnancy, Rebecca felt like the whole world was passing her by while Hatty took full advantage of her free labor. She could easily imagine standing in the kitchen labeling jars of dill pickles when she was fifty-five….
“Rebecca?” Hatty called up the stairs. “Rebecca, would you mind coming down here for a minute? I want you to run to the grocery store for a few things, dear. It won’t take long.”
Rebecca plugged her ears in an effort to shut out the sound of her name on Hatty’s lips. It was eight o’clock on Monday night, the very end of her day off, and she’d still had no time to herself.
“Beck, I can go,” Booker called. He’d been outside most of the day, ever since they’d returned from Jerry’s Diner, trying to chop down a dead tree at the edge of the property. Hatty was determined that he turn it into fire-wood, but it was really a job for one of those tree services with big equipment. Rebecca knew he had to be twice as tired as she was, so she dragged herself off the bed.
“No, I’ll go, Booker,” she hollered. “I’m coming.” She glanced at the telephone and considered making a quick call to Buddy. She wanted to tell him that he simply had to come. She needed a change in luck, something that would put a little wind at her back. But she doubted she could convince him. He probably hadn’t planned on coming in the first place. Otherwise, he would’ve already bought the darn plane ticket.
“What’s wrong?” Booker asked as soon as she descended the stairs.
“Buddy’s not coming for the anniversary party,” she said.
She thought he’d make some wisecrack like, “And that’s bad news?” but he didn’t. He actually gave her a sympathetic smile and went for his coat. “I’ll go to the store with you.”
“You’re both going?” Hatty sounded disappointed. “I was hoping you’d take a look under the sink in my bathroom, Booker. I think I have a leak.”
“Sorry, Granny.” He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll check it out in the morning, okay? Where’s the grocery list?”
She pulled a notepad from a purse the size of a suitcase. “Here you go. Just have them put it on my account. But don’t forget to ask the manager if he has any loose bananas. They sell them a lot cheaper that way, you know. Only they don’t put them on the table. You have to ask, and they bring them out from the back. That’s how you get the deal. And pick me up one of those flyers that says what’s going to be on sale next week. I’m hoping it’ll be pot roast. They haven’t had a sale on pot roast for a long time, and I’d really like one.”
“How much could you save by waiting?” Rebecca asked.
“As much as three dollars,” Hatty reported proudly.
Rebecca didn’t get it. Three dollars? Was it worth three bucks to wait week after week, month after month, for a sale on pot roast?
“Do you think Buddy will expect me to follow those sale flyers as closely as your grandmother does?” she asked Booker as they walked out to her car. “Do you think he’ll expect me to ask the manager for loose bananas?”
Booker shrugged. “Depends. Did he say why he’s not coming for the party?”
“Something cropped up at work.”
“So it wasn’t because of the plane fare?”
Rebecca thought the plane fare might’ve been part of it. Which was probably why she was so irritated with Hatty for trying to save a couple of bucks on pot roast. Suddenly everyone in the world seemed cheap. “I don’t know. He never did buy his ticket, even though I made it crystal clear I wanted him to come.”
“Doesn’t say a lot for his intent,” Booker said.
She nodded. Neither did a third postponement of their wedding.
Booker grabbed her purse and the shopping list and headed back inside.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“We’re not buying groceries tonight.” He jerked his head in the direction of his motorcycle. “We’re going for a ride on my bike.”
“What about your grandma?”
“She’ll get her loose bananas in the morning.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
REBECCA HAD INTENDED to call and ask her father if she could bring Booker to the anniversary party. She’d meant to do it a week ago. But since their meeting in his office, she hadn’t heard from him or anyone else in her family—except Greta, who’d phoned to try and talk her into changing the color scheme of her wedding from periwinkle and turquoise (“Beck, they’re just so unusual”) to something more classic and timeless (“ivory and green would be perfect, don’t you think?”). In addition to a general lack of contact, Rebecca had been busy, what with Hatty lining up project after project. And, if she was being perfectly honest, she’d have to admit there was never a good time to approach her father about something he wasn’t going to like. So she’d procrastinated—and now it was too late.
She parked her Firebird behind a large black pickup and saw so many cars lining the street she almost lost her nerve. She’d known it wouldn’t be wise to bring Booker along under any circumstances. But without express permission…
Still, she couldn’t see how his presence would hurt anything. What was one more among so many? She couldn’t tell him he wasn’t welcome. Not after he’d been so good to her. It was Booker who’d given her a place to stay, Booker who’d helped her move, Booker who’d been there for her when Buddy let her down.
