Harrison had financed the open bar in the first place! Why was it no one minded when weathered, old farmhand Bobby Charles Picoult got buzzed on draft beer and started loudly guffawing at the same anecdotes he’d been telling since Treble first moved to Joyous as a girl? Because Bobby Charles is local color. You’re an outsider. Even though Treble had moved to Joyous right before kindergarten, by the time she’d left, she’d felt completely out of place. She doubted anyone besides her sister had been sorry to see her go. Even poor Charity had probably been relieved at the decrease in tension at home.
“A few weeks is a long time,” Alana pointed out loyally. “Do you have that much vacation? Whoever asked should completely understand if you say no.”
“Charity would understand. It’s not in her to whine or hold a grudge.” The thought made denying the request even more difficult somehow.
Well, Alana’s right, a few weeks is a substantial chunk of time. Weren’t first babies often overdue? There’d been a woman at the station who’d seemed pregnant for, like, a year; by the end of it, she’d been miserable, the size of a house and threatening violent death to anyone stupid enough to ask, “Still haven’t had that kid?” Treble couldn’t imagine sitting around her sister’s house waiting for an unknown date.
“I know what you mean about not wanting to go back,” Alana said. “I skipped my five-year reunion. I told myself it was because I was busy that weekend and most of the people I cared to keep in touch with, I already was. But that was just rationalizing. At the time, I’d been interning for a company, making less than minimum wage and sharing a closet-sized apartment with three other girls, but that job was supposed to lead to a great full-time position. Until the corporation declared bankruptcy and cut their losses, me included.”
Treble shot her friend a sympathetic look. Interning had been crucial to getting Treble’s foot in the door at the station, and she would have been devastated if no job had materialized. She loved having her own show, loved her listeners and the relative freedom of sharing her opinion over the airwaves.
“In high school,” Alana continued, “I was one of those socially acceptable nerds. Chubby and awkward, never with an actual date to a dance, but smart enough that I had my own niche with the other straight-A geeks. So when the reunion rolled around and I was minus a job and plus the college ‘freshman fifteen’ I never lost…It’s frustrating how the least healthy food is usually the cheapest. I felt like a total failure.”
“You’re not! Corporate America has many problems, none of them a reflection on your abilities. Also, you’re gorgeous.”
“Now, maybe. And it’s sickening how much I want other people to see that. I’ve asked myself a dozen times why I even care what they think.”
“Ever come up with an answer?” Treble’s comparatively small graduating class held an annual reunion in conjunction with the town’s July festival. She’d never once been tempted to attend.
“I don’t know.” Alana shifted on her lounger. “I think for most of us, adolescence is when we were the most insecure and vulnerable. Maybe when we’re around the people who knew us then, we think they can see those insecurities. Or maybe their presence brings back all our vulnerabilities the way catching an old song on the radio can lead to visceral déjà vu.”
Tell me about it. When Treble had helped deejay parties in college, there were one or two songs with such negative personal connotations that she tried never to play them. Then there was music that to this day made her feel good all over. Particularly the U2 song that had been on the radio her junior year at university when Brady McCall had…
“Something funny?” Alana asked. “You sure are grinning.”
“Um, it’s nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Ask me about it next time you invite me over for peach daiquiris.”
“It’s a date.” Alana scowled. “I’m going to hate it when you finally find your dream home and move out of the complex.”
“Hey, I’m looking in the metro area! Aren’t you spending half your time at Greg’s place anyway?”
“More like three quarters. So I guess I’m being a tad hypocritical about hating to see you leave. How is the house hunt going?”
“It’s on hiatus until I’ve saved up more. Nothing I saw was quite right anyway. Even the ones that didn’t need so many repairs felt…off. During a walk-through, I told the agent it’s like the perfect pair of shoes—occasionally I see some that are adorable, match an outfit I have exactly, but when I slide them on, they’re not comfortable. They’re just not me.”
“Maybe homes are something you have to break in, like boots?”
“Maybe. But when it’s worth the blisters, you know. No sense in my shelling out my life savings for something that’s wrong. I want a place that’s mine, one where I belong.” Although the only place where she’d truly felt that sense of belonging was at the station, her employers would frown on her sleeping in the studio, but, at least there, they liked Trouble.
Some of the people in her past would never like her, never approve of her, but avoiding them wouldn’t change that. What if visiting Joyous was not only a chance to help Charity but an opportunity for Treble to return on her own terms? She wasn’t expecting citizens to be thrilled to see her or her stepfather to applaud her job as a titillating radio host, but perhaps once she looked them all in the eyes and knew for sure that their opinion didn’t matter, memories of the past would lose their mythical power over her. She’d be free to visit her bouncing baby niece without dreading the homecoming.
On her next birthday, Treble would be thirty. Wasn’t that grown up enough to stop letting Joyous be some geographical boogeyman in her life? Maybe once she’d slayed the demons of her one-time home, she could return to Atlanta and start building a home that was truly hers.
Chapter Two
“Trusty, you move your chassis now,” Treble instructed the car, “or I swear I’m renaming you!” Traitorous Pile of Junk had a nice ring to it.
As warnings went, hers lacked oomph, but she didn’t want to threaten dismantling in case that invited even worse vehicular karma. The air conditioner had sputtered and died before she cleared north Georgia, blowing only warm air until she gave up and rolled down the windows. Then the fuel light had come on, alarming her. She should have had a full tank of gas…unless there was a leak? Not even wanting to contemplate that, she’d been thrilled when the light turned off by itself. Maybe the gas had just been sloshing around as she drove through mountainous territory and temporarily confused the monitoring mechanism.
Most recently, the “check engine” light had begun flashing. Concerned, she’d pulled onto a wide shoulder alongside fenced meadows to give Trusty a chance to cool down. After all, Treble rarely drove for this long at a stretch; the car might simply be overworked. Treble’s sensible plan had backfired, however, now that the hatchback wouldn’t start again. Turning the key only produced a grating sound that made Treble want to get out and kick something.
“This is the thanks I get for assuring Charity you’re roadworthy?” she asked the vehicle in exasperation.
Her sister had been ecstatic when Treble called Monday afternoon to say she was making the trip to Joyous. Treble had accumulated some vacation time at the station and almost never called in sick. All she’d had to do was explain to her manager that her pregnant younger sister was experiencing complications, and the father of four had been happy to help her schedule some replacement talent.
“It’s