On Common Ground (Harlequin Super Romance) (5 page)

CHAPTER SIX

“L
ILAH
E
VAN
AS
IN
S
ISTERS
for Sisters Lilah Evans?” Matt asked.

“I don’t know about this Sisters thing, but I guess so. I didn’t know she was such a big deal. I mean, Mimi said something about her getting some alumni award, but I figured it was because she gave big bucks to Grantham.” Press shifted the large bag of food to one arm and fished the car keys out of his jeans. His dad had given him his old BMW convertible when he graduated from high school. He’d left the keys with a card that his secretary had written.

“I don’t think it was for giving money, dude,” Matt said. “She came and gave a talk at Yale last fall at the Political Union. She founded this group that helps women in Congo. You know about the civil war going on there, right?”

“Sorry. If it happened after the Mesozoic era, I’m pretty ignorant,” Press answered. He stepped off the curb, and like most students, didn’t bother to look either way before heading out into traffic. A Lexus SUV screeched to a halt and let him cross. “C’mon, the smell of all this food is reminding me just how starved I am. Let’s head home.”

Matt chugged along beside, holding his can at his side. “Why I’m even friends with such an ignoramus is beyond me.”

“It’s so you have someone to freely lecture.” He beeped open the car and settled the bag in the backseat.

Matt got in the front passenger seat, and before he even put his seat belt on, twisted around and fished out a take-out container of French fries. “So you’re telling me you don’t want to hear all about the warring factions and about how everyone—
and
his little brother—is trying to get ahold of the diamonds and gold and other metals in the country?”

Press started up the car. “Not really.” He grabbed a French fry. “Hey, crack your window, would you? The smell of this stuff stays around for days otherwise.”

Matt shook his head, but turned to press the window lever. “How you can worry about the smell in your car when millions are being killed is beyond me, and believe me, it’s mostly women who are being brutalized. And besides, didn’t your mother give you Febreze when you went off to college?”

Press slanted him a skeptical look. “My mother?”

“You’re right. What was I thinking? Maybe you could give her some to use with all her tennis shoes? A handy travel size for her sports bag?”

Press didn’t bother to laugh as he pulled out of the parking lot and into Main Street. Some people, like Matt, had good parents and some people didn’t. It was less painful to discuss the state of world politics. “So where does Lilah Evans fit into the whole scenario?”

And naturally Matt was off and running, summarizing Lilah’s work.

Press stopped at the traffic light on the corner of Adams Road. The university library was on the left and the town’s only movie theater on the right. He recognized some friends from school and honked the horn. Then he glanced over at Matt. “Well, I’m glad someone thinks she can save the world. And I have even greater respect for her because given all the culinary delights possible in our fair city, she had the wisdom to choose Hoagie Palace.”

“Laugh all you want. I’d give anything to ask her about an internship.” Matt took a swig of his drink.

“But I thought you said the name of her organization was something like Sisters for Sisters? Is having a sex change operation part of the price to pay for an internship?” He made the remainder of the lights on Main Street, and they passed without incident through the center of town.

Matt rolled his eyes. “It’d almost be worth it, but I’m not sure Babi˘cka would approve,” he said, referring to his great-grandmother, who lived in town.

“Not to mention your dad and Katarina,” Press said, slowing down the car, just barely, to pass over the speed bumps.

“Yeah, my dad,” Matt grumbled. “He’s giving me so much grief about not having a job yet this summer that I’m almost thinking of moving in with Babi˘cka,” he said.

Press knew that Matt’s childhood hadn’t been the easiest, what with his single mother dying of breast cancer when he was still in high school and only discovering who his dad was at the reading of her will. The truth of the matter was it had come as a shock to Matt’s father, as well. The two had butted heads early on, but the relationship had smoothed out pretty well thanks in large part to Katarina, his stepmom, and Katarina’s grandmother. Babi˘cka’s baking also played a major role, in Press’s opinion.

“You don’t think your great-grandmother would have any cookies on hand, do you?”

Matt took another sip. “Maybe later. For now I really want to get this food to your house before it gets cold.”

“If I didn’t know you to be this bleeding heart do-gooder, I’d say you just want a summer job with this Evans woman so you can get your parents off your back and pad your résumé.”

“Okay, Mr. Professional Cynic, you’re so worldly. How do you think it’ll go down if I introduce myself to Lilah Evans on bended knee with her hoagie in hand—” Matt made the appropriate gestures, spraying some of his drink in the process “—all the while running through my stellar freshman-year grades, my majoring in political science with a concentration in foreign affairs, and that I have a fantastic way to broaden the appeal of her outstanding organization by expanding her concept to Sisters
and
Brothers for Sisters.”

“I think I need another French fry.”

Matt growled.

“One thing. The ‘bended knee’ bit?”