Besides, Rebecca knew what it was like to bear the brunt of everyone’s disapproval. She wasn’t about to distance herself from Booker just because the other folks in Dundee found him unacceptable. Booker was her friend, and she was going to stand behind him.
She just wished standing behind him didn’t have such potential for causing a scene.
“Would you mind carrying the salad?” she as
ked, getting out of the car.
“No problem,” he said.
Greta hadn’t asked Rebecca to bring any food, but she’d whipped up a chicken salad from a recipe she’d seen in a magazine, as sort of a peace offering. Maybe if Booker was busy finding a place for the salad when they first arrived, he’d be too preoccupied to hear anyone gasp.
She opened the trunk. He removed the large bowl of salad and she retrieved the gift she’d bought her parents—a hammock for their back porch she thought they might enjoy next summer.
“If we don’t like it, we don’t have to stay,” she said, preparing him, and herself, just in case. “I need to put in an appearance, that’s all.”
He shrugged. “Whatever.”
Whatever? She wished he’d seemed that nonchalant about the party before they’d left home. Maybe she wouldn’t have been so quick to let him come.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when she hesitated.
She considered telling him he might not be welcome, then decided against it. Certainly her family would treat him graciously. They might disown her after the party, but they’d never make themselves look bad by mistreating a guest. Especially one who might be eligible to vote in the next election.
At least he’d cleaned up for the party. He’d shaved, which was something he didn’t bother to do every day. He’d also changed into a pair of khaki pants and a polo shirt that almost made up for his rough edges.
Straightening her own lightweight sweater to conceal her tattoo, which would embarrass her father if she revealed it in public, she dusted off her black slacks and pressed forward. Her father didn’t like some of her more trendy clothes—the hip-huggers, the six-inch heels, the midriffs and animal prints—but she’d dressed in an admirably conservative fashion tonight. She looked almost like one of her sisters; she had food and she had a gift. So what if she also had an uninvited guest?
The weather was chilly and the smell of ham drifted clear into the street. A live band played “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” somewhere in the house. Judging by the voices babbling just beyond the front door of her parents’ home, everyone seemed to be having a good time, so when Rebecca and Booker stepped inside, she hoped it was only her imagination that a hush fell over the crowd.
Slowly everyone turned to stare, including her own family. Her mother held a hand to her heart, her sisters covered their mouths, and her father went so red in the face he looked like Elmer Fudd in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. A few people like Mary Thornton, started whispering, while others, like Josh’s parents, chuckled outright.
Rebecca realized immediately that bringing Booker was a bigger mistake than she’d thought, but she’d already committed herself and had no choice except to soldier on. Upping the wattage of her smile, she slipped an arm through his, wishing they’d waited until later to appear, closer to the time she expected Delaney and Conner, so they’d at least have an ally.
“Why don’t we put the chicken salad in the kitchen?” she said as if fifty pairs of eyes weren’t riveted on them like magnets to steel.
Booker looked from her to the stunned crowd and back again. Before he could say anything, however, her mother came forward and kissed Rebecca’s cheek. “Hello, glad you could both join us,” she said, using the cordial voice that told Rebecca she was on her best behavior. “Please help yourself to the food in the kitchen. It’s buffet style, of course, and the champagne is on the dining room table.”
Rebecca might have been a mere acquaintance for all her mother’s warmth, but at least someone had greeted them.
“Thanks,” Booker said, and Fiona nodded stiffly before moving on.
Greta approached next and swept Rebecca into a brief hug. “Are you insane?” she hissed in her ear. “Everyone thinks you two are having an affair. What are you doing bringing him here?” But when she pulled away, she was smiling as though she’d said nothing unpleasant and immediately introduced herself to Booker.
Rebecca glanced over her sister’s head to see her father. Evidently no one had clued him in that he was supposed to play along and save his rage for later. He was standing next to the punch bowl, glowering at her and Booker, and making no attempt to hide it.
“I can see your father’s happy we’re here,” Booker said under his breath.
Rebecca tightened her hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about him.”
They were just heading toward the buffet when Rebecca felt someone catch her by the elbow. Josh Hill. She hadn’t seen him until that moment. Surprisingly enough, he was smiling.
“Booker, glad you could make it,” he said.
Booker nodded once, then Josh’s smoky green eyes focused on her. He was wearing jeans and boots with a button-down solid red shirt that wasn’t a far cry from his usual jeans and T-shirt. But he looked good in anything and the shirt somehow dressed him up enough that he blended beautifully with the crowd. Maybe it was the solid color, which brought out the blond in his hair and the lightness of his eyes. “You look great as always, Rebecca.”
