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’T HE 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.