Falling for Trouble

by Sarah Title

  Oy. What a mess.

  “Is Kalie okay?” Trina asked, peeking down at the kids absorbed in the book.

  “Yes, no thanks to her. She was pretty rude about it.”

  “Kristin,” Trina said. “You’re not suggesting she did it on purpose, are you?”

  Kristin looked like she was about to argue that, yes, another human being tried to run over her child because of some long-held high school grudge. She must have talked herself out of it, though, because she rolled her eyes. “No. She was driving Peggy’s boat of a car. And once I had Kale corralled, I could see that she looked pretty terrified. Before she recognized me, at least.”

  “Have you ever thought about getting a leash for that kid?” Trina asked. “For reals. He’s a runner.”

  “I know. Hal thinks he’ll make a great running back.”

  Good ol’ Hal and his football, Liam thought. So much more fun than reading.

  “Whoa. Don’t talk about Hal in front of Liam. I think we might actually provoke a reaction out of him.” Trina was always teasing him for his professionalism, even in the face of the frequently ridiculous situations public librarians found themselves in. She was right, Hal provoked a reaction. Still, it wasn’t a great idea to give in to that urge. Not when Hal was the mayor. And not when his wife was standing right there.

  “I have no problem with Hal,” he said, diplomatically. On a personal level, Liam was sure that Hal was perfectly delightful. Actually, he wasn’t sure of that at all, but he was willing to pretend he was.

  “He’s being ridiculous with this whole football lights thing,” Trina said. “You should have a problem with him.”

  Liam shot a quick look at Kristin.

  “Don’t worry about me, Liam. You know if I had my way, he’d drop this whole stupid idea. Even if I hated the library—which you know I don’t—you think I want my kid growing up to play concussion ball?”

  “A controversial position, Mrs. Klomberg,” Trina teased.

  “Don’t even get me started,” Kristin said, and then she took a deep breath and looked like she was going to launch into, well, starting. But she was interrupted by little Kale proclaiming proudly that his diaper was full, so she whisked him off to the changing table in the restroom. Trina took that opportunity to gather her children—each carrying their own stack of books—and headed out, presumably for n-a-p-s. Liam waved them off and took a moment to enjoy that little glow he got from realizing he’d made friends in Halikarnassus, and he really, really liked it here. Then Phyllis reminded him that book group was going to start soon and if he didn’t stop mooning around, he wouldn’t have time to set up the tables for their cookies. So Liam dutifully followed her into the meeting room and started setting up for book group, under the watchful eyes of the White-Haired Old Ladies.

  * * *

  For the entire twenty-minute walk to the library, Joanna changed her mind.

  She was glad she’d decided to walk. It would be hard for her to almost run over toddlers on foot. And even if Kristin Walsh—no, Kristin Klomberg—was her archnemesis, Joanna was not a total monster.

  Then she thought that if she was going to the library, she should probably pick up a book or two for Granny, who was feeling better (broken ankle aside) and would appreciate some new reading material. Then Joanna realized that the library was not far from the grocery store, and she needed to pick up a few things so she could show Granny that a meal without a casserole was worth the effort, but then she’d have to walk home with library books and groceries and ugh.

  Her life was hard.

  Then she thought she might just skip book group altogether. She didn’t know these women. Well, she probably did know all of them, but they weren’t friends or anything. And most of them had certainly been by to see Granny this week, and if at least one of them had, all of them would have heard the news, so there was no need for Joanna to give an update on Granny’s health.

  Plus, she’d probably see Liam at the book group, and she didn’t know if she could face him, knowing that in her dream, she had done severe damage to his perfectly innocent shirt.

  But she did want to talk about the book. She couldn’t decide how she felt about it. That epilogue, man. That threw her for a loop. She wanted to talk about that loop.

  But with a bunch of Granny’s friends who all thought Joanna did not deserve such a wonderful, kind grandmother? And a man whom her subconscious had decided was the world’s greatest lover?