Rebecca felt pretty sure his compliment came from no real admiration. He was only making a statement, and it wasn’t that she looked nice. He was publicly including her and Booker in his circle of friends, lending them his support in front of the others. But she resented the fact that he felt it necessary to rescue her among her own family and in her old home. It was the ultimate humiliation, the ultimate contrast between their respective positions in the community—even in her father’s esteem. Besides, she wasn’t about to forgive him so easily for what he’d done to her furniture.
“Go away,” she muttered. “I don’t need you.”
At that his smile grew genuine. “I’m fine,” he said loudly. “Thanks for asking.”
“Wonderful. Maybe you wouldn’t mind taking this wherever it needs to go.” She handed him her parents’ gift and pivoted so fast she nearly ran into Katie, who’d arrived just behind them.
Booker steadied the younger woman, then winked at Rebecca as though she’d purposely thrown Katie into his arms.
Trying to pretend she was happy to be where she was, Rebecca introduced them. Booker suggested they get a glass of champagne and drew Katie away. Then Rebecca was standing in the middle of the party alone.
* * *
WHY COULDN’THE be Rebecca’s friend?
Josh watched her chalk her pool cue in the basement of her parents’ home. What made him so different? She was obviously good friends with Billy Joe and Bobby West. And Perry Paris. And Booker, of course. Sometimes Josh wondered if there wasn’t potential for something more to exist between her and Booker, but neither of them acted like it tonight. Booker had spent most of his time hustling Katie; Rebecca had spent most of her time hustling pool. And she was taking all comers. When had she gotten so good?
“There you are,” Mary said, coming up behind him and slipping her arms around his waist. “I wasn’t sure where you’d wandered off to.”
Josh took another sip of his beer and wished Mary would leave him alone for fifteen minutes. He wanted to see this game, and he wanted to do it without a commentator.
Rebecca studied the table, leaned low and banked the nine ball off the side into the left corner pocket. It was a tough shot, but she made it look easy, and now only two striped balls remained. Billy Joe, who had twenty bucks riding on the game, still had four solids.
“What’s up, man? You’re getting your butt whupped by a girl,” his brother taunted.
“Shut up,” Billy Joe snapped. “She’s gonna whup you next.”
“No, she ain’t,” Bobby replied. “I got fifty bucks says I’m gonna take her.”
“You getting the itch to play?” Mary asked, her fingers moving in irritatingly small circles on his abdomen.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not thinking about playing Rebecca, though, are you?”
“Actually I am.” Stepping away from her, he put his quarter on the side of the table behind Bobby West’s to save his place in line. He hadn’t played Rebecca since the
y were in high school. It used to be that he could beat her easily enough. But she’d obviously improved a great deal, and these days he played only occasionally.
If Rebecca saw that he was there, she gave no indication. He hadn’t been able to get her to acknowledge him since she’d shoved that damn gift in his face and walked away.
“We could stop by the Honky Tonk and play a game if you’d rather,” Mary offered, slipping her arms around him again. “Then we could go on over to your place.”
He heard the innuendo in her voice, but for some reason the thought of winding up at his place with Mary didn’t tempt him tonight—at least not as much as playing pool with Rebecca. He missed the challenge she provided, wondered if he could still best her. “Not right now,” he said, intent on the game. “It’ll be my turn soon.”
Billy Joe scratched and had to bring out another ball. Rebecca sank one of the two remaining stripes, and Billy Joe knocked down two solids before Rebecca made her last shot. But she missed the eight ball. Billy Joe missed the five, and it was Rebecca’s turn with another chance at the eight. She studied the angles, took the shot and smiled as the eight ball fell neatly into the side pocket.
“Darn!” Billy Joe said, shaking his head. “You beat me every time!”
Rebecca laughed and pocketed the money. “You think your brother can do any better?”
“You bet I can, honey,” Bobby said and racked the balls. When he took his brother’s cue stick, Rebecca told him he could break. Balls scattered everywhere from the power of his shot, but amazingly nothing fell.
Rebecca ended up with stripes again. Then she systematically destroyed Bobby like she had his brother and shoved another wad of bills into her pocket when the game was done.
Josh removed Mary’s arms from around his waist and forged through the crowd of onlookers. Rebecca arched a brow when she saw him.
“You ready for some real competition?” he asked, teasing Billy Joe and Bobby.
“She’s better than you think, man,” Billy Joe said.
Rebecca propped a hand on her hip. “How much?” she asked him.