“Yeah?” Matt asked hopefully as Press pulled into the driveway to his dad’s house.

“Definitely use it. No matter what women say, they’re suckers for the big, romantic gesture. Just hold on to something while you do it. Knowing you, you’ll fall flat on your face otherwise, and we need you in one piece if you’re going to save the world.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

L
ILAH
FELT
SOMEONE
KICK
her foot. Half-asleep, she decided to ignore it, and let her foot flop over the edge of the chaise longue and stay there.

Next came a shaking of her shoulder. She groaned and scrunched her eyes more tightly shut.

Then someone had the nerve to blow in her ear—hard.

This time, Lilah yelped and practically bounced off the chair.

Mimi turned to Press and Matt. “Works every time,” she said triumphantly. “She’s awake now, trust me. What can I say? Two drinks, and she’s out like a light.”

Press turned to Matt. “I wouldn’t worry about the bended knee. Probably the two-armed boost-up would be more effective in this case.” He rested the bag of food on the patio table.

Lilah opened one eye. “I’m not that far gone that I need help getting up. And it’s not the alcohol. It’s the jet lag that leveled me.” She hoisted herself to an upright position and rubbed her eyes, daring to open both in narrow slits. “Are these two Wise Men bearing gifts?”

“I don’t know how wise they are, but that’s my half brother, Press, and his friend whose name I don’t remember—”

“Matt.”

“And Matt, apparently, who’ve brought your hoagie and fries.”

Lilah made some noise.

“Is that a sound of joy or disgust?” Mimi asked.

Lilah yawned. “Neither. I’m afraid I’m too tired to eat anything.” She shook her head and studied Press and Matt with only the barest of insight. “I may be wrong, but you both seem to be growing boys. I’m sure you can figure out what to do with my share of the food.” She rose, a little wobbly on her feet. “I don’t mean to break up the party, but if it’s not too much trouble, I’d really appreciate it if someone could drive me to campus.”

Mimi crossed her arms. “What a party pooper. Here you force me to come back to Grantham and attend Reunions and act as your bodyguard, and what do you do but crap out on the first night. Is that fair?” She pouted.

Lilah pushed her bangs out of her eyes and felt the back of her head, realizing that her barrette had fallen out. She searched around her chair, then ducking her head underneath, she responded, “There will be other nights, I promise.” She righted herself, barrette in hand. “Tomorrow night, in fact. That’s when my dad comes in. You’re having dinner with us, remember?” She frowned as she looked around the patio. “I wonder where I left my backpack? It’s got all the information about where I’m staying on campus.”

“Where were you besides here? If you were making drinks, maybe the kitchen?” Matt suggested.

“Clever boy. Why don’t you hustle on in there and see if you can find it?” Mimi said. Matt did as he was told.

Press breathed in slowly. “Do you have to be so imperious? I know you think coming back here is a real effort on your part, but how about toning it down a notch where my friend is concerned?”

Mimi rolled her eyes. “Mr. Sensitivity. But all right. I promise to act nice.”

Lilah winced. Even in her half-awake, mildly inebriated state, she recognized the bitter undertones. Mimi’s dysfunctional family had always seemed amusing from afar, and her renditions of the latest family gossip were always bitingly witty. But up close, what had seemed amusing now just appeared mean.

Still, she didn’t want to think badly of her friend—her only old friend, for that matter. But that didn’t mean that Lilah was ignorant of Mimi’s shortcomings.

She heard the sound of the screen door from the kitchen banging shut, and she knew relief was in sight. “Great, my stuff. You’re a lifesaver…ah…what is your name again?”

“Matt,” he said enthusiastically and placed Lilah’s backpack on the table next to the food. His thin shoulders noticeably straightened up when he was relieved of the weight. “And can I tell you what an honor it is to meet you. I’ve read all about your work. You’re so inspiring.”

Lilah offered a trembling smile. “Thank you. I don’t feel very inspiring at the moment, but it’s nice to hear that people your age are still interested in social causes.”

“Oh, he’s interested all right,” Press added. He looked at his friend, who was eyeing him with embarrassment. Then he leaned closer and whispered, “Are you going to ask her about a job, or what?”

“Not now, dude. She’s half-asleep,” Matt said out of the side of his mouth.

Lilah was vaguely aware of their conversation, but she needed all of her concentration just to unzip an outside pocket. “Finally.”

She slipped out a legal-size envelope and sifted through the contents. “Somewhere in here should be directions.” She pushed aside a map of the university campus and her name tag and unfolded a sheaf of bright orange papers. She squinted at the pages. “Did they have to use such a tiny font?” She held the paper closer to her nose, then tried backing it away. “This is hopeless. I’ll have to dig out my reading glasses.” She rifled through a side pocket.

“If you want, I can read it for you?” Matt suggested eagerly.

