On Common Ground (Harlequin Super Romance) (10 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

M
IMI
STUMBLED
INTO
the kitchen and instinctively made a beeline for the coffeemaker, a gleaming stainless-steel automatic espresso machine. She pushed back her bangs and tucked away a lock of hair—some mysterious foreign substance was sticking together a few strands—and placed a coffee cup on the tray and pressed the button. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, anticipating the rumble of grinding gears and the narcotic aroma of freshly ground beans.

A mechanical whirring came to life—then stopped prematurely.

Mimi opened her eyes and focused on the machine. A red light was illuminated. “Crap.” She grabbed the edge of the counter and stared at the dials.

“It helps if you add water.” A smarty-pants voice sounded behind her.

Mimi swiveled to face the source of sarcasm. She raised one eyebrow. Seated at the kitchen island were her half brother and his little sidekick. It looked like they were munching away on sandwiches or something flat that fitted on small plates. “If you’re such an expert, how come you didn’t already fill it yourself?”

Press put down a grilled cheese sandwich and hopped off the stool he’d been sitting on. He stopped next to her and lifted out an empty plastic box from the back of the coffeemaker. “Some of us don’t need to fill the water up because we’ve been up for hours and no longer feel the urge to caffeinate.” He dramatically arched one brow.

Mimi stared at him and realized that he had the same mannerisms as she, not to mention the same dark eyebrows. Disconcerted, she raised her arm and squinted at the ancient Rolex that had belonged to her late mother. She held the watch as close as possible since she hadn’t yet put in her contact lenses. “Three in the afternoon?” she screamed.

“That’s what comes from polishing off a whole bottle of gin.”

“I didn’t polish off a whole bottle of gin. I seem to recall Lilah doing a little drinking, too,” Mimi argued petulantly.

“Yeah, but after we’d taken her to campus and returned home, you seemed deep into a bottle of Frangelico.” He walked to the sink.

“Frangelico? Are you kidding me? My lips would never touch such sickeningly sweet stuff.” She shivered in distaste.

“I beg to differ.” As the water filled up the container for the coffee machine, he pointed to the sink.

She padded over in her bare feet and looked into the giant stainless-steel trough. A pig could have bathed in it—two pigs even, she thought. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a pig—or two—in it now, rather, a telltale brown bottle with an ornate calligraphic label. No wonder she tasted sawdust and felt poison darts piercing her sinuses.

She tilted back her head and decided to brazen it out. “Just because there’s an empty bottle, doesn’t mean I left it there,” she protested, looking down her nose at him, which, frankly, wasn’t so easy given that he now towered over her, a healthy boy-man’s body reaching somewhere in the six-foot-two range.

“You didn’t. You left it on the patio next to the pool. Noreen picked up after you. She didn’t want someone tripping over it and having it break, leaving shards of glass everywhere.” He didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by her haughtiness. Instead, he moseyed back to the coffeemaker, his stretched-out boating shoes scuffing along the floor, and stuck the beaker of water in its appropriate place. Then he pushed the button and the coffeemaker sprang to life.

Mimi would have skipped with glee if she were at all capable—which she wasn’t. Instead, she tossed her hair—a mistake, since it sent her mind reeling. “It’s so nice that Noreen feels the urge to pick up after me. I mean, she was never
my
nanny.”

Press passed her the filled coffee mug. “Why are you so mean to Noreen? She never did anything to hurt you.”

“It’s complicated.” She took a large gulp. The hot liquid scalded her tongue.

He shrugged. “What isn’t? You’re not the only one whose mother was dumped in this family.”

But yours didn’t commit suicide,
Mimi thought but didn’t voice out loud. Instead, she turned to her usual attack mode. “So I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Is that what you’re getting at? Well, I’ve got news for you. Lilah’s women in Congo? The ones who risk rape and dismemberment? Those are the people I feel sorry for, not rich preppy boys whose biggest worry is whether their BMWs have gas or not.” She was coming on overly strong, but something about being back in Grantham and the family home rekindled all the stuff that she didn’t want to deal with.

“Hey, there’s no need to get all bitchy with me,” Press shot back. “Anyway, I thought I was the one family member you tolerated?”

