On Common Ground (Harlequin Super Romance) (13 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I
CAN
’
T
BELIEVE
I
CLIPPED
you in the head with the ball,” Justin repeated after the game was over. He and Lilah and her parents were seated at a picnic table. After a quick bite, Mimi had taken off to collect Matt so that he could talk to Lilah. All afternoon, a whole pig had been roasting away on a spit in the picnic area adjoining the baseball field. Now the players, their families and friends, were clustered around outdoor tables, eating far too much meat, potato salad, baked beans and the token green salad.

Justin’s remorse was still going strong long after hitting her with the foul tip. Right after, he had rushed over and clucked over her like a mother hen until Walt had ordered him back in the batter’s box to atone for his actions.

“It’s not so bad. You didn’t get much wood on it—or should I say, metal—so it wasn’t moving that quickly,” Lilah said, gingerly touching her jaw. “Anyway, the ice worked its magic. To tell you the truth, the impact seemed to counteract exactly the whiplash from the car accident.”

“I thought you said your neck didn’t hurt?” he said, frowning.

“It didn’t—really. That was just a joke.” Kind of. “Whatever else, this incident only confirms what I always suspected—that I have a hard head—”

“Stubborn as the day is long,” her mother confirmed. This pronouncement came after she had also carefully inspected Lilah’s head and declared her fit as a fiddle.

“See, both physical and maternal corroboration,” Lilah said, trying to make him feel better.

He narrowed his eyes and studied her closely. Then his phone sounded. He quickly checked the caller ID, frowned and let it go through to voice mail. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, slipping his phone into his jeans’ pocket.

“Don’t worry about Lilah, Justin,” her father reassured him. “The important thing was you hit the game-winning home run and now you guys have The Tail.” Barbecue sauce dripped down his chin.

Daphne reached over and wiped it off. “How can you be so heartless?”

Lilah waved aside her mother’s look of outrage. “It’s all right, Mom. I know I’m still loved. I think it’s more that Dad is just getting into the whole Grantham tradition thing.”

“They’re more yours than his,” her mother countered.

“Are they? I mean, it’s not like I’m all rah-rah about my old alma mater, and I’m certainly not one of those alums who can never seem to leave the place.” Lilah caught herself. She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking about you, Justin. Really.”

She looked around to see if Mimi had returned yet.

“No, maybe you’re right,” Justin answered. “Sometimes I think it was too easy to come back and settle here. I look around the community—it’s pretty, it’s intellectually interesting because of the university and it’s safe. But maybe almost too safe, personally, I mean.”

“Justin, you came from Grantham. Your family’s here. It seems perfectly natural to settle here,” Walt interjected. “In any case, you’re doing what you love.”

“And, tell me, why should you apologize for living in a place that’s safe, beautiful and provides intellectual stimulation?” Daphne asked. “Most people would give their eye teeth to live in a place like this.”

“I know. But trust me, it’s not all sweetness and light—especially on the work front.” He shook his head. “But never mind that. Anyway, compared to Lilah, what I do seems so trivial.”

“Nonsense. Everything’s not a competition—despite what you boys think. The important thing is to do something you love. Look at Walt. He quit working in Seattle because he realized his heart was on the island,” Daphne said. “And luckily for us, he could take a buyout from Boeing.”

“How many people realistically can do something they love and live in a place that’s home?” Lilah protested.

Walt shrugged and nodded.

Justin cocked his head. “So where’s your home?” he asked Lilah. “In a village in Congo?”

Lilah frowned. “I’m not sure. A part of me will always consider Orcas Island home. It’s where I grew up, after all, and where I still love to visit.”

“It grabs you in the gut, doesn’t it, honey? You could almost never leave,” her father said, his gaze focused on a faraway place.

“
You
could almost never leave, Walt.” His wife nudged him in the ribs. “Justin’s question was to Lilah, not you.”

“So?” Justin prompted her again. “Anywhere else?”

Lilah wasn’t sure what he was fishing for, so she did what came naturally. She was honest. “I guess since I still have my place in Brooklyn and use that as my home base, I think of New York as home.”

“Oh, please, no one could think of that damp basement apartment as home! And it barely has a window,” her mother argued.

“We all have to start out somewhere. And you should be happy that now there’re bars on the windows,” Lilah countered.

“Window,” Daphne corrected.

