Trouble (36 page)

That seemed like a pretty bad idea, but she opened it anyway and skimmed it. A few words popped out at her before her eyes blurred with tears:
consummate professional; keen analytical mind; hard worker; bright future
.

It was absolutely humbling, like reading her own obituary.

“Thank you,” she told him helplessly. “I … thank you.”

“You earned it.”

For one poignant, excruciating second, they stared at each other across the canyon of his desk and their mutual harsh feelings. Dara desperately wondered how they'd gotten to this point after the unspeakable tenderness of the other night, and if they'd ever be on the same side of anything again.

“Mike—”

One blink and his expression hardened again, turning him back into someone she didn't know or like. “Clean out your desk. I don't want to see your face again.”

It took several beats for all that hostility to sink in. Dara flinched when it finally did.

“How long are you going to be this cruel to me?” she asked quietly, repressed emotion making her voice crack.

“I don't think you want to debate which one of us is the cruelest, Dara.”

The
week after the abrupt end to her internship, Dara went home to Chicago for Thanksgiving with her parents. Then she returned to Cincinnati for reading week, which was a hellish seven days of intensive prep for finals with Monica. And Sean, on the couple of occasions when he bothered to show up in the library and study with them.

All the hard work paid off for Dara and Monica, who sailed through their finals.

Sean didn't.

During the first two, on Monday and Tuesday, he sat near Dara, close enough for her to see his entire body clench as he read the questions. He finished way early both times, leaving the classroom when all the other students were still working furiously.

During the third final, torts, Dara noticed him working thoughtfully for the entire time period. In the hall afterward, he radiated triumphant excitement.

“Well?” Monica asked eagerly. “How'd it go?”

“I really nailed that second negligence question about duty,” Sean crowed.

Dara and Monica exchanged chagrined looks.

“What?” he demanded, his smile disappearing.

“Sean,” Monica said gently, “that question wasn't about duty. It was about standard of care and damages.”

Sean's mouth hit the floor. He turned to Dara, his face stricken. “Dara?”

Dara hated to do it, but she told him the truth. “Monica's right, Sean.”

A pause—long and painful—followed.

“You two don't know what the hell you're talking about,” he said, sneering.

With that, he wheeled around and stalked off.

Monica sadly shook her head. “We did everything we could to help him.”

“I know. But he's ruining his life. I know he's going to flunk out of school. Why didn't he quit when he had the chance? What's going to happen to him?”

Monica just shrugged.

At the end of the week, when Dara stepped, exhausted and crabby, out of her last final and into the crowded hallway filled with her relieved comrades, Jamal was there. To her astonishment, he stood by a pillar in the corner, craning his neck as he searched for her.

A wide grin split his face when he finally saw her, and he sauntered through the crowd, arms open wide. “Come here, girl!”

Dara gave him a delighted bear hug. “I'm so glad to see you! What're you doing here?”

They broke apart and settled on a sofa in the atrium as the crowd cleared.

“How are you?” he asked. “You look terrible.”

She smacked him on the arm. “Of course, I look terrible. I just finished up with finals.”

His eyes narrowed. “You looked terrible before that. So how'd it go? You get all As?”

“Let's hope.”

Nodding thoughtfully, he held her gaze. “You've been gone three weeks. I got lots of stuff to tell you.”

The perpetual knot in her stomach tightened, but she managed a smile.

“So what's new?”

“Well, I got my GED,” he said, grinning.

She shrieked, wrapping her arms around him again. “That's wonderful! I'm so proud of you!”

“And Mike gave all of us a bonus. A whole year's salary.”

“What?”

Wry nod from Jamal.

“He said we needed to share the settlement because we'd all helped him get it. Can you believe it?”

Dara's heart constricted painfully. “Yeah. I can believe it.”

“So I think I'm gonna use that money and maybe see about getting into college. You know, maybe I could get a little two-year degree or—”

“Oh no! As smart as you are, you need to sign up right away for a bachelor's program. And in four years, you could be right here in this building, getting your JD. If that's what you want, I mean.”

He stared at her. “That's the same thing Mike said.”

She picked at lint on her jeans, wondering if she should tell Jamal to stop mentioning that name because it felt like a pitchfork to her heart every time she heard it.

“You wanna know how he's doing?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Terrible!” Jamal grabbed her chin, jerking her face up to meet his eyes. “He looks awful! I think he's lost, I dunno, ten pounds or something. And he's sleeping at the freaking office—on his sofa! He thinks no one notices, but everyone knows!”

“I'm really sorry to hear that.”

“Sorry?''
He gaped at her with dinner-plate eyes. “Is that all you got to—”

“He doesn't love me.”

