LJ Maas - Rebecca’s Cove

Hobie smiled. “Very funny. No, I just need to give you an advance warning before you meet my mother.”

“Dear God, what does she see that’s not there?”

“My father.” Hobie quickly continued when she saw BJ’s eyes grow large. “No, it’s not like she sees him. My father died when I was a teenager. Mom, well,” Hobie gave a tired smile, “she’ll act like she doesn’t know my father’s dead.”

“She doesn’t know he’s dead?” BJ’s voice rose an octave. “It’s not that she doesn’t know...it’s just that she...well, she...”

BJ saw the tension in Hobie’s ramrod straight posture and knew then what she was trying to say. Knew all too well. “She doesn’t want to know.”

Hobie looked over at BJ with relief written across her features. “Yeah. She just didn’t accept it at first, so everyone kind of went along with her charade. It seemed harmless enough. It’s rough now. It’s getting harder to explain things to Noah.”

“Someone should have a talk with her,” BJ said. “You need to be honest with her.”

Hobie vigorously shook her head. “No. I lost my father, but she lost her husband. I don’t know how it feels to lose the other half of your whole life. I’m not qualified to sit in judgment and tell her what she’s doing is wrong.”

BJ shrugged. “It’s your call.”

BJ immediately felt comfortable in the large Allen home. A long hallway led toward the back of the house; on the right was an entrance to the kitchen, and on the left was an opening into the living room, which was darkened by the shade of the tall palm trees in the front yard.

“Grandma, Grandma!” Noah cried out as soon as they entered.

“There’s my pumpkin,” Theresa Allen said. She bent down and lifted the boy up.

“Hi, Mom,” Hobie and Mack said in unison.

Mack gave his mother a hug and stepped back beside BJ. “MacArthur, you looked tired,” Theresa said. He merely shrugged and rolled his eyes.

BJ couldn’t resist. She leaned in close to Mack as Hobie greeted her mother. “MacArthur?” she whispered under her breath. “Okay, you got no room to talk about my name.”

“Very funny. How’d you like me to double the fine on that jaywalking ticket I gave ya?”

“Mom.” Hobie gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and ushered her to where BJ stood. “Mom, this is—”

“Baylor Warren. Yes, I know, dear. How is Evelyn?”

BJ’s eyebrows shot up. She looked over Theresa’s shoulder at Hobie, who shrugged, offering a guilty smile.

“Word travels like wildfire here on Ana Lia,” Hobie said. “I can see that,” BJ said sarcastically.

“Mom knows you...obviously. Baylor, this is my mother, Theresa Allen.”

BJ smiled at the older woman, and the smile that graced her features was warm and relaxed. It was honest. She took Theresa’s hand within her own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Allen. I appreciate you having me here tonight.”

“Don’t even think twice about it. I’m glad my children had the good manners to invite you. Now if my husband would just get home, we could sit down to the table.”

Hobie and BJ exchanged uncomfortable glances, but BJ smiled graciously.

“You probably want to get off that ankle,” Hobie said. “Mom, why don’t you two go into the den and I’ll set the table?”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Theresa led the way into a room filled with all of the things that BJ had imagined a family den might have. Two overstuffed couches and a large leather recliner circled an oak coffee table. Light wood paneling covered the walls and a piano stood in one corner. BJ examined the framed photographs that sat atop the piano, recognizing the young, freckle-faced redhead in many of the pictures as Hobie. A series of small-paned windows took up the entire length of the west wall and the slowly setting sun lit the room with a warm brilliance. The room had a relaxed atmosphere that BJ could feel soaking into her body the moment she sat on the comfortably soft sofa.

“Tell me, Baylor, how is Evelyn?” Theresa asked.

“It looks like she’s going to be fine. That’s what the doctor said, anyway. She didn’t look bad, but the doctor thinks it would be best if she stayed in the hospital instead of going home to recuperate.”

“I know that will be hard on her. I’ll go up there tomorrow and see if she needs anything.”

“Thanks, I know that would mean a lot to her. My grandmother’s not exactly the type to enjoy being cooped up in the hospital any longer than she has to.”

Hobie and Mack walked into the room, followed quickly by Noah. The boy launched himself toward Mack, who lifted him high into the air.

“Can I get you something to drink, Baylor?” Hobie asked. “No, I’m good.”

“BJ, why does Mom call you Baylor?” Noah asked.

“Did she?” Baylor hadn’t noticed. So many people had called her that over the last few days that she surmised she’d become accustomed to it. She thought it strange that it hadn’t caused her as much pain as it used to. “Baylor’s my real name. BJ is just a nickname that comes from the initials of my first and middle name.”

“Okay.” Noah ran off, apparently satisfied with her explanation.

“Mom, you think that roast is about done?” Hobie asked.

“I just have to mash the potatoes, but I don’t want everything to get cold before your father gets here.”

Hobie looked over at Mack, who raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “Um, Mom...I think Dad said he’d be late tonight. We better go ahead and start.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know...your father might still—”

BJ gently laid her hand over the older woman’s. “Mrs. Allen, excuse me for saying this, but I’m going to anyway. You don’t really think your husband is coming home, do you?”

“Why, I don’t know what you mean.” “Baylor,” Hobie said in a low warning tone.

BJ ignored Hobie and continued in a sad, soothing tone. “My father died when I was nineteen, Mrs. Allen. My mother never could accept his death. For the longest time, she acted as if he were still alive.”