Lilah studied him. He seemed a nice, polite boy.
What was his name again?
“How good are you at deciphering mouse-type?” She handed over the piece of paper.

Matt eagerly skimmed over the information. “Let’s see, it’s got your schedule here.”

“I’ll deal with that tomorrow,” Lilah interrupted. “Just go to the part where it tells me which dorm I’m staying in.”

Matt nodded and flipped to the second page. “It says here that you’re staying in Griswold College.”

“That’s my college,” Press explained. Grantham grouped dorms around quadrangles and referred to these larger units as residential colleges. “No air-conditioning, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay. She wouldn’t know what to do with AC,” Mimi said. “Forget the name of the college. Just tell her which dorm.”

“It says here,” Matt read on, “that you’re in Bayard Hall, room 421.” He looked up.

Lilah blinked once. “Could you repeat that again?”

Matt reread the location.

Mimi looked at Lilah. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because that was where Stephen and Justin lived senior year. They’ve gone and put me up in their old suite,” Lilah squeaked.

Mimi whistled.

Press and Matt looked at each other, obviously unsure of the importance of the information.

“Is that kismet or what?” Mimi asked.

Lilah was still shaking her head. “The question is, is it good fate or bad or what?” She pursed her lips. “You know, maybe I will have that hoagie, after all.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
FTER
DIALING
THE
PHONE
the next morning, Justin switched it to speaker mode so he could look in the mirror to check to see if his tie was straight. The noise of the dial tone permeated the sunny one-bedroom apartment. It was early enough—around eight on a Friday morning—so the sound of commuting traffic was still at a minimum.

Justin lived in a large clapboard Victorian with a wraparound front porch, which in its original state had housed a single upper-middle-class family and their devoted household servant. All very Andy Hardy with Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland ready to put on a show in the barn. Now the house was broken up into three separate apartments, one on each floor, with Justin occupying the top floor. And the “barn” out back held his vintage sports car, a Toyota Prius from the first-floor tenant—an assistant professor in the chemical engineering department—and an artificial Christmas tree of unknown ownership.

The best thing about the place in Justin’s view—besides all the light and the relatively modest rent—was the fact that it was located directly downtown in Grantham, a stone’s throw from the cemetery, where he could stroll among the burial plots of Revolutionary War heroes and former U.S. Presidents, and across the street from the public library.

Justin realized all too well the irony of this last convenience since any place with books had once been a source of frustration and embarrassment during his childhood. Now, however, he could think of nothing better than heading out on a Saturday morning, first to get coffee at Bean World, Grantham’s ever-so-chic coffeehouse, before heading to the library to scout out the bestsellers and laze away a few hours reading magazines and newspapers from all over the world.

Justin stared in the mirror and gave his half Windsor knot a tug to the right. He rarely wore a tie, so it took a few tries to get it right. It was important to look properly attired for the luncheon. The university president would be there, after all.

And so would Lilah.

Truth be told, the reason he had debated wearing a blue shirt or a white shirt with his blazer and gray trousers—he’d finally gone with white—was because he wanted to look good, not just proper—good. For Lilah. Even though he was still trying to figure out who
this
Lilah was.

The Lilah he had remembered from college had been serious about her studies and what she thought was important, but she’d also been bubbly—quick to laugh—an effervescent personality. The new Lilah, the one he had picked up from the airport yesterday, seemed older, wiser. Well, they were both older and hopefully wiser, he thought. And she was probably exhausted from the long flight and the killer schedule she put herself through. And if she lacked the kind of cuddly, rounded body she once had, who was he—a man, after all—to complain about how she’d been transformed into this fit, sinewy presence? Except, he kind of missed the old Lilah, the one who never seemed to judge him, the one he could tease and she could tease back without either ever taking offence. She’d been a pal. More than a pal. Undemanding, yet never taking him for granted. Unavailable, yet constantly alluring. The ripe fruit that begged to be picked but was always out of reach.

In short, a fantasy. And now?

“Hello?” The familiar female voice with a distinct Brooklyn accent answered.

Justin smiled. It was a voice that invariably wrapped around him with the comforting warmth of a favorite afghan. “Roberta,” he answered and picked up the cell, switching back to regular Talk mode. “I just wanted to touch base with you again after our conversation last night.”

“So are you still smarting from the principal calling you into his office yesterday?” she asked good-naturedly. Roberta Zimmerman had been Justin’s professor and guiding light at Bank Street College of Education, where he’d gotten his degree in early education.

“I’m much better. That’s what I wanted to let you know. Besides, there’re only a few weeks left to the school year for public schools in New Jersey, so I might as well chill out—especially since I’ve got a sub covering for me for these few days. I mean, I know that I overreacted last night. Geez, you’d have thought after all the trouble that I’d gotten into as a kid I would have been better prepared. It was just the tone of his email—demanding that I see him as soon as possible and that he’d wait around his office specifically for me. To say the least, it kind of shook me. I mean, I know there’ll always be some parents who’ll grumble about my teaching methods—”

“That’s because you do things differently. Anyway, I don’t understand all the emphasis on testing, testing, testing these days—even before kids get to kindergarten! If I have one more parent ask me if her child is ready for kindergarten, I’m going to scream. I’m not surprised you were upset.”

