Hobie noticed that BJ spoke that last part with a hurt edge to her voice. “You sound like a woman who’s had that happen before.”

BJ looked at Hobie, not sure if she wanted to reveal anything of her personal life. She gave in a small bit. “Awoman who’s 6’1” gets used to being stared at, but just because I’m used to it doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Understandable. They don’t mean to treat you badly. They’re only curious. I think the whole town knows who you are by now. Word travels fast in Ana Lia, and it’s not because they think you’re a freak. They’re nice people, but it’s a small community. Everybody knows everybody’s business here. If you gave some of them a chance, you might find that you have a lot in common.”

“I find that highly unlikely,” BJ said with her typical haughty flair. “I bet you’re one of those who’d rather blend into the background, aren’t you? Just do what’s expected. Don’t make waves and never rock the boat.”

“For the most part...I suppose I am. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Not if you’re a lemming.”

A waitress set two glasses of ice water on the table, abruptly halting their conversation. “Mornin’. We wondered where you got to, Hobie Lynn.”

“Good morning, JoJo,” Hobie said. “This is Evelyn’s granddaughter, BJ Warren. Ms. Warren, this is Joanne Hart, the owner of the Cove.”

“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Ms. Warren. Your grandmother talks about you all the time.” “Thanks. You’ve got, um, a...nice place here.”

“Thanks right back. The restaurant’s been in my family for years.”

“Her grandmother is Rebecca Ashby, the woman the Cove was named for,” Hobie explained.

“I see.” BJ nodded. It always surprised her, but for a woman who made a living with words, she was never good at small talk, and she wondered what she should say next.

“Yep. She’ll be ninety-five this summer. She gets around a whole lot slower these days, but she’s still got it all up here.” JoJo tapped an index finger against her temple. “You get Hobie Lynn to bring you around to the house sometime.”

“Uh, sure. Thanks,” BJ said.

Neither BJ nor Hobie knew how to tell JoJo that this was the most civil they had been since their accidental, yet brutal meeting. The furthest thing from each woman’s mind was becoming friends and socializing.

“So then, what’ll it be for you ladies?” JoJo held a pen and a pad of receipts in one hand.

“How about a mocha java with double espresso and extra cinnamon?” BJ wished aloud as she looked at the menu.

“Sure thing. You want skim, two percent, or whole milk in that?”

Hobie laughed at the dazed expression on BJ’s face. “Um...two percent.”

“Orange juice, Hobie Lynn?” “Yes, please.”

“Let me get your drinks and I’ll be right back for your order.” JoJo headed for the kitchen. On her way, she scooped up dirty dishes and exchanged a few jibes with the customers.

“And you thought the island was backward.” Hobie smiled. “Are you a little happier now that you know the Cove is Ana Lia’s answer to Starbucks? May I say, as a medical professional, I think that you’ve been experiencing the beginnings of espresso withdrawal.”

“Very amusing.”

“Okay, folks.” JoJo returned to take their order. “What can I get for you?”

BJ ordered poached eggs, whole wheat toast, and fresh fruit. She then sat in stunned silence as she listened to Hobie give her order to the waitress.

“Three eggs over easy, ham, toast, hash browns. Wait, hold the toast. I’ll have a side of pancakes instead, and can I have another juice with my meal? Oh, and can you add another egg to that?”

“You got it.” JoJo left to place their order. BJ looked under the table at Hobie’s feet. “What?” Hobie asked.

“Nothing. Just looking to see if you had any starving orphans under there you were planning to feed.”

“Very funny. I have an extremely high metabolism. I burn everything off too quickly. I can be standing on a street corner and wham! My blood sugar bottoms out and I’m down for the count.” Hobie tried to stop herself. She felt as if she was giving BJ too much information, but she couldn’t seem to stop talking. Finally, she cleared her throat nervously and waited for the mocking tone she was sure would come.

“Marching band, eh?” BJ surprised Hobie by changing the subject. “Was that true, what you told the old guy?”

“Oh, that. Yeah.”

“Let me guess. Flute or clarinet.” “Flute, smarty. How did you know?”

“It figures. I knew it had to be some kind of girly instrument.”

“Girly? Were you even in band?”