Theresa looked frightened but couldn’t turn away from BJ. “I really don’t see how that is the same, dear. My husband—”

“Was your whole world, wasn’t he? At least that’s the way it was for my mother. She woke him in the morning, fixed his meals, and cleaned his clothes. She kept his house and looked after him day and night for twenty-five years. She never knew what it was like to do anything for herself. She had no idea what her purpose in life was, if it wasn’t taking care of him. After he died, I suppose she thought she had no purpose. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mrs. Allen?”

BJ understood how her invasive questions would make the other woman feel. She realized that if Theresa acknowledged her questions, she would have to accept the truth of it all.

After several moments of silence, Theresa slowly nodded. Mack glanced over at Hobie, and they exchanged worried glances, but neither appeared to know what to do.

“When your husband died, you wanted to lie down and do the same, didn’t you? That’s what my mother finally did. She went to bed one day and she never got up again. That’s what you probably wanted to do, too. You couldn’t, though, could you? You had children who depended on you. There was no curling into a ball and giving up. I bet you never had time to grieve. You just had to keep going until it seemed as if it never even happened.”

“Yes.” Theresa’s eyes teared up and she nodded, then lowered her head.

BJ squeezed Theresa’s hand. “I think it’s time for you to admit that your husband is dead and that he’s not coming back, Mrs. Allen.”

“Get out,” Hobie hissed. “I want you to leave. Leave right now.”

BJ looked up with a sad expression and nodded. “I will if that’s what you want.” She turned back to the woman seated beside her. “But let me ask you this, Mrs. Allen. Is that what you want? Do you want me to leave?”

Theresa looked into soft gray eyes filled with compassion. BJ knew what she was thinking. She could see it in her eyes. Theresa realized that there was finally someone who knew exactly how she felt. At last, someone who understood what had gone on and how she had let it all snowball to this point.

BJ and Theresa looked over to where Mack and Hobie stood. Hobie was outraged, that was apparent. Mack shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

BJ glanced again at Hobie. Hobie’s arms hung rigidly at her side, her hands balled into fists. Had BJ guessed Hobie’s thoughts at that moment, her own demise would probably have been high on the list.

BJ saw something then that she previously thought only existed in the prose she wrote. As she watched Theresa’s face, it appeared as though a veil lifted from her eyes.

Theresa looked between her two children, then turned to BJ.

“No,” she said so softly it was barely a whisper. Her voice grew stronger. “No, I don’t want you to leave. Hobie Lynn, where are your manners?”

“But I-I—” Hobie stammered.

“I think my behavior has gone on long enough. I thank both of you children, but I never meant to put you through this—”

“No, Mom, it’s okay.” Mack quickly moved to kneel before his mother.

“It’s not, but you’re sweet to say so. I can’t believe I’ve carried on for this long. Hobie—”

Hobie spun around and rushed from the room. Seconds later, the screen door to the back porch slammed.

“I’ll go get her, Mom,” Mack spoke up.

“No, Mack. I think I’m the one she’s upset with. Let me go,” BJ said.

“I’m sure not gonna fight you for it.”

BJ rose on her crutches, but before she could move away, Theresa reached out to her.

“Thank you, Baylor. It took courage for you to reveal that piece of yourself to me...to all of us. It’s amazing, really, after all these years that your words should be the thing to make me see. I don’t understand that. Maybe if you do the same thing with Hobie Lynn, she’ll be forgiving. She’s a very good daughter.”

BJ smiled and nodded, giving the older woman a wink before she walked away. “I know that, and I’ll try to take your advice.”

She looked through the screen door and saw Hobie pacing across the yard as Noah ran around trying to catch firebugs. He was oblivious to the emotional turmoil around him.

Taking a deep breath, BJ pushed open the door and walked onto the porch. The look of hurt and anger on Hobie’s face when she looked at BJ took any thoughts of fight from BJ’s mind. She simply deflated as she sat heavily on the porch swing.

Hobie turned toward the ocean and stood silently before stalking across the lawn. BJ prepared herself for one of their now infamous confrontations.

“Do you realize what you could have done?” Hobie asked in a tightly restrained voice.

“Yes, and I’m sorry, but I felt that I had to.”

“I asked you not to say anything. I specifically asked you not to interfere.”

“Yes, I know.”

“What is it with you? Do you always go around doing exactly what you want without any thought to the consequences for others?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Up to this point, anyway.” “That makes you incredibly selfish!”

“I know.”

“You’re impossible!” “I know that, too.”

Hobie abruptly stopped her tirade. She looked tired, as if it had been a great effort to hold on to her anger. She took a few more steps toward BJ. “How can I yell at you if you’re going to agree with every damn thing I say?” She folded her arms across her chest.

BJ attempted to look contrite. She wasn’t accustomed to answering for her behavior; rather, she was used to letting loose with her form of brutal honesty. Dispensing a truth tempered with compassion was something new to her.

“Would it make you feel better if you could sock me one? Go ahead. Just let me have it.” BJ closed her eyes, scrunched her face up, and prepared for a blow.

“Stop that.”

“No, really. I’m serious. Nail me a good one. I guarantee it will make you feel lots better.”

Hobie shook her bangs from her eyes and sat beside BJ. “You are so strange,” she finally said in exasperation, to which BJ grinned.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Hobie spoke. “I’m sorry,” she said, then blew a breath of air upward to push her bangs from her forehead. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry, especially at you. I mean, look what you’ve done for my mom. In just a few minutes, you’ve changed our lives.”

“For the better, I hope.” “I think so.”

“Why did you get so mad then?”