  By the time she’d decided that, no, she wouldn’t go to book group, she’d just go to the store, she was at the library and it seemed a little silly to turn around. So she went in, followed the signs to the meeting room, and walked into the book group.

  Joanna was the youngest person in the room by at least twenty years.

  Well, except for Liam, and Liam acted like an old man, so he didn’t count. She wondered how old he really was. He didn’t look like he was even thirty, but he must be. He was the director. Only old people could be library directors.

  Unless Joanna was old now, too.

  Oh, God. Old people were her.

  She wasn’t old. She was barely twenty-five. No, wait. She’d turned twenty-seven a few months ago. Still, a kid! Compared to all these other book clubbers, she was a kid. And if Liam had a grown-up job like library director, he must not be a kid. God, she hoped not. What did she have to show for her twenty-seven years on the planet? One album of music so terrible she couldn’t stand to listen to it, no discernible plans for the future, and oh yeah, now she was living in her childhood bedroom and attending an old-lady book group by proxy for Gran. And having unspeakably naughty dreams about a librarian.

  Liam better be older than her. Otherwise she was going to have to feel really bad about not having her shit together. Well, she already felt bad about it. She was going to have to feel really worse.

  She wasn’t sure she could handle feeling any worse.

  Besides, who could feel bad sitting around a library table with an elaborate tea set up and many different kinds of cookies while white-haired old ladies alternated between cooing all over Liam and yelling at each other over which guy the heroine should have chosen?

  Oh, wait. She felt bad.

  Her life sucked.

  At least the cookies were good.

  “Are you seriously telling me that she should have chosen Pierre? He was a terrorist!”

  “The French Resistance! Not a terrorist.”

  “He bombed that café!”

  “Because it was a Nazi hangout!”

  “But there were regular people there, too.”

  “As if Robbie was much better? That cocky American fighter pilot?”

  “He was ruggedly handsome!”

  “So was Pierre! But Pierre didn’t try to buy her love with chocolate and panty hose.”

  “Because Pierre couldn’t afford chocolate and panty hose. Besides, Pierre would always choose his country first. She deserved better than that.”

  “But not in the context of this book. Listen to this.” Betty Anne flipped through the Post-its in her book until she found the passage she was looking for. She perched her glasses on her nose and bent the spine of the book so hard it cracked. As she read the passage that proved Rolf was working to undermine the Nazis from within, Joanna watched Liam wince. She laughed at him, but she couldn’t blame him. It was a library book, after all.

  “But I thought she didn’t end up with either of them,” Joanna said. She’d read the book. She was pretty sure it ended with Mariah walking off into the sunset alone. Joanna liked that ending.

  “No, but she should have gone off with Pierre.”

  “Robbie was the only one who really understood her.”

  “Robbie wanted to take her back to America and turn her into a housewife.”

  “What’s wrong with being a housewife?”

  “Okay! Okay, wow. That’s . . . you guys have really thought about this, huh?” Liam, apparently sensing the impending danger, finally step
ped in. “Joanna has a point. Mariah didn’t go off with either of the men.”

  “But she should have—”

  “Why do you think the author had her end up alone?” he asked.

  “You say that like it’s terrible,” Joanna said. “Alone. She wasn’t alone, she just wasn’t beholden to any of those jerks who wanted her to be something she was not.”

  “You young people and your independence.”

  “I think she’s right. Why should a man tell Mariah how to live her life?”

  “But how would she support herself ?”

  “Bonnie, you lived in the city when you were Mariah’s age, and you worked.”

  “Yeah, and I lived in a shitty boardinghouse and barely made enough to go out dancing once a week.”

  Whoa. The thing that Joanna remembered most about Bonnie Gunderson was that she ran a petition every Fourth of July to cancel the fireworks because they upset her schnauzers. Apparently Bonnie used to be cool. Partying it up in New York City when she was younger? That was rad.