“High school class of 1977. Actually, I played in school bands for eight years. You just try marching in Chicago. I froze my ass off during the winter and practically collapsed from heat exhaustion every summer. I seriously hold marching band responsible for the aversion I developed to seasonal celebrations. It’s probably why Halloween is my favorite holiday...no parades.”

“And what was this butch instrument you played—the tuba?”

“Oh, you’re such a comedian. No, it was the trumpet.”

“Geez, how hard can the trumpet be? You only have three keys on the thing and you can see them!”

“It’s a lot of work when you hate it.” “Why’d you play if you hated it?”

“Some rat bastard told me that being in band was an easy way to get girls. That theory turned out to be a major disappointment. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I made Joey Bruder throughout the rest of junior high and high school.”

“So you spent eight years playing an instrument you hated? How miserable.”

“You’re telling me. Actually, I liked the thing when I first got it. I had the usual ‘bright shiny object’infatuation, but that lasted for about two months. Once I realized they wanted me to practice for thirty minutes a day, the party was over.”

“It’s funny what educators learned from our generation, isn’t it? Kids who take an instrument now have band or orchestra practice every day, just like math or English. That way, they don’t end up being forced to practice at home.”

“Really? Little rat bastards don’t know how good they have it. How do you know that?” BJ asked.

“Oh...um...I see a lot of the kids in my office with their pets. So you hated it, yet you kept on with it.”

BJ shrugged. “My mother made me. She locked me in my bedroom for half an hour after school every day. As I got older, I figured it would look good on a college application. What?” she asked when Hobie shook her head.

“I’ve just never known anyone to go about something with such a generous helping of apathy before.” BJ laughed at the remark, and Hobie breathed a sigh of relief.

“Apathetic and proud of it. There were four trumpets in the middle school band. I was fourth seat trumpet until high school. Always last, but being last is highly underrated. When you’re on the bottom rung of the ladder, people don’t expect so much from you. My freshman year, I moved up to third chair. The only reason was because the kid ahead of me moved away.”

“I would have thought you were the kind of person with more ambition than that.”

“Why?” BJ hurried on to explain, “Ambition is decidedly overvalued. Besides, it only serves to disappoint.”

“You sound more like a bitter woman than a philosopher.” BJ smiled briefly. “None of the above. Simply a realist.”

The conversation lagged suddenly and both women looked as though they were revisiting their own memories of youth. The sounds of JoJo delivering their breakfast pulled them from their thoughts. Once she had moved away from the table, BJ continued.

“I’ve found that having little or no ambition lends to a more spontaneous way of life. I don’t know if I’ll always be successful. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that it takes more energy than I want to expend to ensure that I’ll remain on top. Perhaps it’s that I haven’t found the one thing in life worthy of all that work. On the other hand, maybe it’s just that I’ve never been able to put off my own self-indulgences.”

Hobie was only slightly surprised at the hedonistic attitude with which BJ lived her life. She was curious as to how much of BJ’s way of thinking was truth and how much was a cover-up for her own insecurities. Neither woman appeared anxious to continue the conversation. They concentrated on their food, but in the back of their minds, they had a nagging feeling that there was more to say.

The art deco style of the restaurant made BJ feel at home. It reminded her of all the diners she had gone to, growing up on Chicago’s South Side, the kinds of places that served breakfast twenty-four hours a day. The décor included lots of stainless steel and colorful plastic. She had sobered up from many a night on the town in those establishments.

Once she’d finished her meal, BJ spent the next hour keeping up her end of the conversation. They stuck to safe subjects like sports and computers, realizing that other topics touched on too many controversial points. BJ thought it odd that the one person in town who could manage to get on her nerves at the drop of a hat was the same person with whom she suddenly found it so easy to converse.

She found herself people-watching most of the time. Rebecca’s Cove certainly seemed to be the hub of operations for the island. People not only came there to eat, but to meet, hear news, and catch a tidbit of gossip or two. There always seemed to be enough room, even though the diner appeared full.

Hobie had been right when she said everyone knew everyone else in Ana Lia. Nearly all of the patrons stopped to say hello and exchange pleasantries with Hobie. She had a smile and a good word for every person she met, which annoyed BJ. People who were too friendly had always annoyed her.