“I guess it kind of blindsided me because the day before in class had been so terrific.”

“Tell me.”

Justin could practically hear her rub her hands together. That’s what he loved about Roberta—her enthusiasm, her heart. Things he always used to find so great in Lilah…

He smiled and then remembered he was still on the phone. “After I read them a book about the Brooklyn Bridge, there were whole groups of kids building bridges of blocks. They even labeled the tollbooths and made money for the cars to hand in. You should have seen it. There’s even one kid making a GPS system to help drivers get over the bridge back to Grantham. And they did it all on their own.”

“They wouldn’t have done it without you. And that’s because you’re a terrific teacher, Justin. So don’t doubt your abilities just because a new administrator comes through who’s got his own agenda about how to teach. Besides, your kids score very well on these standardized tests—am I right?”

“Are you ever wrong?”

Roberta chuckled. “Whatever you do, don’t ask Oscar that question.” Oscar was her husband.

“Oscar would probably agree that you’re always right.”

“True, but then he is a good man. He married me, after all, but then he always said I was quite a babe back in those days.”

Justin grinned. He remembered seeing photos of the two of them taken at Coney Island. Oscar was indeed a lucky man. “Okay, okay. What can I say?” Justin replied. “You’re right. It’s just that the way he told me, saying there’d been complaints, just threw me for a loop—especially when he wouldn’t say who’d been complaining. He claimed confidentiality or something, making me smell a setup.”

“Now you’re being paranoid.”

“Am I?” Justin frowned. “Maybe you’re right. It’s just that when someone questions my abilities, my old insecurities rise to the forefront.”

“Justin,” Roberta said firmly over the line.

“I know, I know. No whining.” He laughed, then looked in the mirror again, pleased that his tie was indeed straight.

“Now, tell me something.”

“Yes?” Justin immediately turned away from his reflection. He had a feeling that Roberta was peering over his shoulder.

“You’re calling on a Friday morning, when you would normally be teaching. You haven’t told me something else that I should know about?”

Justin sighed, knowing he would have to come up with an answer. “I’m taking a personal day. As it turns out, I’m hosting a prizewinning alum for Reunions weekend at Grantham.”

There was a slight pause. “Is that alumnus or alumna?” Roberta asked, differentiating between the male and female varieties.

Justin laughed. “Alumna. And my classics professor father would be proud of you.”

“It’s you he should be proud of.”

“Let’s not go there,” Justin said.

“Tell me, the reason you’re hosting this prizewinning person is because…?”

“Because I was the one who nominated her for the prize.”

“And you did that because…?”

“Because she does fantastic work in Africa and is totally self-sacrificing.”

“I get the picture. She’s a saint. So why do I get the impression that there’s something more than what you’re telling me?”

“Well, this is purely coincidental…”

“Excuse me, Dr. Freud. Nothing is coincidental.”

Justin didn’t bother to refute her statement. “She also happens to have been the ex-fiancée of my senior year roommate.”

“Ex? Now this I got to hear more of. Have you seen her yet? Is she everything you’d hoped for?”

Cupping the phone under his chin, Justin strapped on his watch and looked at the time. He hurriedly slipped his wallet into the back packet of his trousers and grabbed his blue blazer off his unmade bed. “Listen, I don’t have much time because, as a matter of fact, I’m just on my way to do some errands, then pick her up to take her to lunch with the university president.”

“Did you clean out your car?”

If his father had asked the same question, Justin would have lost it. But because it was Roberta, Justin took it as a matter of course. “Okay, now. I have just enough time to answer one question. You want it to be about the car or the woman?”

“Which do you think?”

“Okay, I was going to vacuum—”

Justin heard a groan from the other end of the line.

“She’s done all these amazing things, and I think she may be more beautiful than ever....”

“Why do I feel a ‘but’ is about to follow.”

“But,” Justin continued, “she’s not the woman I remember.”

There was silence from the other end of the line. Finally, Roberta cleared her throat. “So she’s not the same woman. Heaven knows I’m not the same person I was ten years ago—as my bathroom scale unfortunately tells me far too often. But so what? You think my husband loves me any less?”

“How did we get to talking about love? I called about my teaching. And as far as that goes, thanks for the reassurances.”

“It’s not my words that count. You’re the one who needs to reassure himself that he’s doing the right thing.”

“About teaching or about love?” he asked, making light of their conversation.

“You tell me. You’re the teacher,” she answered.

He didn’t laugh.