LJ Maas - Rebecca’s Cove

BJ had gotten up in the middle of the night and managed to find the bathroom and the pain pills without killing herself. She ran into one door that she had left ajar earlier in the day, then made her way back to the sofa, convinced that she’d only broken three or so ribs in the process. She slept soundly through the rest of night because of the pills and made a mental note to buy additional pharmaceutical stocks as soon as she got home. “Better living through advanced pharmacology,” she muttered before she fell asleep.

BJ now roused her mind to a semiconscious state and convinced herself that she was having an allergic reaction to the pain medication. She’d never had an allergic reaction to anything before, but the pressure on her chest was making it difficult to breathe. In all the stories she’d ever written, that was the first symptom. Afew minutes later, she was fully awake and wondered why the couch was shaking. It wasn’t so much the couch as it was her body. It was more than shaking. It was a rhythmic movement, as if...

BJ opened one eye and peered down the length of her body. She didn’t get far. About ten inches from her face, she ran into a pair of beady black eyes, midnight black nose, and a tiny pink tongue. The tongue moved in and out of the equally small mouth with the same rhythm BJ felt moving her body. She later blamed it on a residual effect from the pain medication, but she chose that moment to yell. More than just yell. BJ could hear herself scream like a girl.

“Aah!” BJ yelled again when she saw a figure run into the room. She stopped when she realized it was Hobie. “What the hell are you doing here? No, don’t answer that, just get this...thing... off of me!”

Hobie quickly scooped the dog off BJ’s chest. Now that she knew there was no real emergency, she was trying desperately not to laugh at the prone woman. “It’s just Arturo. Did he scare you?” she asked, grinning in amusement.

BJ, realizing that she’d just made a total fool of herself over a dog, tried to cover her own error in identifying the small animal. “I thought it was a rat.”

This time, Hobie did laugh; she couldn’t help it. “You get a lot of five-pound albino rats in Chicago, do you?”

BJ fixed a cold stare in Hobie’s direction. It was quickly becoming her trademark expression. “We’re lousy with ’em,” she said flatly. “Look, what in the hell are you… Whoa!”

BJ had turned to look up at the standing woman and suddenly felt the coffee table sliding away from the couch—with her injured leg still on it. She tried to pull back, but the blanket wrapped around her legs prevented proper movement. It only took five seconds for her to end up face down on the carpeted floor.

“Oh, my God!” Hobie let go of Arturo and bent down to help.

“Shit, that hurt,” BJ said. Attempting to rise, she felt the crown of her head connect sharply with the underside of the coffee table. Once more, she sank to the floor and groaned.

“Geez, you’re going to kill yourself. Let me help you.” “Don’t touch me! Please, just don’t touch me.”

BJ rolled over and lay there. She looked up at Hobie with an expression similar to amazement. “You look so normal, but you’re really the harbinger of doom. Are you an assassin? I mean, did someone put a hit out on me or something? And maybe they requested it to be a slow, torturous death?”

“I’m really so sorry.” Hobie wasn’t sure why she was apologizing, but it seemed the thing to do.

“Why are you trying to kill me?” BJ asked in a small defeated voice.

“Really, I’m doing no such thing. I can’t explain it,” Hobie said with a sympathetic smile. “At least let me help you up.”

“No! No, please don’t help me.” BJ started to get up on her own. “Frankly, I don’t think my body can take any more help from you.”

Hobie felt worse at seeing BJ struggle to a seated position on the sofa. It did indeed seem as though BJ’s physical well-being was in danger whenever Hobie came near her. She walked out of the room and returned a moment later with a steaming mug.

“Do you drink coffee?”

“Thank God!” BJ accepted it eagerly. “I’ll take that as a yes and thank you.”

BJ paused before taking a sip, the mug inches from her lips. “Aren’t you having any?” She glanced up at Hobie suspiciously.

“Oh, for crying out loud. Here.” Hobie grabbed the mug. She raised it to her mouth and took a healthy swallow. “See, no arsenic or anything.” She handed the mug back.

BJ silently stared into the black liquid.

Hobie thought the woman was actually pouting. “Now what?”

“It’s got your germs all over it now.” “Will you just let it go already?”

“Hey, I haven’t completely given up the assassin theory yet.” “Good Lord, you’re worse than my—” Hobie stopped

abruptly.

“Who? Worse than who?”

“Never mind.” Hobie left the room and returned with a fresh cup of coffee.

BJ cautiously sniffed it before taking a small sip. “Are you always this paranoid?” Hobie asked.

“You have the nerve to ask me that after what you’ve put me through in the last twenty-four hours?”

“What…I’ve…Okay, stop!” Hobie ran the fingers of both hands through her short auburn hair. She struggled to control her temper. She had always thought of herself as a quiet and reasonable woman, but BJ’s attitude seemed to awaken every quarrelsome bone in her body. “We can do this, I know we can.”

“Do what?” BJ asked in confusion.

“Be nice to each other!” Hobie nearly shouted in exasperation. “Maybe you should begin first, considering you’re the one who ran me over yesterday.”

Hobie placed one hand on her hip and held back her harsh reply. She took a deep breath, then spoke. “Okay, maybe nice is too much to hope for. How about we shoot for civil? Surely, we can manage that.”

BJ sat there with her arms folded across her chest, apparently mulling over the request, but not at all convinced of the other woman’s sincerity.

“Look—”

“I’ll try,” BJ said at last.

“Oh. All right then,” Hobie said. “See, this isn’t so bad.” BJ arched an eyebrow.

“It’s a start, anyway. Why don’t you let me look at your leg? How does it feel?”

“It hurts like hell.”

