LJ Maas - Rebecca’s Cove

“What do you think of me?” Baylor asked. “I try not to.”

“As a writer.” “Absolutely brill, mate.”

“And what about my books?” “What about them?”

“Don’t play games with me.”

“You’ve been thinking again, haven’t you? I told you years ago not to listen to that old man of yours.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?” Juliana rose and took a seat in the chaise lounge beside Baylor. She toweled her legs dry and tried to pretend that she didn’t know what Baylor meant.

“When we were in college, I planned to be such a different writer than I am now. I wanted to write novels that would...I don’t know… make a difference or help people in some way. Instead, I write cheap trash. At the very least, I feel like I’m living a lie. I don’t mind writing straight stories, but straight romance? It’s far from what I know, that’s for sure.”

“That trash made you a wealthy woman. Plus, there is no credence to the idea that writing what you know will produce a better novel.”

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, to you or anyone. It’s just me, I guess.” Baylor ran her fingers through her hair and let her head fall against the back of the lounge chair.

“Let me tell you a story. Remember when we were in college together? I wanted to be a writer just like you.”

“I thought you would be, too. You were better than I was. What happened with that?”

“I set out to write the great American novel. I wanted to be the female Hemingway. I felt I was above writing romance or mystery. I turned down half a dozen advances to write fiction. I had words of substance inside of me that I bloody well wanted the world to know about. I felt I’d done it, too. I finally hawked my perfect masterpiece to every publisher I could get in to see.”

“What happened?”

Juliana smiled at her friend. “They liked it so much that I became an agent so I could tell my authors not to make themselves bonkers over what they’re not getting paid to write and to enjoy the ride over what they are making money to write.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s true in a sad way.” Juliana closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. “Look, quit making yourself bonkers, mate. I’m telling you this from experience. If you want to feel good about yourself as a writer and writing something different will do that, then go for it. I’ll be behind you all the way. Just don’t do what I did to myself for the first ten years after I became an agent. I hated that I felt like I was selling out my writing. I was very successful as an agent, though. Authors like you helped.” Juliana winked. “So for a long time, I acted like you are now. I beat myself up over the fact that I wasn’t working as a writer. The money was too good to say no, so I felt guilty, thereby making me a pretty miserable person to be around nine-tenths of the time.”

“That’s why you’ve always known just what to say to me, isn’t it? You’ve been there,” Baylor said.

“Boy, have I been there.”

“So how’d you do it? How’d you get past it?”

“I guess I finally made a choice. That sounds simple, doesn’t it? Actually, I was thirty-five years old and had just realized that making a personal decision, one that affected my whole life, was the hardest thing I could ever do. I just wish I’d seen the truth of it twenty years sooner.”

“I hear you.”

Juliana looked on as Baylor nodded. She had always promised herself that she would have this talk with Baylor one day. She had often recognized Baylor’s dilemma regarding her novels. It was odd, though, that here on an island off the coast of Florida, Juliana should find it so easy to open up to her.

A nervous thought passed through her mind just then. She wondered if she should tell Baylor that Evelyn had talked her into coming to the island. Evelyn had pleaded with her to come and see Baylor, but under no circumstances to tell her who had initiated the visit. Even though they were best friends, Juliana had given her word.

She chose to smile in silence at her friend.

“Gee, if I’d known there was going to be a party, I would have brought nicer clothes.” Juliana fastened a thin gold necklace, followed by a matching bracelet.

They were readying themselves for a social event that Baylor wished she were attending alone, or even with Hobie. It was a fundraiser for the Ana Lia Public Library. She had donated an entire set of Harriet Teasley novels, and the Ladies Guild insisted she be there for the event.

“You know, this isn’t going to be quite like the parties in the high-rises on Lake Shore Drive. I don’t picture this as your cup of tea. Maybe you ought to sit this one out.”

“It sounds distinctly as if you don’t want me to come.” Baylor looked at her friend’s hurt expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, mate. Of course you’re welcome to come.”

“That’s better.” Juliana smiled broadly.

Baylor hated lying to Juliana, but it was because of their friendship, and the expression on her face, that Baylor surrendered. The reality was that she wanted to keep Juliana as far away from her new friends as possible. Did I just think of the nuts on this island as my friends?

She still couldn’t get past the idea that Juliana would ridicule her newfound feelings for this place, its people, and most of all, for Hobie. It never occurred to her that Juliana might be accepting of everything and everyone on the island. Therefore, she did what she had been good at for so many years: she covered up her true feelings. She did have one fleeting thought. Is it that I don’t want Juliana near any of these people, or just Hobie?

“Care to tell me what the deal is between you and Hobie?”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah, the just friends bit. I know that’s what you said, but was it what you meant?”

“What do you mean, ‘what I meant’?”

“I saw the way you two looked at each other. There was, I don’t know, like some kind of spark or something. Are you trying to tell me there’s nothing going on there?”

Baylor hesitated for a fraction of a second, and that was her undoing. Juliana read the vacillation perfectly.

“I like her, all right? As a friend!” “You just like her,” Juliana repeated.

“Yeah. I don’t like her, like her. I just like her. What?” Baylor stared indignantly at Juliana.