  Then she got married and moved to Halikarnassus and spent all her time worrying about schnauzers.

  This town really did things to people. Joanna took comfort that she was not the only one. Well, small comfort. Just because Halikarnassus had sucked the life out of Bonnie didn’t make Joanna feel any better about its sucking her life away as well.

  “Why do you think Mariah would prefer that kind of life to whatever Robbie or Pierre could have given her?” Liam asked.

  “Because she was an idiot,” Bonnie said.

  “Because she was tired of living her life for other people,” Joanna said. “She’d been taking care of her family, then Pierre, then Robbie. All she did was nurse people back to health, and then they left her. If I were her, I would have said ‘screw it’ after the first guy left me.”

  “Do you think she had the same choices that we have now? Or that women have now?”

  “What, like she chose to have crappy people in her life? Or that she chose not to be good enough for them?”

  Joanna realized her voice was raised. And that all of the book clubbers were staring at her.

  Liam cleared his throat. “Well, sort of. I mean, if her situation was different, might she have chosen to surround herself with better people?”

  Right. This was a book group. Not a therapy session.

  “You mean people who weren’t Nazis?” Bonnie asked, with an arch of her eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure she would have chosen to not be sent to a concentration camp.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” Liam looked embarrassed. “I think we all would have chosen that.”

  “I think maybe the question is not why did she end up alone, but why do we feel like her ending up alone is the worst thing to happen to her?” That was Mildred Pearson, a quiet widow who hadn’t spoken all meeting. Even now, her voice was soft and she spoke mostly into her copy of the book. “I think what Joanna was saying is that Mariah thought she had to choose between a Nazi and a Resistance fighter and a pilot, but by the end, she realized that she didn’t. She was finally able to choose her own happiness. But it came too late, and walking into the sunset represented her death. But her life is meant to be a lesson to us to love ourselves before we lose ourselves in loving someone else.”

  Everyone was quiet, looking at Mildred and taking in what she’d said.

  “I don’t want to put words in your mouth, Joanna,” she muttered.

  “No, please. Those words were much better than my words.”

  “Mildred, that’s a really wonderful insight,” Liam said. “I didn’t read the epilogue as her death, but now that you say that . . . it changes the book a little, doesn’t it?”

  “It makes it bittersweet,” Bonnie said.

  “I think I like it even more,” said Phyllis.

  “Huh,” said Joanna. Because it really made her think. A bittersweet ending.

  * * *

  “I still think she should have chosen Robbie,” said Fiona. “But I just have a thing for pilots.”

  Liam was glad to see everybody laughing, finally. He’d only led one book group before coming to Halikarnassus, and when he found out he’d be taking over this one, it quickly became the most intimidating part of his job. More intimidating than town council meetings.

  Not that the Ladies weren’t nice. They were delightful. And thoughtful, and they made really good cookies. They were just so . . . opinionated. Which was a good thing for a book group to be, it was just . . . sometimes it was a little hard to control.

  “On that note,” he said, taking advantage of everyone’s good mood, “here’s what we’re reading for next time.” He passed around a stack of books and the sign-out sheet.

  “Aren’t you taking one, dear?” Mildred asked Joanna, who let the stack pass her by.

  “Oh, uh. No, I’m not sure if I’m going to be here next month.”

  What was that in Liam’s gut? Was it disappointment?

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t read the book. Just turn it in when you’re done,” said Phyllis.

  “Um, I’m pretty sure my library card isn’t good anymore.”

  “Oh, those things are good forever, aren’t they, Liam?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say forever . . .”

  “What, do you owe money or something?”

  “Maybe,” Joanna hedged. “Probably.”

  “Liam will take care of that, won’t you, Liam?”

  The Ladies had quickly discovered that, unlike Mrs. Pratt, he was pretty free with waiving the overdue fines. He didn’t really think a nickel a day was motivating anyone to bring their materials back on time. And to his delight, he found that if he waived fines, folks would give a few dollars’ donation, which was usually way more than their overdue fines.