She sighed. “You are. Sorry, I’m not being fair.” She took another gulp of coffee. “That still doesn’t mean that I have to act like Miss Congeniality, mind you. That would be too much of a stretch.” She waved the empty coffee cup in front of his nose—even stopped to show Matt—before marching over to the dishwasher and putting it in. “Voilà! Please to notice. Noreen doesn’t have to clean up after me.”

“I’m sure that makes the poor women in Congo feel better, too,” Press snapped back. He shared more than his dark eyebrows with his half-sister.

From out of the corner of her eye she could see a hand waving. “I think your buddy Matt needs something,” she said to her brother without bothering to turn. She always was good with names—drunk, sober or hungover.

Press shook his head and turned toward his friend. “What’s up? You still hungry?”

Matt dropped his hand. “No, I’m fine, really. I couldn’t stuff another thing in.” He patted his concave stomach.

Oh, to have the metabolism of a teenage boy,
Mimi thought ruefully.

Matt leaned toward Press. “Remember—you know—what we talked about earlier?” He ended his words with a nod, another nod, and then a chin waggle.

Press opened his mouth and then a second later pointed his thumb up. “Oh, yeah, that.”

Mimi fluttered her hand toward the direction of the pool house and took a few steps. “You know, maybe this is my cue to do something along the lines of having a shower?”

“Hold up,” Press called out. “I need you for something.”

She stopped. “Perhaps my wisdom?” she asked sarcastically. Yet something inside her actually meant what she said. Not that she was about to admit that she wanted—or needed—to be of help to her family. But Press was right. He
was
the only member of the family she tolerated, more than tolerated.
Love
was maybe putting too strong a slant on it, but
like
was definitely true.

“Actually, it’s a favor—for Matt.” Press glanced back at his friend. “Go on. Ask her.”

Mimi blinked brightly. “Ask me what?”

Matt stood, shuffling in one place and fidgeting with his empty plate. “If it’s not too much trouble… About the women in Congo and Lilah’s work—”

“I’m always happy to talk about Lilah’s work,” she replied and walked over closer. A just cause. Work. These were topics she was comfortable with.

Matt gulped and then looked up and focused directly on her. “I’m majoring in politics with a particular interest in international affairs, especially Africa.”

“Then Lilah is the perfect person to talk to,” she responded.

“In fact, I was interested in more than talking to her. What I mean is, I was wondering if she ever took on summer interns?”

“I’m not sure. She runs a pretty lean budget.”

Matt shook his head quickly. “I wouldn’t expect to be paid. I mean, I worked in the Admissions Office at Yale all during the school year, so I have enough money to live on. It’s just, I was wondering if maybe…if it’s not too much trouble, you could mention to her that I’d like to talk about the possibility of an internship—or really, if that’s out of the question, just talk in general,” he ended hastily.

Mimi digested his words and smiled at his nervous enthusiasm. She hesitated, realizing she was not naturally generous and deciding she would make amends. She raised her arms. “Sure, why not? I know she’s passionate about what she does, and, believe me, she could definitely use an extra set of hands.”

Mimi could see that Matt was so excited that he was practically jumping up and down on his toes. “Listen, I’m supposed to meet Lilah and her dad for dinner tonight. I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t, say, join us for dessert.”

“Talking to her over dessert would be incredible.” Then he stopped. “Crap. The timing’s not going to work out. I’m supposed to work with Press tonight.” Matt scowled.

Press waved his hand. “No problem. I’ll cover for you.”

Matt lifted his chin. “You’re sure? You can have my paycheck for the night, of course.”

“Don’t even go there. I promise you’ll pick up the slack tomorrow and Sunday. Besides, how much work can it be hauling beer kegs in and out?”

“At Reunions?” Mimi asked with a jaundiced look. “Well, that’s your problem, I guess. Meanwhile, let me call Lilah.” Mimi automatically reached for her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. Only then did she realize she was still wearing the flannel bottoms and T-shirt that she’d slept in. She shook her head. “My phone’s in the pool house. I’ll have to call her later. But in any case, I’m sure it will be fine. Listen, here’s my number. You can text me now, and that way I’ll have your contact information. And while you’re at it, shoot me a résumé, too.” She rattled off the numbers—not bothering to stop even when she heard the back door opening behind her.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A
SUBPOENA
.

Lilah frowned at the rectangular form. The handwriting filling in the boxes on the duplicate copy was barely discernable. “I don’t get it. What’s this all about?”

