LJ Maas - Rebecca’s Cove

“Well, now that you’ve eliminated all the fun stuff...” Baylor saw the fire in Hobie’s eyes and laughed. “Kidding, kidding. Don’t worry so much.”

“Right. I feel much better.”

“Hey, Bubba,” Baylor called. “How’d you like to spend the day with me?”

“All right!” Noah jumped up and down. “Can I, Mom? Can I?”

Hobie looked worried but smiled. “Sure, sweetheart.” She leaned over and whispered into Baylor’s ear. “If anything happens to him, I swear I’ll hunt you down, Baylor Warren.”

Baylor wondered if it was Hobie’s soft breath in her ear or the whispered promise that caused a shiver to run down her spine.

They stopped at Hobie’s house first so Noah could bring along a few toys. The two women said nothing about their argument. In fact, neither said a word until they pulled into Evelyn’s driveway.

“You having company?” Hobie asked Baylor.

Two unmarked white vans sat in the driveway. Way to go, Tony, Baylor thought. “Uh, yeah. I’m just having a little... installation work done.” Baylor was thankful that Hobie’s good manners did not allow her to pry.

“Arturo!” Noah cried out as they entered the house. The pup barked excitedly, turning around in tight circles. Noah knelt down and Arturo licked his face.

“Let me give ya the lay of the land, Bubba,” Baylor said as she took Noah’s backpack and tossed it in a chair.

“Huh?”

“Where everything is.”

“Oh, I know already. Bafroom is over there, kitchen back there, and it’s not polite to go upstairs.” Noah smiled and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“So you’ve been here before?”

“Yeah, lots. Mom comes to see Mrs. Warren all the time.” “Really? How interesting. I think you and I are gonna get along just fine.” Baylor grinned at her little fountain of information. “Hey, come on into the backyard with me. I gotta check on something.”

“’Kay.”

“Hey there,” Baylor said to the two men working on settling into place a four-foot satellite dish.

“You Warren?” the taller of the two asked.

“In the flesh.” She shook hands with him. “You guys are fast. I appreciate it.”

“I’m Dave and this is Chuck. I got a call from Pete Giamatti up in Orlando. He says you’re a good friend of Tony Falcone’s. For a friend of Tony’s, I haul ass. Oh, sorry, kid.” He looked down at Noah, but the boy was too busy watching Chuck adjust the dish’s position with a remote-control device to have noticed.

“Can I get you guys something to drink, anything like that?” Baylor asked.

“Nah, thanks. We’ll have to get into the house, though, to set up everything in there.”

“You got it.”

Two hours later, Noah and Baylor knew a great deal about installing cable, legal and illegal, along with the ins and outs of the satellite dish business. Dave was more than happy to pass on his expertise. Baylor seemed as intrigued as six-year-old Noah by the whole process.

“You’re all set, Ms. Warren,” Chuck said.

“Thanks, you guys. You did a first-rate job.” She slipped a hundred-dollar bill into Dave’s hand. “Go have lunch on me.”

“You got it. You have any problems,” he handed Baylor his business card, “you just call me.”

Like a kid in a candy store, the moment the two men were gone, Baylor rushed over to the remote. Flipping through the 250-plus channels, she tousled Noah’s hair. “Welcome to heaven, Bubba.”

“Wow,” Noah said. “Ooh, Cubs!”

“Right you are.” Baylor stopped on Chicago’s local station. “We’re just in time, this is the pre-game show. You like the Cubs?” she asked, thinking of the baseball cap that Hobie was never without.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Your mother’s taught you well. Let’s get comfortable. You getting hungry yet? How about some baseball-type snacks?”

Noah nodded enthusiastically and pushed his glasses up. “Do you like root beer?” Baylor asked as she looked through the refrigerator. “Yup.”

“How about Cheez-Its?” “What’re Cheez-Its?”

“Here.” Baylor opened the box and handed the boy one of the orange crackers.

“Mmm, yeah.” Noah nodded as he spoke.

“Okay, Bubba. You go have a seat in the living room. You can flip through the channels and I’ll get our snack together.”

“’Kay.”

It took Baylor a little more than five minutes to assemble allof her usual snacks. She loaded a bowl of Cheez-Its, a smaller bowl of thick pepperoni slices, some pepperoncini, and two glasses of cold root beer onto a large tray, which she carried into the otherroom.

“Wow. Baylor, see this?”

She turned to the TV and her eyes went wide. “Whoa, yeah!” She grinned at the naked woman on the screen.

Quickly realizing who she was with, she reached over and plucked the remote from Noah’s hand. “Oh, man. Are you trying to get me arrested?” She sat beside Noah and rubbed her hand through his spiked hair. “What do you say we watch the game instead, huh?”

“’Kay,” he said with a red face.

“Now this, my friend, is the way television was meant to be watched.” Baylor pointed to the new fifty-two-inch TV that she had ordered along with the satellite dish. She knew it was an extravagance, but she rarely spent her money on such pleasures and it felt good to do so.

“It’s like bein’ at the game,” Noah said.

“You know it.” Baylor took a large swallow of root beer. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like milk instead?”

“Nope, I like soda.”

“Yeah, I guess they make you drink milk every day at lunch, huh? They used to make us, anyway.”

“I get milk sometimes.”

“Why only some of the time? Oh, man! Sammy, why’d you swing at that ball?”

“Sometimes I got money for milk, but sometimes I don’t.” Baylor wondered at that. Surely Hobie didn’t hurt for money—

or did she? “Why don’t you have money all the time?” “Sometimes I give it to Billy Crenshaw.”

“Why?”

“’Cause he says give it or he’ll slug me.”

“He takes your milk money?” Baylor sat up straighter. “He doesn’t take it, I give it to him.”