“Okay, maybe not my apartment so much, but you gotta admit New York is amazing.” Lilah looked at her mother for affirmation.

“I don’t deny that, if you like city living, that is,” Daphne responded.

“Please, enough with the devil’s advocate.” Lilah opened her arms wide in protest—and inadvertently pushed her paper plate over the edge of the table.

Justin, seated opposite her, somehow managed to scoop it up in midair. His large fist bent the sides of the paper plate over like a taco, saving the contents.

“Wow! Lightning reflexes. Thanks.” She reached over to retrieve her plate. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand.

“Got it?” he asked, looking her straight in the eye.

Her throat tightened. She forced a gulp and nodded, then carefully set her plate on the table again.

Her mother was watching carefully.

“What did you ask me again?” She gripped her soggy paper plate with two fists.

“Home?” Justin straightened up.

She was still feeling the lingering touch of his hand like an imprint. “I guess, I guess…” She willed herself to think straight. “I guess for me home isn’t so much a specific place in terms of geography, but the feeling I get because of the people that are there. If I’m in Congo, it’s because Esther’s there.” She smiled at the memory of the celebratory dance and feast her friend had organized for her, the same day she’d gotten the phone call from Mimi about the alumni award. “Just like if I’m in Washington State, it’s because Mom and Dad are there. I still think of us as the Three Musketeers,” she said, smiling at her parents.

“All for one and one for all,” her father said triumphantly.

Lilah reflected for a second. “And now, here, even Grantham is home—because…well—” she looked around at the three people with her at the picnic table and realized that suddenly the Three Musketeers had embraced a fourth member as easy as pie, as her dad would have said. Well, maybe easy for her mom and dad…

Lilah swallowed. “Because of you all here.” She purposely left the “you” vague, but looked at her mother at her side, her father across the way—and then Justin.

“Hey, there, fellow victorious tenth reuniongoers. Look what the cat dragged in.” Mimi broke the silence as she barged in with Matt trailing behind her. She waved hello and pushed Matt forward. “C’mon, don’t be shy. You already know Lilah, and she’s eager to talk to you. And these are her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Evans.”

And like the polite young man he was, Matt made his dutiful introductions and offered firm handshakes. Then he turned to Justin. “I’m Matt Brown. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Justin.” Justin held out his hand. “Won’t you join us?” He got up, swinging one leg over the bench, and motioned for Matt to take his place. “I’ve finished eating anyway.”

Lilah reached out. A foot of air separated them. “You don’t need to leave. There’s plenty of room. We can all squeeze in.” Her eyes never left his.

“That’s okay. The call I got earlier?” He pulled out his phone. “I should really call back before it gets too late. But don’t worry. I’ll be back. I have to fulfill my duties after all as the perfect host.” He nodded.

“There’s a man who takes his work seriously,” Mimi noted mischievously as she watched him wander off to a quiet spot under a tree. She slipped in at the end of the table next to Walt.

Lilah stared at Justin as he waited with his phone to his ear, waving at a few people who called out to him. Then she saw his lips move, and he turned away from the festivities. She was curious and, she realized, more than slightly jealous—without basis, she told herself. But, still, who calls someone on a Friday night about business? And if it were personal, then who? And what did she look like?

Lilah was pondering the possibilities when a voice approached from behind. “Hey, can anyone join this gathering or is it a private confab?” a male voice asked. She looked around. “Hunt. Please, join us. We can always make room for you. Do you know everybody? My parents?” They exchanged hellos and the usual information. “And of course you already know Mimi, but I don’t know if you’ve met Matt,” she said

“No need to go any further,” Hunt said as he half sat, half straddled the end of the bench next to Daphne. “Matt’s dad and I used to run a company together before he started a nonprofit and I entered medical school.”

“I’m still trying to figure out my first career let alone start a second one,” Lilah responded not completely in jest, even though everyone laughed.

Her mother turned from Hunt on her right to Lilah on her left. “Don’t worry, dear. All of life is a series of passages.”

“Not to state the obvious, but for someone who’s still trying to figure her life out, you seemed to have done pretty well,” Hunt said with an easy charm. “Your award’s completely deserved. My congratulations.” The son of a well-to-do Grantham family, he had inherited generations of good breeding in addition to wealth—both of which he took with a grain of salt and a rare sense of humility.