Jamal faltered, his mouth hanging open. “Say what?”

She looked around quickly, making sure no one was within earshot. “I overheard him telling his mother he doesn't love me. Doesn't want to ever get married”—she grabbed his arm, squeezing hard—”and I will kill you if you repeat any of this to anyone, especially him!”

“Dara,” he said soothingly, “I don't know what you think you heard, but Mike is crazy in love with you. He misses you so much he's gonna make himself sick pretty soon.”

Hope did not flare in her heart.

“I heard what I heard. Why would he lie? And why didn't he deny it when I confronted him? He kept saying he cared about me.” Ugly laugh. “Cares about me! That's like saying he cares about world peace! What does it mean? Nothing!”

Jamal caught both of her hands in his, then hunched down until his piercing eyes were all she could see.

“Read my lips, Dara. I am telling you, Mike loves you. You gotta believe—”

Agitated now, she jerked free. “Why would he lie to his mother?”

“Maybe he's only lying to himself.”

“Why would I want to be with a man who can't—or won't—recognize he loves me?”

“That's easy,” he said, smiling faintly. “Because it's Mike. The greatest guy we know. And he's worth a little extra trouble, Dara.”

That struck a nerve. Dara looked away, overcome with sudden emotion.

Jamal got up. “His mother's having a late birthday party for him. She called today and asked for your phone number.”

Jolted at the thought of seeing Mike again, she shook her head in a blind panic.

“I can't! There's no way I could—”

Leaning down, he kissed her on the cheek. “Think about it.”

Her phone was ringing half an hour later, when Dara walked into her apartment. Slamming the door, she dumped the backpack in an unceremonious heap on the foyer floor and grabbed up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Dara?” said a warm, crisp, vaguely familiar female voice. “It's Serena Baldwin, Sean and Mike's mother. How are you?”

Dara stiffened. “I—I'm good. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good,” Mrs. Baldwin said airily. “That's why I'm calling. You know Michael just settled that big case the other week—”

“Right.”

“And he just had his thirty-fifth birthday. I have a little time off this week between my chemotherapy treatments, so I thought I'd throw him a little get-together. Nothing big. Just a few friends and family and everyone from the office, of course.”

“Wow. That sounds really wonderful, and I'd love to come. But I, uh”—she swallowed hard—“am going home to Chicago for the holidays, and I can't make it.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Baldwin said worriedly. “Are you leaving tonight?”

Dara's essentially honest nature did her in. “Well … no, but—”

“Good! Then we'll see you at eight.”

Dara gave up trying to be diplomatic. The woman was trying to be polite, but she obviously had no idea what kind of hornet's nest she was poking with her stick.

“Mrs. Baldwin, I really appreciate what you're doing, but Mike doesn't want me there. Trust me.”

“You leave Michael to me.”

Dara collapsed on the sofa and smacked her hand to her forehead. Well, now she knew where Mike's tenacity came from. She looked heavenward for help, but none was forthcoming.

“I just don't think—”

“You're not arguing with a sick woman, are you, Dara?”

“Mrs. Baldwin,” Dara said tiredly, “please don't play the cancer card.”

Mrs. Baldwin just laughed. “Eight o'clock, dear.”

Dara, balancing the two-foot-tall box containing Mike's present—she couldn't very well show up empty-handed to a birthday party—ran into Sean while walking up the walk in front of his mother's house at eight fifteen. He hurried up to her from the other end of the sidewalk, and she could have sworn she saw him weave on his feet.

“Hey.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek, hitting her with yeasty breath. “I don't see why we didn't just come together.”

Dara ignored that and focused on the ugly gleam in his eyes, which was a disturbing complement to the edge in his voice.

“What did you do? Start the party early?”

“It's the end of finals,” he snapped. “We both know I probably flunked out of school, so this was probably the last set of finals I'll ever take. Why shouldn't I celebrate?”

Dara rang the bell. “It wasn't that bad, was it? How did things go today?”

His expression closed off. “I don't want to talk about it. Let's talk about you.” He leaned closer, studying her like a microbiologist with some interesting new germ on his slide. “Aren't you glad to be seeing Mike?”

Mrs. Baldwin swung the door open before Dara could answer. She gave Sean a quick smile and kiss, then turned to Dara.

“Thank you so much for coming,” she said, wrapping her arm firmly around Dara's waist and steering her into the foyer. Without missing a beat, she passed Mike's present to Sean while she divested Dara of her coat. “Sean, you go in the kitchen and get Dara some wine.” Snatching the gift back from Sean, she returned it to Dara. Then she propelled Dara through the foyer and kitchen, where several people she didn't know had congregated, and into the living room, where Mike stood talking to Jamal by the roaring fire.