“But why?”

“’Cause I don’t want to get hit. It might hurt.”

“Why don’t you tell your mom or one of the teachers?” Noah scrunched up his face. “I’d look like a baby.” “Yeah, I see your point. Ever thought about saying no?”

“Then he’d hit me.”

“Maybe, but you could hit him, too. Bullies like kids that don’t fight back. If this Billy knows you’re going to hit back, he’ll probably quit bothering you.”

“But how do I hit him?”

“Haven’t you ever slugged anyone before?” Noah shook his head.

“We’ll work on it, okay? Remember, though, this is just between us. Your mom might not understand.”

“’Kay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Bubba. Now let’s get back to this game, huh?”

Hobie knocked on the door for the third time. “That’s it. She’s done something horrible to him, I just know it.”

She heard loud music coming from the front of the house where the living room was. A quick turn of the front doorknob showed that it was unlocked. She thought twice about entering but gave up feeling bad when she thought about what was going on inside. “She’s probably got the stereo on and no idea where Noah is at!”

Walking into the living room, she saw an amazing sight. Baylor and Noah were in the middle of the room, Noah on the coffee table and Baylor on the floor beside him. They wore black Ray-Ban sunglasses and they were dancing. Well, it was very nearly dancing. Noah was trying to imitate Baylor’s moves. Baylor, though hampered by her cast, did a very good job. As if on cue, near the end of the Sam Cooke song, Noah and Baylor went into a fair version of the Jerk.

The two were laughing and singing, leaving a stunned Hobie unable to believe her eyes. Of course, there was something about watching Baylor swinging her hips in perfect time to the song that affected Hobie in a direct manner.

The song ended and Hobie couldn’t resist. She applauded. Baylor turned quickly, and although Hobie couldn’t see her eyes, she could see her cheeks turn pink in embarrassment.

Hobie couldn’t seem to remove the grin from her face, which caused Baylor’s blush to deepen. “You two are good, but it’s time to go home, Noah. No more dancing today.”

“But, Mom, it’s Motown!” Noah looked at Hobie through his borrowed sunglasses, his hands on his hips.

Just as Hobie arched an eyebrow, Baylor scooped Noah off the table. She tucked the giggling boy under her arm and he hung there like a sack of potatoes.

“I have no idea where he learned that,” she said in an attempt to appear casual.

“I’m sure,” Hobie said. “Don’t you think you might be hurting him like that?”

“Am I hurting you, Bubba?”

Noah giggled and lifted his head. “Nope.” He swung his legs back and forth.

“Where in the world did you get ‘Bubba’ from? You know, he might prefer his name.” Hobie didn’t understand why she was being so petty, but Baylor seemed to draw out every small-minded comment that she had in her.

Baylor looked down. “Is it okay if I call you Bubba, Noah?” Noah laughed again as if he was having the time of his life.

He pushed his glasses up and held out a thumbs-up sign.

“See, he’s cool with it. So the question is, what’s really bugging you, Hobie?”

“Let him go, please.”

Baylor shrugged and released the youngster. Noah rushed over to his mother and she hugged him tightly. Baylor watched as Hobie’s demeanor instantly changed. She always seemed to light up whenever Noah was near.

“Sweetheart, would you please take Arturo and go play in the backyard for a little bit, so I can talk to Baylor?”

“’Kay,” Noah replied. As an afterthought, he turned back to his mother and tugged on her jeans. “You’re not gonna yell at her, are ya, Mom?”

Hobie dropped to one knee and pulled the Cubs hat from her head. She gently placed it atop Noah’s head, a special treat. “No, sweetie, I’m not going to yell.”

“Good, ’cause I had such a good time with her.”

“I’m glad. Go on, you, and don’t wander out of the backyard.”

The two women stared at each other as they heard the kitchen door close. They listened to the sounds of Noah’s laughter and Arturo’s barking.

“So do you still want to know what’s bugging me?” Hobie asked in a quiet voice.

Baylor felt a rising sense of panic, but she tried to appear nonchalant and nodded.

Hobie lowered her head and ran a hand through her hair. There was a long pause. “I’m so sorry! I had no business saying those things about you or your writing!” she blurted out. “I’m just so sorry. Please, I feel—” She raised her head, tears streaming down her face. “I’m just so sorry” was all she could get out.

“No,” Baylor said as she waved her hands. “No, no, no. You agreed. You said you wouldn’t cry anymore.”

“I lied.” Hobie sobbed out the words in exasperation.

She sank onto the couch and reached for a tissue from a nearby box. Hobie watched as Baylor stood rooted in place. She was confused until she remembered: this was Baylor’s weakness. Hobie didn’t want Baylor caving in over her tears, but the fact that she couldn’t stop crying made her cry all the harder.

“I’m such a bitch. I’m so sorry,” she cried.

“It’s okay, really. I think it was all my fault anyway.” Baylor finally propelled herself into action. “Come on,” she practically whined. She sat on the sofa beside Hobie. “It’s not your fault, not at all. I’m a much bigger bitch than you, just ask anyone.”

“Oh, stop it!” Hobie slapped Baylor’s arm. “What?”

“You’re only apologizing because I’m crying.” “How do you know that?”

“Because it happened last time. You turn into a tower of quivering jelly when women cry, don’t you?”

“Up until now I never did, thank you very much. How do you do that and why are you doing it to me?”

“Because I...” Hobie tossed her used tissue onto the floor in confusion and anger. “Because I like you. All right, are you happy now?”

Baylor smiled without knowing why. She supposed it was because of the ridiculousness of the whole situation. For some reason, her anxiety disappeared and she heard her grandmother’s voice in her ear saying something about taking risks.