Falling for Trouble

by Sarah Title

  “Husbands? Like sister wives?”

  “No, no. My mom left my dad for her tennis coach—”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. Might as well have been the pool boy. But now they’ve been married for longer than my parents were.”

  “Well, I bet that shuts the haters up, at least.”

  “You obviously don’t know my family.”

  “Once a cheater, always a cheater?”

  That was one way of putting it. “I think she got it even harder because she was the mom, and leaving us was seen as unnatural. Even though she only moved across town. We still saw her all the time. Hell, we still took tennis lessons from Dan.”

  “Dan the tennis instructor?”

  “Dan the tennis instructor-husband.”

  “I didn’t know you played tennis. Tap dance and tennis.”

  “That’s because I suck at tennis. And I hate it.”

  “There’s something deep in there.”

  “You mean my subconscious hates tennis because it tore my family apart? Probably.”

  She pressed a kiss over his heart. “You said husbands. So, what, your mom has another husband?”

  “No, my dad. He came out when I was a senior in college.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. My mom was pissed.”

  “Even though she had Dan?”

  “I think she still thinks Dad came out to get back at her for leaving.”

  “Is that how that works? I’d always wondered.” She flattened her palm on his abdomen.

  “And then Dad had the nerve to also marry a guy named Dan.”

  Joanna threw back her head. “Oh my God. That’s amazing.”

  “The thing is, I like spending time with the Dans. It’s my parents I can’t deal with.”

  “My Two Dans,” she said, giggling.

  “Okay, I showed you mine. What’s your cuckoo parental story?” There must be something there, since she’d been raised by her grandmother.

  He felt her stiffen. He tightened his hold on her, just a little, in case she decided to bolt.

  “Mine are dead.”

  “Oh.” Well, Liam was officially an asshole. He loosened his grip again. She could bolt if she wanted to.

  But she didn’t.

  “They dropped me off at Granny’s so they could build an orphanage in Laos.”

  “That’s very . . . humanitarian?”

  “They told me they were going to bring me back a baby brother or sister, or maybe both.”

  “Weird.”

  “Yeah, except they went with this hippie bootleg Peace Corps group who used essential oils and herbs instead of actual medicine and my parents died of malaria.”

  “Oh. Geez.”

  “They weren’t even religious. Just stupid.”

  She sounded mad.

  He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t really disagree with her assessment—I mean, there were treatments for malaria. He was no doctor, but he was pretty sure it could be cured.

  “Were they out in the country? With no access to medicine?” he asked, trying to understand. There must have been some explanation, surely.

  “No. I mean, yes, they were in a rural area, but there was a clinic there and UNICEF people and everything.”

  “Why didn’t they go?”

  “Because they eschewed modern medicine. It’s poison, they said.”

  “Unlike malaria.”

  “I remember how pissed they were when they found out Granny had me vaccinated. She told me that she did it when it became clear that I was going to be staying in Halikarnassus for the school year. No vaccines, no school.”

  “But your parents were upset?”

  “Pissed. I remember watching Granny on the phone with them. She was holding the phone away from her ear, and I could hear my mother shouting and screaming like a crazy person. I’ve never seen Granny cry so hard in her life, not even when they died.”

  “God.”

  “And it took months. The malaria, I mean. Granny was doing everything to try to get them back here, but she couldn’t afford to go get them herself, and they wouldn’t listen to her pleas over the phone, and then they just stopped talking to her.”

  “God,” he said again, because what else could he say?

  “Yeah, and Granny tried to shield me from it. I was only seven. But I knew. They chose their stupid principles over me.”

  He squeezed her now, tight to him.

  “So now you know where I get that from.”

  It was true. She was stubborn. “But music isn’t a matter of life and death.”

  “Hey now,” she said, sitting up. Her eyes still looked sad, but he knew she was done talking about it. This was Joanna. She didn’t like feelings.

  And even though he knew showing any sign of pity would be a death wish, he couldn’t help but feel bad for that little girl she’d been, abandoned by her parents. Even if, in the end, it had been for the best, it still must have hurt.

  No wonder she hated this town.

  He wanted to tell her that he got it, that he wouldn’t hold her here if she didn’t want to stay. But he didn’t really mean that. If he could, he’d tie her down and never let her leave. But he knew if he tried, he wouldn’t have Joanna. She wasn’t compliant. She wasn’t meant to be tied down. And that was why he loved her.

  He wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t. If he told her, he’d lose her. So he just pulled her head down closer to his and kissed her. He rolled them so he was on top of her. He couldn’t tell her, but he could show her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Joanna was in big trouble.

  The more time she spent with Liam, the more time she wanted to spend with Liam. He had a way of wringing painful truths out of her and then loving her so sweetly afterward that she hardly felt any pain.

  He was going to be hard to leave behind.

  Not that she particularly had anywhere to go.

  Her phone rang, and she dug in the couch cushions for it. How had it even gotten down there? Starr gave her a lazy growl as Joanna dislodged her pillow throne.

  “Did you bury my phone?” she asked the dog.

  Starr just put her head down on her paws.

  “Don’t look all innocent on me,” she said as her hand made contact with the phone. “Aha. Hello?”

