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
AFTER 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 d
o, 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.
CHAPTER NINE
“LILAH, IF ANYONE EMBODIES Grantham University’s motto of duty to society, it’s you.” Grantham University’s president, Theodore “call me Ted” Forsgate greeted Lilah at the entrance to Edinburgh House, Grantham’s faculty club.
The Italianate mansion, surrounded by a lush formal garden—with its own endowment no less—once served as the on-campus home for the university’s presidents. Then the sixties came, and even though student protests at Grantham University were mild compared to other locales, the then-president thought it wise to decamp to an equally imposing abode about a mile down the road. The protestors’ loss was the professors’ gain. Lunch and dinner were served regularly, and the university frequently used the rooms for official functions.
“Thank you, President Forsgate,” Lilah said, bowled over by the sincerity of his double-handed shake—almost literally, since President Forsgate was a large man and took a full-blooded approach to shaking hands. “It’s very rewarding to be back in an environment that puts a premium on public service. I must confess, I feel a little overwhelmed by the recognition,” she added. This was the first time she had met Forsgate, an astrophysicist who had apparently discovered a distant galaxy.
Then she turned to her left and attempted to extract her hand. “I think I owe all the attention in large part to Justin. You’ve met of course, Justin Bigelow?”
Justin nodded.
“Of course. One of our premier varsity athletes. Always a pleasure. You’re also Stanfield Bigelow’s son, correct?”
“You have a good memory, but really, I’m just here as a chaperone and bodyguard to keep Lilah’s adoring fans at bay. This weekend is about her, after all.”
“You’re right, of course,” the president replied. “Shall we?” He ushered Lilah into the rotunda with its soaring cupola. The interior had been restored to its former glory and the woodwork and walls were painted with period-appropriate faux marbling.
“Your parents must be very proud,” he said.
“I think they certainly respect my work, and they were delighted to hear about the award—especially from Grantham. I’m an only child, and to have their daughter not only get in but be honored by the university is like a dream come true for them. I’m the first person in my family ever to go to college outside the state, let alone an Ivy League institution. In fact, my dad’s coming in later today for the ceremony on Saturday.”
“Not both your parents? I thought—” the president said, looking momentarily baffled.
“No, my mother is unable to come. She’s the principal of the elementary school on Orcas Island, and they still have another week to go, including their own little graduation. It wouldn’t do for the principal to miss that.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Justin’s eyebrows seemed raised to new heights as he gazed at the university president. And that the president, after less than a moment’s hesitation, seemed to respond to some telepathic communication.
He refocused on her. “Yes. It would be a long way to come from Washington State for such a short period of time,” he said with what sounded like genuine understanding. Then he held out his arm to guide her through the hallway to the smaller dining room. “We go this way,” he said with extreme largesse. The Queen couldn’t have been treated more royally.
Lilah
stepped across the dark-stained wood floors under the watchful gaze of nineteenth-century portraits of old white men and then hesitated slightly. The only other time she’d been in Edinburgh House had been as a freshman when there was a welcoming reception for new students. Actually, to be technically correct, she’d never been in the house, only the terraced garden in the back. She, along with the other nervous newcomers, had formed a serpentine line along the gravel paths that bisected the formal beds of perennials. The then-president had been Eleanor Henrietta Nesmith, an expert on Victorian literature who the alums adored for her devotion to the football team. She had held forth in front of the bubbling fountain, greeting each new Grantham student with a sturdy handshake as twin carved-stone fish spouted water playfully from their bounteous lips.
“You all right?” Justin whispered behind her and touched the small of her back.
The feel of his fingertips through her loose-fitting black jacket didn’t help her regain her bearings one bit. But at least the jolt of contact helped her avoid turning into the cloakroom by mistake.
“Here we are,” Ted announced and waited as she passed through tall double doors—to a whole throng of people.
Lilah gulped. “I thought this was a private lunch?” She had been anticipating that the three of them would sit at a small table discussing world politics, or baseball or the annual alumni fund drive or whatever it was one talked to university presidents about.
“I thought you’d enjoy meeting some of the university trustees. They’re in for one of their regular meetings, of course.”
“Of course.” She felt like a broken record.
“And I knew there were several who were interested in meeting you,” Ted said, encouraging her to go in. “I hope you don’t mind?”
“Mind?” Lilah asked. Sure, she was used to talking to individuals to raise money for her foundation, but they were usually like-minded women who already knew about her work. But a bunch of middle-aged banker types or insurance execs who held a soft spot for the old orange-and-black of Grantham University? She was not exactly in her element.
On Common Ground (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 6