“You need to get some food into your stomach and you can take a pain pill. I picked up a few basic groceries, all poison-free.” Hobie ignored BJ’s smirk. “I didn’t get much, but if you give me a list, I can pick up anything you need.”

“No offense, but I’d rather do it myself. Oh, man, my Jag.” “Mack brought it over early this morning. It’s in the driveway.”

Hobie examined BJ’s leg as she spoke, noting that the swelling had lessened considerably. “Can I ask a question?”

“Can I stop you? Okay, okay, don’t blow a gasket,” BJ said in response to Hobie’s look of exasperation. “What?”

“How do you plan on driving that car with this thing on?” Hobie gave the plaster cast a gentle tap.

BJ stared down at her leg. “Shit.”

“I’m obligated to tell you that not only is it dangerous to try it, it’s also illegal.”

“I bet you brush after every meal, too, don’t you?” “All I’m saying is—”

“I know, I know. Damn, I have to get around. I’ll go insane stuck in this place. I have to see my grandmother, and I need clothes. Preferably ones I can cut one leg off without too much trouble. I wonder what Jules is up to. I know. I’ll call a cab.”

Hobie shook her head.

“Let me guess. There are no taxi services on the island.” “That’s right.”

“Bus, shuttle, golf cart?”

“Nope, not one. Guess I’m looking a little more indispensable than you thought, huh?” Hobie teased while wearing a mile-wide grin.

“Do not push your luck.” BJ’s acidic reply wiped the smile from Hobie’s face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to gloat.”

“Sure you did, but I guess I can’t blame you. It’s what I would have done.”

“That’s reassuring. Okay, before we get into it again...” Hobie saw BJ gearing up for another acerbic reply and headed her off. “I don’t open the office till one o’clock on Tuesdays. Why don’t I take you to town? I can show you where to shop so the locals won’t think you’re a tourist, but first stop will be Rebecca’s Cove to get you some breakfast.”

BJ didn’t answer but just stared at Hobie. Finally, she asked a question that Hobie didn’t expect. “Are you doing all this for me because you feel guilty or what?”

“Actually, I’d like to think I’m just that kind of a person, but I admit, I do feel somewhat responsible for your present condition.”

BJ didn’t know what to make of the woman. Her first reaction was one of skepticism. She had always been a consummate cynic, but she knew that no one could be as sweet and unassuming as Hobie. BJ decided Hobie was either a practiced liar or clinically insane. She wondered about being alone with her but didn’t have much choice. I have to get off this island...soon!

“All right, you’re on,” BJ said.

By the time the two started on their way, Hobie began to think their uneasy alliance might work. BJ had refused any help in getting herself cleaned up, although Hobie did teach her the trick of tying a garbage bag around her cast to take a quick shower. BJ now wore a faded “No Lights in Wrigleyville” T-shirt and Mack’s sweatpants.

“You’re a Cubs fan?” BJ asked in surprise as Hobie placed the blue felt cap with its red C on her head.

They had just walked out of the house and Hobie knew what was coming next. She had taken grief most of her life for her undying loyalty to her favorite, albeit consistently losing, baseball team. “Is that a problem?”

“Hey, not with me. I just thought us Chicagoans were the only gluttons for punishment.”

“I guess it goes to show you there’s no accounting for taste and that the Midwest doesn’t hold the patent on masochism.”

“Touché.”

“Your car or mine?” Hobie asked as they came to the driveway. “I’d be happy to drive your Jaguar.”

“I’ll just bet you would. No way. You know how much they hit me up for insurance to rent this thing? Even the surcharges had surcharges. Besides, I’ve seen the way you drive. Close up, remember?”

“Very funny. Then it’s the truck.” Hobie tried to hide her disappointment.

“Ah, the deathmobile,” BJ said as they came closer to the white Ford truck. She pretended to pay no attention to Hobie sticking out her tongue at the comment.

Hobie pulled open the driver’s door and began to pick up some garbage and brush off the seat. “It’s a little messy, I admit. I usually try to have it cleaned before I go anywhere, but spring is my busy season.”

BJ stared into the open window on the passenger side. Animal hair, leaves, twigs, and dirt covered the cab. She picked up something that looked like a tuft of cotton from the seat.

“What the hell was in here last?” “Um...sheep.”

BJ looked through the window at Hobie, who was standing on the other side of the truck. No words were necessary during the long, painful seconds that BJ glared at Hobie.

“Come on, Dr. Doolittle, we’re takin’ the Jag.”

“You are the angel of death. You know that, don’t you? I have never had so many terrible things happen to me in such a short space of time. Are you sure your last name isn’t Mengele?”

BJ folded her arms against her chest and leaned against the red Jaguar. She glared down at Hobie, who was kneeling on the ground.

“Oh, for God’s sake, it’s only a tire, and it wasn’t my fault,” Hobie snapped. She was hot, and having to justify her driving skills to BJ Warren was more than she could take. “It was a nail. I’m sorry, but these are just normal glasses. I forgot to wear my amazing vision glasses so I could see a roofing nail in the middle of the road.”

It dumbfounded Hobie that she had gone thirty-eight years without wishing grievous harm to anyone, but one hour with BJ Warren and Hobie wanted to throttle the woman. “I can’t believe you don’t know how to change a tire.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t know how. I simply said that I don’t change tires.”

Hobie paused long enough to glare at BJ. She didn’t understand what happened next. She certainly didn’t know why. Everything seemed to catch up to her at once. She tried to tell herself that she was hot and grumpy from changing the tire and that she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. She reasoned that the past twenty-four hours and running into BJ again—literally—had been a chaotic mixture of delight and irritation. No matter how Hobie tried to rationalize her next action, the simple fact was that she threw the tire iron to the ground and began to cry.