  “Joanna?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It hasn’t been that long, bitch.”

  Joanna rolled her eyes. Mandy. Bunny Slippers Mandy.

  “Hey,” Joanna said tentatively. The last time she’d spoken to Mandy, her former bandmate had told her that she never wanted to speak to her again and she hoped her fingers froze off in a snowstorm. Their professional relationship, such as it was, had not ended smoothly.

  “How’s it going?” Mandy asked, her tone suspiciously innocent.

  “Fine.”

  “You still in that shitty hometown of yours?”

  Joanna wanted to defend Halikarnassus, say it wasn’t that bad. Then she realized what she was about to say. Of course it was bad. It was terrible. It was boring. It was . . .

  Well, maybe it wasn’t terrible. There were a lot of terrible, small-minded people here, but there were a lot of people she really liked, too.

  Not that she thought Mandy particularly cared.

  “Yup.”

  “Good. Listen. Calliope’s out.”

  Great, Joanna thought. A sarcastic thought, though, because she had no idea what Mandy was talking about.

  “She and Jeff,” Mandy explained, clearing up exactly nothing.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “For reals? Ugh, Joanna. Head out of ass, please. Calliope is—was—the guitarist who replaced you when you abandoned us onstage.”

  So, Joanna was not entirely forgiven.

  “The good news is, she sucked, so it’s no great loss. Except that now we are without a lead guitarist.”

  “I thought you said Jeff wasn’t going to let me within ten f
eet of you guys.” Joanna, are you trying to screw this up?

  “That’s the other good news. Jeff did a runner with Calliope. I talked to a lawyer, and since he broke the contract, it’s null and void. Basically, whatever Jeff said, we can forget.”

  “So . . .”

  “So come back on the tour, bitch! We need you. And you owe us.”

  Joanna’s hands started sweating. She held the phone away from her ear for a minute because all she could hear was the beating of her heart.

  “. . . not so bad. I mean, their music sucks, but whatever. We get that money, no more Jeff, we can do what we want. Meet us in Minneapolis, bring Rosetta.”

  “And my fluffy tail?”

  “Listen, the fluffy tail. I kind of like it. But Deb and Harlow won’t wear theirs, so I guess you don’t have to either. It can just be my thing.”

  No tail, no Jeff, playing the music that she wanted to play.

  Opening for a band she hated with people whose judgment she questioned.

  “I gotta think about it,” she told Mandy.

  “Are you kidding me.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement that Joanna was once again not acting in her own best interest.

  “I can’t just drop everything, you know.” She had a lot going on in Halikarnassus. Her grandmother—who didn’t need her, a band—that was just for fun, a guy—who, well, he’d be fine without her.

  And she’d be fine without him.

  Right?

  “Fine. You think about it. Your big important life in that shitty town that you hate is a lot to give up, I know.”

  “You don’t know my life,” Joanna said, instantly defensive.

  “No, but I know you, and I know you live to play. So quit pretending you don’t want this.”

  She did want it. She was pretty sure she wanted it.

  “I talked to the guys and they are totally on board.”

  “The guys?”

  “The Penny Lickers, obv. And their management. They want to make a big deal about it, like you’re so badass and punk rock you just up and leave whenever. Except that you can’t do that again, okay? You can’t just run off whenever you don’t agree with something.”

  “Got it. I still need to think about it.”

  “Don’t think too long, bitch. We found one Calliope, we can find another.”

  “Bye, Mandy.”

  “Call me tomorrow.”

  Joanna hung up without committing. She flopped back on the couch and threw her arm over her eyes. Starr jumped off her perch on the back of the couch and onto Joanna’s abdomen.

  “Oof.” But Joanna ran her hands along Starr’s fluffy back, finding comfort in the feeling.

  This opportunity was what Joanna wanted, handed to her on a silver platter. The chance to get back with Bunny Slippers, to reclaim the band’s rightful place as an actual, hard-rocking punk band that did not answer to the whims of the corporate music machine.

  But what about when the next Jeff came along? How could she trust that Mandy wouldn’t jump on the next record contract? Because that was what Mandy wanted, to be big. She said otherwise, but could people really change?

  Joanna had changed, though. She wasn’t the same person she had been when she’d first come back to Halikarnassus, just like she wasn’t the same person she had been when she was in high school (and thank God for that). Now she was happy with Delicious Lies, screwing around with her friends, playing whatever the hell they wanted with no endgame other than making really great noise. And Chet had asked them to play. Their first real gig, with people who would pay a cover to see them. A five-dollar cover, but still. Five dollars to see three women play real, authentic, no-holds-barred rock.

  Even Kristin was starting to panic a little less at the thought. And Joanna felt like she couldn’t let Kristin down by leaving before the gig. And if anything could prove to her that people could change, it was the fact that she was considering Kristin Klomberg’s feelings before making a decision.

  And if she went out on the road again with Bunny Slippers, what about Liam? Joanna was not a total idiot. No relationship survived the separation of the road. And she had nothing to hold him to her, nothing to give him to make him stay. And he couldn’t come with her. Even if he didn’t have an actual, important job, she had a feeling he wouldn’t want to leave this stupid town.