“Thank you.”

“And you must be very proud,” Hunt said to her parents, who beamed. “But not to change the subject…”

“Oh, please do,” Mimi said. She reached across the picnic table and snatched a carrot stick from Lilah’s plate.

“Hey! That’s my food,” Lilah scolded.

“Complaints, complaints. Besides—” Mimi held the carrot stick vertically “—a girl can never get enough…” She eyed the taut shaft provocatively before taking a bite.

Lilah narrowed her eyes. “Let’s keep this conversation PG-rated, okay?” she murmured.

Mimi rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, it’s not as if Matt hasn’t seen or done it all already.”

Matt seemed to take a sudden interest in his cuticles.

Lilah leaned forward on her elbows. “I wasn’t talking about Matt,” she snarled softly, nodding her head in her parents’ direction.

Hunt laughed. “I’m glad to see my former partner from Miss Dunham’s Dancing School still refuses to behave properly. But the real question is, why have you chosen to foist your corrupting influence on this upright young man here, Mimi?”

“He’s about to tell Lilah all about his life’s dreams and his ambitions to save the world from famine, war and pestilence,” Mimi explained.

Matt blanched even more.

“Tell you what.” Lilah looked across the table at him and smiled, trying to reassure him after Mimi’s sarcasm. “Why don’t we start with your plans for the summer? We’ll move on to famine, war and pestilence the next go-round.”

And even though she was giving Matt her full attention, out of the corner of her eye, she managed to keep watch on Justin.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A
BOUT
AN
HOUR
LATER
,
M
ATT
WAS
on the phone to Press. “Can you believe it? Lilah said this group in the field will be helping to evaluate the effectiveness of her pilot program to distribute cell phones to village women. They want to see if it’s made a difference in terms of medical needs and emergencies and infant mortality.”

“So you’d be going over with her, then?” Press balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear while he hoisted a full garbage bag out of the bin.

“No, that’s the thing, see. The project’s supposed to start in two weeks, but she has to appear in court on some stupid traffic accident that happened here.”

“Huh?” Press wasn’t really listening as he pulled the bag shut with the built-in ties and relined the pail with another. Matt might be hobnobbing with the alums, but he was busy working his butt off at Lion Inn. He dragged the bag full of used plates and bits of nachos and cheese dip and a lot of other things he’d rather not think about.

“So, you see, she’ll have to join us later,” Matt went on. “Anyhow, now I just have to convince my parents, but Hunt was there.”

“Hunt?” Press headed through the kitchen and out the side door to the Dumpster.

“You know? My dad’s old partner? Anyway, since he knows Lilah, he says he’ll be an advocate in my corner. At which point, you wouldn’t believe it, but Lilah went into gory detail about the possible dangers involved in travel to remote areas of the country. But the idea is that if there’s even the remotest possibility of a threat, I’d stay in Kinshasa, helping at the headquarters there. And if I do go out with a traveling clinic, they always travel with bodyguards.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure your parents?” Press asked.

“Yeah, well, they’re probably gonna freak out no matter what. Lilah said she’d talk to them and explain the logistics, and that the only way I could go is with their blessing.” He talked a mile a minute.

“I said I understood that but that I wanted to handle it on my own first—to prove that I’m a responsible adult,” Matt explained. “I mean, I’ll tell them all about the safety precautions, and also explain how Lilah will arrange for all the documentation I need. And apparently I’ll never be on my own. I’ll fly over with the people from the medical organization, and then she’ll join us when she’s through here. Which is a bit much. You’d think I was some kind of baby. After all, I’ve been outside the country—with Dad and Katarina to Scotland after high school graduation.”

“Yeah, that was lucky.” He smelled his hands before reluctantly grabbing the phone off his shoulder.

“And get this. Lilah said she’s prepared to pay for my airfare out of her budget. Is that great, or what?”

“Great.” Press tried to sound enthusiastic. He waited in the driveway while the delivery truck from the liquor distributor backed in.

“So, I really need to talk this over with my folks. But then I promise that I’ll be over as soon as possible.” Matt’s excitement traveled over the phone lines.

Press waved the truck back, then held up his hands to stop it. He moved to the rear of it. “Don’t worry,” he replied into the phone. “I can handle things here. You’re going to have your hands full anyway getting your dad to let you go to a war zone. I can’t wait to hear how you manage that one. Knowing you, this will be the first he’s heard about your plans.”