“I haven’t heard anyone use that expression since I was in the sixth grade,” Juliana said before she burst into laughter.

“You’re a regular fuckin’comedian.” Baylor turned her back and pulled a linen jacket on over her tank top.

“It’s just that you’re about as transparent as glass. Why don’t you tell this girl that you want her?”

“It’s not like that between us.” “You mean you’re chicken.”

“I am not chicken!” Baylor shouted. “We are just friends!” “Then you won’t mind if I ask her out.”

If one statement could have been the equivalent of dropping a bomb into the middle of a room, that one was it. All Baylor could do was stare at her friend in disbelief.

“Just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“For starters, no wonder you haven’t been on a date down here if you don’t understand what asking a woman out means. Secondly, I think she’s pretty damned attractive and nice, to boot. If you don’t want her that way, well...”

“I think that would be a bad idea.” Baylor found her voice at last. “A very bad idea.” She began to pace, her cast thumping loudly on the wooden floor.

“And why is that?” Juliana folded her arms across her chest and looked at her friend with an amused expression, which was lost on Baylor.

“Because…because…because Hobie doesn’t need any problems in her life right now.” Baylor pointed at Juliana.

“I wasn’t planning to marry her. I was thinking more about a little dinner, drinks, maybe a little snogging.”

“She is not that kind of girl.” “You said she had a kid.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It means she was that kind of girl at least once.” Juliana wiggled her eyebrows.

“You are sick, ya know that?” Baylor shouted across the room.

Juliana laughed aloud. “Look, Baylor—”

Baylor firmly placed her palms flat against her ears. “I can’t hear you. The crazy woman’s mouth is moving, but I am not listening.” She hummed loudly but couldn’t drown out Juliana’s next question.

“If you want this girl for yourself, mate, why don’t you just tell me so?”

“What? Just because I think that maybe you shouldn’t waltz into town and shag my friend, that means I want her?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Unless...” Juliana paused as if remembering something. “Unless you’re afraid to admit that you like this girl. Even to me.”

Baylor turned pale. “I-I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She turned her back on Juliana again, grabbed her wallet, and shoved it into her jacket pocket.

“Oh, my God!” Juliana watched Baylor frantically pace back and forth across the dining room. “Sally Ann Kapinski!”

Baylor turned to face her friend. “You agreed never to bring her up again!”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Juliana shook her head in wonderment. “You were in love with Sally, but you were afraid to admit it. You were afraid that everyone would laugh at you.”

“You’re full of shit,” Baylor snarled.

“Afraid that everyone would make fun of you,” Juliana continued. “The most eligible lesbian in Chicago finally having her wings clipped and putting on the old ball and chain. That’s it, isn’t it? You knew you’d take shit from all of us, so you chickened out. You never told Sally how you felt and she left you because of it.”

“You know what? I don’t care. I didn’t give a damn about Sally Kapinski then, and I don’t give a damn about Hobie Allen now. If you want to make a fool of yourself by asking her out, then go on and do it!” Baylor straightened her jacket and struggled to gain control of her temper. “Just leave me out of your little plan. Now can we get going or do you want to analyze my fucking life a little more, Doctor?”

Juliana stood in silence for a moment longer. “I’m thinking stress management might be something you want to look into, mate.”

Baylor released a strangled cry of frustration, then spoke in a slow, calm voice. “I’m going to kill you one day. I’m going to make it slow and painful, I swear. No, even better, I’m going to bide my time until one day, they’re holding a sanity hearing for you. Then I’m going to explain, in great detail, what a complete and utter lunatic you are.”

Juliana grinned and scooped up the Jaguar’s keys off the table. “Promises, promises.”

Juliana’s lighthearted laughter followed Baylor as she walked out the front door. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, wondering how her night could possible get any worse.

“You look like a million bucks,” Baylor said to Hobie, who wore a sleek pale blue dress that clung to her body in a manner that made it hard for Baylor to concentrate on anything else. She had made it a point to search out Hobie before Juliana had a chance to talk to her.

“Thanks. You’re looking pretty sharp yourself,” Hobie said. “You know, I’m glad we have a few minutes alone. There’s something I need to talk to you about. It has to do with Noah. You see, he—”

“Hiya, Baylor.” Noah tugged on Baylor’s pants leg to get her attention.

“Hey, Bubba. What’s up?” Baylor looked down at the youngster and immediately became concerned. “What in the hel—heck happened to you?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk with you about,” Hobie said. Baylor quickly reached down and scooped Noah into her arms. He sported a broad smile and one black eye.

“Noah, what happened?” Baylor was beyond concerned as she examined his bruise. Her distress over the boy wasn’t lost on Hobie.

“Well,” Noah began as he gesticulated wildly with his hands, “Billy Crenshaw came up to me and he says, ‘Give me your milk money or else,’ and I said, ‘Or else what?’ ‘Or else I’m gonna sock you,’he says. So I said just what you told me. I said, ‘Forget it, you rat bastard, my money is for my milk!’” Noah beamed, Hobie arched an eyebrow, and Baylor cringed at the language that the youngster had picked up from her.

“Then what happened?” Baylor looked almost afraid to hear the answer.