  She should talk about it with him. Maybe they could work it out. But then he’d choose Halikarnassus over her, and she didn’t think her ego could take the blow.

  “What am I gonna do, Starr?”

  Starr just snored on.

  She needed to clear her head. She needed space to think. Granny’s couch was way too comfortable for her to do anything but fall asleep thinking that staying here for the rest of her life would be a great idea.

  “Okay, Starr,” she said, sitting up. “We’re going for a w-a-l-k.”

  Starr looked at Joanna, her ears perked up, and she tore down the hall, headed, Joanna assumed, under Granny’s bed.

  Starr did not want to walk.

  And apparently she knew how to spell.

  Well, Joanna didn’t need company, anyway. In fact, she was probably better off without company. She picked up her coat where she’d tossed it on the floor (because old habits die hard) and wound a scarf around her neck. She shut the door behind her and stood on the front steps, thinking idly about which way to walk. It didn’t really matter. She wasn’t going anywhere. She’d just walk and see where she wound up.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised that, twenty minutes later, she was on the steps of the library.

  * * *

  “Mayor’s here again.”

  Liam looked up from his computer, where he’d been fighting with a spreadsheet. The budget spreadsheet, to be specific. And not just fighting. It was more like tearing his hair out.

  Of course Hal was here now.

  “I don’t suppose he’s just a regular patron again today,” he asked Dani, without much hope that that was true.

  “Big! How’s it going?”

  Hal appeared behind a surprised Dani, who scuttled out of the way and, he hoped, back to the circ desk. Although she was probably going to the break room to tell the others that the mayor was in Liam’s office.

  He wouldn’t blame her if she did. Everyone was worried sick about their jobs. He had assured them that every possible measure would be taken to keep staffing at its current level, but if they cut the budget, he’d have to cut hours, and he couldn’t really justify having more people on staff than they really needed.

  Not that he said that part. But he thought about it. A lot.

  “Hi, Mayor,” Liam said, standing up to shake Hal’s hand. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nice hair,” Hal said, and Liam quickly smoothed down his hair. One of the hazards of pulling out one’s hair while looking at a budget that might or might not be cut in half. “How is the world of the library treating you?”

  “Oh, just fine. Swell. Lots of people out there, as you can see. Gearing up for spring break.” Babbling. Sentence fragments.

  “I see. Anything major happening?”

  “Nothing major. Just the usual. Toni and I are starting to talk about summer reading.”

  “Summer! You really do plan ahead.”

  And this man was the mayor.

  “I came to drop off these books.” Hal put a paper bag on Liam’s desk and started to empty it.

  Books.

  Not great books.

  Hardbacks with dinged-up corners. Paperbacks with the covers bent back. Lots of yellowing pages. Spines slashed with a black marker—ah, the remainders bin. C. J. Box, Lincoln Child, Danielle Steel. All stuff that was really popular, and all of it at least five years old, and all stuff Liam was sure was already in the collection.

  “Thanks,” Liam said, as he did to everyone who donated crappy books that wouldn’t even get fifty cents in the used book sale.

  “Guess how much I spent on this pile of books here,” Hal ch
allenged.

  Liam considered. Ten hardbacks, fourteen paperbacks . . . “Twenty bucks?” Probably less than that, but Liam rounded up so Hal could prove whatever point he was trying to prove.

  “Close. Thirty-five.”

  Wow. Mayor got ripped off.

  “You know how much these books would cost new?”

  Liam did some math. Twenty to twenty-five for a hardback, fifteen for the trade paperbacks . . .

  “Three hundred eighty-nine dollars and seventy-six cents.”

  “Great. Thanks. We really appreciate—”

  “That’s less than ten percent.”

  “Yup.” He wondered if Toni had any “Good Job” stickers in the children’s room. Hal looked like he could use one.

  “So what I’m saying is, why do you have to spend so much money on books?”

  If Liam didn’t value his brain function so much, he would have slammed his head on his desk. It was preferable to slamming his head against Hal’s face.

  “True, but you don’t get that kind of discount on new books.”

  “Sure, but Kristin told me she always has to wait for her turn with the new books, so why not just wait and buy them later?”

  Because five years was a ridiculous amount of time to wait, and the reason Kristin had to wait was that there were other people in front of her in line who had to wait a little less.

  Liam was not sure explaining all that would work.

  “Yes, but we already get a forty percent discount from our distributor.”

  “Forty percent is a lot less than ninety percent.”

  “Yes . . . but shopping like this is time-consuming, and I’m sure the selection is limited. You probably picked out the best books in the bunch.” Flattery, to be sure, but also probably true.

  “If you don’t want to take my suggestions, fine. I’m only trying to make it easier.”

  “Make what easier?” A time-consuming, not-ver y-money-saving idea for adding books they didn’t need to the collection . . . that didn’t seem like it would help Liam out much.

  Hal sighed, as if this was the hardest thing he’d had to say in a long time and he really pitied Liam for being the one who had to hear it. “I really didn’t want to do this, but, well, I figured I’d better tell you in person.”