“If I can get Katarina on my side, I know he’ll go for it,” Matt said.

“Divide and conquer.” If he proposed something similar to his father, Press doubted his old man would care one whit. He’d be more concerned that he wasn’t hanging around with high-flying investment types. Witness his lack of interest in the prestigious internship he’d won at the Museum of Natural History in New York. “Well, I suppose that means you won’t be
that
far from the Grantham Club of Manhattan,” he’d said between puffs on his cigar as Press stood at attention in his father’s study. “Still, I don’t know why you didn’t consider an internship at the bank instead. It’s so much more…”

“Acceptable? Like you would have done?” Press had finished for him.

Press narrowed his eyes, irritated even now after the fact.

The burly truck driver slammed shut the door of the cab and approached Press with a clipboard. “Hey, kid, you the one to sign for this delivery?”

Press nodded. “Listen, I gotta go,” he said to Matt. “Things are starting to heat up here. But don’t worry, for tomorrow night’s shift I’m going to let you pick up most of the slack. You got it?” He ended the call and grabbed the clipboard. “Give it here. The natives are restless.”

Together, he and the deliveryman wrestled the extra kegs down the short flight of side steps into the cooler that adjoined the downstairs taproom. When they finished, Press was sweating bullets.

“Yo, boy, more libations are in order,” a loud voice called from the dark barroom area. “You call this a taproom, when all involved can see the tap is dry.”

More laughter erupted. Despite the hearty guffaws and mega decibel chatter fueled by alcohol and bonhomie, Press identified the distinctive lockjaw accent. He took a deep breath and, tucking in the back of his Lion Inn polo shirt, headed out to the taproom.

“Coming.” He hustled over to the deep rich mahogany bar and flipped up the hinged end to reach the other side. With a few long strides he stationed himself behind the taps. “Did someone say we’re out already?” he inquired with a good-natured smile. “Let me just check it out.” He added a wink as he reached for a clean plastic cup and pulled down the lever. He had just switched the kegs, so he figured it was more someone’s inability to work the tap than a question of needing a new one.

“You doubt my word?” the same voice intoned. A large empty mug, the kind that the older alums still saved from their undergraduate days, was pushed into Press’s face.

“Here, let me oblige.” Press reached for the pewter mug.

And came face-to-face with his father.

Press wet his lips and didn’t say anything as he abandoned the plastic cup and took the empty vessel. He placed it under the tap. Only a sputter of beer came out. “Must be a problem with the line. I’ll have it fixed in no time,” he said all eager-beaver-like.

Another middle-aged man, his face florid, and his orange-and-black reunion blazer looking the worse for wear, elbowed his way next to Press’s father. “What’s up, Conrad? Can’t get any satisfaction from the young man, heh?” he joked. “That’s the problem with the help these days. They just don’t know how to do things right. I blame it all on the mamby-pamby educational system.”

Conrad stared Press straight in the eye. “Would you agree?”

Press smiled broadly. “I’d look at his father.”

“
L
ILAH
,
SWEETHEART
, I
THINK
your mother and I are going to have to call it an evening. It’s been a long day of traveling.” Her father rose from the picnic table and patted his stomach, noticeably fuller after two helpings of baked beans and the make-your-own sundaes. Then he placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Right, Mama?”

She beamed up at him. “No one can top your love of maraschino cherries, that’s for sure, Walt,” Daphne said. She patted his hand.

The sun was setting as the crowd began to disperse. A cranky baby hiccupped sobs, letting the world know how tired it was, and the children dragged on the arms of their parents.

“I understand.” Lilah nodded. “And, really, I can’t thank you enough for making the trek all the way out here.”

“Our pleasure. Besides, we want to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow—with The Parade in the morning and then the big award ceremony,” her mother added.

“Do you think you’ll actually get a medal that you can wear around your neck?” Walt asked.

“Somehow I pictured something resembling a bowling trophy. Something flashy that requires a small backhoe or a contingent of large men to carry around.” Mimi stood next to the table, nursing the last of her beer. She had already driven Matt back home, and had returned to party away the night with Lilah and company.

Walt erupted in laughter and Daphne shook her head.