“You need to show up to court,” the young policeman said brusquely, pointing to the heavyweight piece of paper in her hand.

“But I was the one who was rear-ended. How come I have to appear?” Lilah protested. So much for the calm demeanor. It had been a long day.

The cop frowned, glanced at his partner who was still in the police car, then turned back to Lilah. “Hold on. I’ll go check.”

Lilah rubbed her forehead. This could not be happening. She was the innocent party. So why did she have to appear before a judge? She eyed the cop on his way over to Lilah’s car. He was pigeon-toed, she noticed, a pigeon-toed tough guy. Not a pretty combination.

The cop placed his hand on his hip—near his gun, Lilah couldn’t help noticing—and leaned over her open door. “Since the woman in the other vehicle called for an ambulance before we got here, you have to come to court.”

Which didn’t make any sense at all. Lilah shook her head. “I’ve never heard of such a ridiculous thing. I don’t even live in Grantham. I’ve got a business to run, commitments. The case is cut-and-dried. They hit me and now I’m supposed to show up on…on…” She glanced down at the ticket and tried to make out the writing. “On June…June 29? But that’s almost three weeks away. I’m scheduled to be in Congo two days before that. I’ve got my flight already booked.”

“You’ll just have to make other plans, then.”

“I’m supposed to tell women in a war zone that they’ll have to wait while I go to traffic court for an offense I didn’t even commit?” Her voice cracked.

“We all have to make sacrifices. Are you questioning my authority?” The policeman leaned in closer.

Lilah’s focus flickered on his gun before she stared at him. “Not at all, Officer,” she said in as pleasant a voice as possible. “Just the absurdity of the situation.”

She saw him frown at her words. “I guess it’s like Camus said. At any street corner—or piece of Route 206, in this instance—the feeling of absurdity can strike any man, or woman, in the face,” she attempted to explain with a smile.

If anything, he frowned more.

Lilah had a very bad feeling about her court date.

“
W
HY
AM
I
NOT
SURPRISED
to find you two boys here?” Noreen announced her entrance into the kitchen with a cheerful hello. “There’s also a mango cheesecake in the refrigerator that I made last night. I know it’s your favorite, Press.” She whisked her way to the center island where she deposited her BlackBerry and a hefty set of keys next to the ever-present fruit bowl.

“I won’t say no,” Press replied and eagerly hustled to the refrigerator. “I don’t care if you’re not hungry. You’ve got to taste this, Matt. It’s amazing.”

Noreen beamed. “Use the larger dessert plates—the Italian ones. I don’t want you to shortchange yourselves.” Then she pivoted neatly on her cross trainers and beheld Mimi. “There’s more than enough if you want some, too. I’m so delighted that you decided to stay with us for a few days, even with all this construction. Right now they’re working on the new guest bedroom, and the dust and noise is almost intolerable.” On cue, a power saw whirred into action and a staple gun beat out a steady tattoo.

Mimi growled deep within her throat. “I’m staying here because this is
my
house, too.”

“Of course.” Noreen bit her bottom lip. “If I may be candid…?”

Mimi nodded but still managed to frown.

“It’s just that I know you haven’t always felt entirely comfortable staying here, but I’m hoping that will change.” She whipped off her tight-fitting warm-up jacket, revealing a turquoise tank top with built-in bra, and started fanning herself. “I don’t know if it’s perimenopause or just the aftereffects of the workout, but I am sweating up a storm.” She rolled her
r’
s lightly.

Noreen’s version of sweating appeared to be a dewy glow, Mimi thought. No unattractive wet circles under the armpits for her. And what was particularly annoying, seeing as Noreen appeared to be coming from the gym—
The gym! Who had time to go to the gym?
—was that she looked as neat as a pin. The scrunchie anchoring her ponytail still gripped each hair precisely in place, setting off the diamond studs in her ears to perfection. Two carats, at least.

“You work out?” Mimi asked, not really caring but still retaining the vestiges of good manners that her mother had emphasized so much.

“Yeah. I take Zumba classes three times a week.”

Mimi didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about.

Noreen got up. “Let me just get some water.”

To Mimi’s irritation, she didn’t grab some plastic bottle of designer water from the fridge, but instead cupped her hands under the sink and drank right from the faucet.