  If he kept waiving fines, he might even be able to buy from the fall catalogs.

  Hey, that was depressing.

  “Okay, sure,” Joanna said. “I mean, I’ll just take it for Gran.”

  “Oh no, take Peggy her own copy. Then you two can talk about it when you’re done.”

  “Great,” she muttered, seeming annoyed. But she took two copies of the book anyway.

  Everyone said their good-byes and left, and Liam was alone in the meeting room with leftover cookies and a bunch of chairs that needed to be stacked.

  “Do you want help?”

  He turned, leftover cookie halfway to his mouth, to find Joanna standing awkwardly in the doorway.

  “No, that’s okay. I’ve done this a million times.”

  She ignored him and picked up a chair.

  Okay then.

  They cleaned up in silence, and she was still standing there when he closed the door to the storage closet.

  “Do you need something else?” he asked, because he had a way with the ladies.

  “Oh, uh. Can you check and see if I still have a library card?”

  “Oh! Sure, no problem. Let me just drop these in the break room,” he said, indicating the plate of cookies. “There’ll be a riot if I don’t share the leftovers.”

  “Sure. I’ll just, uh, see you over there?” she said, pointing to the desk.

  “Okay.”

  He dropped off the cookies—and good thing because his Thursday shelver, Marcus, was there waiting for them—and headed back to the circ desk.

  “So, did you enjoy your first book group?” he asked, taking the books from her.

  “Mm-hmm,” she said in a voice that did not sound like the voice of a woman who had just enjoyed herself.

  “Let’s see here,” he said, looking her up in the computer system. “You have the same last name as Peggy, right?”

  “Yup.”

  He wondered where her parents were, that she was raised by her grandmother. He wondered if they were even still alive.

  Probably not a great conversation to get into over the circulation desk.

  “Ah, here you are. Joanna H. Green. What’s the ‘H’ for?”

  She blushed
. “My middle name.”

  “Ooookay.”

  “It’s Hortense.”

  He snorted.

  He shouldn’t have snorted. It was not very nice to make fun of patrons’ private information, especially not to their faces. But there was nothing about Joanna Green that seemed even vaguely like a “Hortense.”

  “Is that a family name?” he asked, to cover the fact that he was, in fact, an incredibly rude person.

  “No. My parents were just weird.”

  Were. Okay, definitely not a circulation desk conversation.

  “Well, you still have a card.” He looked at her record, a little alarmed at what he saw.

  “What? Do I owe you guys some money?”

  “Um.”

  She reached into her bag and pulled out her wallet. “How much?”

  “Eight hundred thirty-two dollars.”

  “What the—”

  He gave her credit for not cursing out loud. If he’d just found out that he owed the library nearly a thousand dollars, he would have definitely cursed.

  “It looks like you didn’t return a whole mess of CDs. Is there any chance you still have them?”

  “What are they?” He tilted the monitor toward her as much as it could go, which was not much. She leaned over the desk and he noticed that she smelled like strawberries.

  Huh. Joanna Green smells like strawberries.

  “Oh. I mean, those sound vaguely familiar,” she said to the monitor and the list of rock CDs from the 70s and 80s listed thereupon.

  “Do you think they’re still at Peggy’s? If you can find them, you won’t have to pay for them.”

  “Jesus, I hope so. God, that’s embarrassing.”

  “A lot of people forget to return things. It’s okay.”

  “I know, but Creedence Clearwater Revival?”

  He looked at her. She was wearing a torn shirt with the famous image of Johnny Cash defiantly giving the world the middle finger. “It does seem a little out of character.”

  “Well, you guys have a pretty crappy CD collection.”

  “Hey now, I’ve added a lot to it.” Mostly by donating stuff from his personal collection and soliciting donations from his favorite bands, but they didn’t need to get into that now. “Hey, we just got the new Bunny Slippers.”