“You’re incorrigible, dear.” Daphne rose, moaning softly at the stiffness in her legs as she disentangled herself from the picnic bench. “Ach, my knees.” She kissed Mimi on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re around to keep Lilah from getting too serious.”

Daphne turned to her daughter. She had a twinkle in her eyes, but there was a serious set to her mouth. “You will take care, won’t you? Relax and enjoy yourself every once in a while.”

“Mom, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself,” Lilah countered.

“You’ll always be my daughter and I’ll always be your mother.”

Lilah stuck her tongue against the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something. She pressed her hands on the table and hoisted herself up. Her mother wasn’t the only one aching.

“Don’t complain. You have a mother,” Mimi leaned over and whispered.

“Justin, oh, Justin,” Daphne called out. Justin was engrossed in a conversation with their team manager, who was just about to leave, too. He held a toddler over each shoulder. Both were limp from exhaustion and liberally splotched with food and orange soda.

Justin must have heard Daphne’s cry because he looked around and held up his hand. He said a few more words to the manager before offering a quick goodbye. Proudly sporting The Tail cap, the manager saluted him. “It was better than closing a copper deal in Argentina.”

Justin jogged back and joined the group. He rubbed his hands together with relish. “So are we all ready to hit Lion Inn? I have to hold up my reputation as a party animal even if it kills me—and all of you combined.”

“Unfortunately, my mom and dad have decided to pack it in. It’s been a long day, especially after the flight and all,” Lilah explained.

“You’ll be missed, but it’s understandable. I’ll just grab my car and give you a ride back to my parents’ place.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Daphne replied with a wave. “Walt and I like to take a stroll after dinner every evening anyway. We usually take a walk along the beach and watch the otters play.”

“Helps with the digestion,” Walt explained and looked around to make sure they had everything. He put Daphne’s quilted shoulder bag in the crook of his arm like a seasoned husband, oblivious to the contrast of the flowery print to his rugged physique. He bent down to kiss his daughter good-night. “Take care of her, Justin,” he added as he straightened up. He gave the order with a tongue-in-cheek inflection—or as much as a father of an only daughter can be casual about these matters.

“She’s in good hands,” Justin assured him.

Lilah wondered if he meant that literally. As she worried her bottom lip, she watched her parents walk away arm in arm, her still-handsome father looming over her diminutive but sturdy mother. Despite the size difference, their strides somehow matched.

“Aw, they look so cute,” Mimi mugged. “Like Ren and Stimpy.”

Lilah disagreed. “No, that’s love, real love.”

“Stop, before you make me blush.” Mimi patted her cheek.

Lilah looked at her sideways. “You are physically incapable of blushing.” Then she turned to Justin. “So, it’s up to Mimi and me to see you preserve your reputation, then?”

Mimi held up her hand. “Hold on just a second…my phone’s vibrating. I’ve been waiting to hear from my producer, so give me a minute.” She stepped to the side.

Justin and Lilah stood there. First they were silent as they tried not to stare as Mimi furiously worked her phone.

Then Justin cleared his throat. “So you feel okay? Up to going out?”

“Oh, fine, fine.” She twisted her neck all around. “No lasting stiffness.” Then she felt her head. “And I don’t feel anything where the ball dinged me.”

“You sure?” He lifted his arm and touched her head as if to make certain.

She closed her eyes. The feel of his fingers rubbing over her scalp was hypnotic. “To tell you the truth, you do that much longer and I won’t be sure of anything.” She let her head fall back to rest on his hand.

“Okay.” That was Mimi.

Lilah snapped her head up.

Justin dropped his hand to his side.

Mimi blurted, “It looks like I’m going to have to call it a night.”

Lilah felt a moment of panic. That would mean she and Justin would be alone, which is what she wanted, but still…

“Problem at work?”

“No, problem at home. Noreen, of all people, needs me.” Mimi put her hand to her chest in disbelief. “I mean, doesn’t she realize I have a life of my own? Still, I guess when family—even mine—calls… So, I’ll catch up with you tomorrow for The Parade, okay?”

“You better,” Lilah warned her. “I have this recurring nightmare that I’ll be the only one wearing the class costume tomorrow,” she confessed.

Mimi laughed and fished her car keys out of her pocket. “Aw, c’mon. It’s absolutely mandatory that we all make total fools of ourselves. That’s what’s called class solidarity.”