“Don’t forget to put your dishes in the sink when you’re done.” Noreen looked over at Press and Matt. The two were gobbling down two humongous pieces of cheesecake.

“This is amazing, Mrs. Lodge,” Matt said between bites.

“It’s Press’s favorite. He fell in love with it when the family took a trip to Australia. I did an internet search and found a couple of recipes, which I combined to make this one. I think it came out nicely.” She eyed Press.

He swallowed and nodded. “As good as the one we had at the teahouse outside Kakadu,” he said, referring to the national park in the Northern Territory that was pure Crocodile Dundee country.

Mimi sniffed. This was the first she’d heard about any family trip to Australia. Not that her schedule—or her inclination—would have allowed her to join in.

Noreen seemed to sense her discomfort. “I’m sorry you couldn’t come with us. It was our honeymoon, and over Conrad’s objections, I insisted that it had to be a family affair. You unfortunately couldn’t make the wedding, and I assumed the honeymoon was out of the question, too. In retrospect, I’m sorry if I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

Mimi remembered that she’d thrown away the engraved invitation on sight. “I was in Iraq at the time, as I recall. I didn’t have time for fun and games.”

Press looked up. “You don’t need to be so damn snotty about it.”

“Language, Press.” Noreen gave him a schoolteacher’s glare.

“Sorry. So darn snotty,” he corrected.

“And lose the attitude or you can kiss that cake goodbye,” Noreen chastised, wiping her wet hands on the sides of her black leggings.

The woman lacked love handles and any sign of cellulite, as far as Mimi could tell. She didn’t even have those turkey-waddle upper arms that Mimi was starting to detect in herself. That was all pretty awe inspiring, not to mention the fact that she was the first person she had ever heard reprimand her half brother, or “Prince Press,” as she sometimes thought of him.

Noreen faced Mimi again. “Your absence was noticed, but, between you and me, there were
more
than enough toasts to go around. Besides, you know the old Irish saying?”

“Which one is that?”

“That the Irish don’t want anyone to wish them well. They want everyone to wish their enemies ill instead.” She laughed. “Besides, what you were doing is so much more important. I can’t imagine the courage it takes to be a combat reporter.”

Mimi blinked. Maybe it was time she actually got to know Noreen?

“Actually, speaking of courage, I think it would be a fabulous idea to get together with your friend Lilah again. I want to hear so much more about what she does and discuss some ideas I have.”

So much for her brush with glory, Mimi thought. Still, she was grown-up enough not to pout. “You can join the line. Matt here is first. But, you know, if you need to talk about Africa, th—”

The noise of multiple staple guns grew suddenly louder, preventing any reasonable conversation.

Noreen leaned toward her. She put her hand to her ear in frustration.

“What I was trying to say,” Mimi shouted, “is there’s always me.”

By the time she’d hurled out the last word, the construction noise had stopped.

Followed almost immediately by the sound of footsteps drawing to a halt behind her.

“Strange. When have I heard those self-centered words before?” a critical male voice inquired.

Mimi’s jaw dropped open. She turned slowly, and raised her chin defiantly. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said without the slightest hint of joy.

“Are you implying I shouldn’t be here?” said the distinguished-looking man. With a full head of slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair and a pinstripe suit to match, he balanced his leather briefcase on one of the stools by the island. “When last I checked, the property tax bill was made out to me,” he replied, compressing his nostrils against his aquiline nose.

Press grabbed Matt’s empty plate and rose. “Time we headed out. Tony will be waiting for us.”

Mimi narrowed her eyes. “Coward,” she grumbled softly as the two scampered out the door. Then she looked at the man she’d spent the better part of twenty years trying to avoid—those twenty following the first ten of absolute childhood adoration.

She studied him, refusing to give an inch. Did he look older than she remembered him? A little thickening around the waist? His eyes more deep-set and not quite so clear? A few broken capillaries in the skin on his cheeks?

She wanted him to be weak. Vengeful as she was, she might have even hoped to see signs of some debilitating condition. And she yearned to be able to say, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” But except for the expected signs of middle age, he looked as fit and imposing as always. Which was unfair, totally unfair.

She stood, shoulders back. “Just because you pay the bills, doesn’t mean you’ve ever lived here, Father,” Mimi said and stormed out of the kitchen.