deposited into her savings account were the start of a down payment. Maybe it was the almost-thirty part of her, but when spring had bloomed, she’d actually been sorry she didn’t have a real house to subject to seasonal cleaning, and a yard to enjoy instead of a railed-in concrete balcony.
It was time she found a home of her own—a paradoxically domestic wish for a woman who would be on the air from seven-thirty to midnight playing rock songs interspersed with risqué commentary. Well, risqué within proper FCC guidelines, of course. No matter how grown up she was or where she moved, there was always someone who’d disapprove of her.
And in Joyous, Tennessee? Possibly hundreds of someones.
So what? Outside of ratings, she never cared what strangers thought. Witness “Trusty,” the eyesore of a car parked among other residents’ vehicles. If cars were status symbols, what did the hatchback say about her? That you take risks. It had been used when she purchased it during college, and couldn’t possibly have much life left in it. Still, now that it was paid off, she wanted to get her financing approved for a house before taking on new monthly bills.
But her rebellious attitude and antistatus-symbol car aside, opinions in Joyous would carry more weight than most. Maybe she was sensitive because some of the criticism from the town’s citizens would be deserved. After all, she had been something of a hellion, sneaking out to meet Rich Danner her sophomore year, trying to use a fake ID to get into Duke’s bar and “borrowing” her stepfather’s car to attend a rock concert two counties over after Harrison had refused to let her go with friends. The fall of her junior year, there had also been that period of indiscriminate and outrageous flirting. Everyone had heard about Rich dumping her before he left for college. She’d tried to hide her broken heart with drawled comments and suggestive smiles directed at any boy in range—even a cute chemistry teacher.
Despite the exaggerated gossip, she hadn’t meant to cause breakups between other classmates or steal anyone’s boyfriend. She certainly hadn’t planned for anything to ever happen with the chemistry teacher, no matter what the nervous guidance counselor had told Harrison in a meeting about Treble’s “acting out” for attention. The memory of Harrison Breckfield’s icy condemnation as he’d walked Treble to his car was enough to make her shiver even now. Harrison didn’t believe his wife’s death was any excuse for misbehavior. He’d pointed out savagely that Charity had lost a mother, too, yet continued to be a perfectly respectable daughter. Even if Treble had known how to articulate her unspoken insecurities, pride probably would have kept her from asking if Harrison had ever loved Treble, the born troublemaker, as he did his own child.
He had been the adult in the situation. Couldn’t he have reached out to his stepdaughter just once and assured her of her place in his home? Still, were bitter memories of Harrison not being there for Treble a valid reason not to be there for Charity now?
ON SATURDAY, Treble’s only scheduled appearance was at a mall grand opening midafternoon. Let’s just hope I don’t blow the small stipend I’m getting on cute shoes before I even leave the premises. Ah, retail therapy. Thank God for clearance sales and outlet stores.
A coworker from the station had recently invited her to do some outlet shopping near the Georgia-Tennessee border—Treble’s enjoyment over her finds had been marred by the guilt of being less than an hour and a half from the pregnant sister she hadn’t seen in four years. Treble knew she’d been a disappointment as a daughter, but did that mean she was doomed to be a bad sister, too?
Stop it. She refused to spend a sunny June morning cooped up in her apartment, agonizing over Charity’s recent request. At the very least, Treble could agonize by the pool.
After loading this morning’s juice cup and cereal bowl into the dishwasher, Treble changed into a fuchsia-striped bikini.
“You’re so lucky,” Charity had said back when she’d been selecting bridesmaid dresses. “You can pull off any color. I have to stay within three main hues or look so washed out I scare people.”
Untrue. Charity looked like an angel, a beautifully blond vision of their mother. Petite, fine-boned with flawless porcelain skin. Treble took after her biological father, the first of many men who’d been unable to commit to her. When she’d tracked him down after leaving Joyous, she’d been surprised at how handsome he still was. But the dimpled persona and rich drawl were just superficial niceties.
Treble had inherited his height, dark hair, bold features and almond eyes. And his tendency to run away? No, her leaving Joyous had been best for everyone, not an act of cowardice. Trouble J was audacious and unafraid.
She packed a tote bag bearing the station’s call letters with a towel, SPF protection, a black pen and a Sudoku book—one of the assistants at the station got her hooked on the puzzles—then hurried toward the front door. Fresh air would do her a world of good.
Outside, the warmth embraced her. Though the sun would be punishing in large doses, she looked forward to stretching out for a little while like a relaxed feline basking in the rays. Treble had barely situated herself in a poolside lounge chair when she heard her name called. She peered over the top of her sunglasses at the smiling Latina woman in a one-piece suit coming through the gate.
“Hey, Alana.” Treble waved, then waited for her friend to come closer so that they weren’t yelling over the commotion of kids splashing in the pool.
Alana Torres was a fellow tenant and friend. Sometimes Treble got the woman passes into clubs where Treble was broadcasting. Both of them were fans of high-octane action films, and they went to a lot of movies together when they were mutually between boyfriends. The curvy bank teller, however, had been seeing an airline pilot since February.
“Haven’t seen much of you lately,” Treble said as her friend dragged a chair closer across the concrete. “But seeing you now, you look incredible. Muy caliente.”
The woman lowered her dark eyes but smiled proudly. “Thanks. I haven’t entirely adjusted to the new haircut.” Since they’d known each other, Alana had worn her thick black hair long, but had had about six inches taken off recently.
“It’s sophisticated.” Treble put her hands behind her and lifted her own hair off her neck. “And probably a lot cooler.”
“My high school reunion is this month. I know it’s shallow, but I’m determined to look hot. Chubby girl’s prerogative.”
“I doubt you were ever as chubby as you felt, and you’ve already lost—what, fifteen pounds?”
“Twelve.”
“Promise me you won’t drop so much that you turn bony, okay?”
Alana laughed as she opened her sunblock. The citrus scent was strong, but preferable to the chlorine from the water. “Yeah, that’s likely to happen, given the way I’m addicted to the bakery across the street from the bank. Whoever invented soup in a loaf of bread was a diabolical genius.”
To Alana, baked goods equaled what cute shoes were to Treble—an irresistible vice.
Glancing around, Alana lowered her voice. “Thank goodness Greg has such stamina and creativity when it comes to helping me burn calories.”
“You mean his suggestions are more fun than jogging?” Treble grinned. “No, seriously, I’m asking. It’s been so long that I barely remember what it’s like to…burn calories.”
Alana returned her smile. “Your listeners would never believe you. I heard some of
