“Tell you what. Let me pick him up. You can call him when he lands to alert him. I’ll even hold up one of those signs, all very professional,” he joked. He bent his head to get her attention and help her out of her funk.
“Oh, I don’t know…”
He placed a fingertip under her lowered chin and tipped her head up. “I’m happy to do it. Really.” He could feel her pulse fluttering through her skin.
She swallowed. “If it’s not too much trouble?” She swallowed again.
“No trouble at all,” he assured her. “In fact, if I hadn’t stopped off to buy some groceries at the Shop Rite, I never would have seen your car pulled over. I would have felt horrible not knowing that you were stranded out here. So, please—” he leaned closer “—let me help. It’s the least I can do under the circumstances.”
She tightened her lips around her teeth and finally nodded.
As she did so, he could feel the pressure on his finger under her chin. He could feel a lot more, as well. He swallowed. “So, if you’re sure you can handle all this?” He nodded toward the police car parked ahead.
She nodded.
Again the pressure. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“I’m sure it will be fine. I mean, I took out all the insurance. The car looks perfectly drivable—a few scratches and dings—but I figure I just take it back to the rental office as soon as I’m through here. And that will be it.”
“Absolutely,” he added with a decisive nod.
“You’re right. I’ll be okay.” She nodded back.
He stared at her, unblinking for a good ten seconds, then satisfied that she was calm enough to drive, he reluctantly removed his finger from under her chin. Maybe he should be more worried about his own emotional state?
He reached around to the car door. “So you’ll call your dad?”
“I will. But hold on. I’ll get you the details, otherwise how will you know what terminal to go to?”
“You forget. I have the flight information on my handy-dandy phone.”
“That’s right. I did forget all about that.” She reached out and placed her hand on his sleeve. “I wanted… What I mean to say…” She pursed her lips. “I realize that I haven’t thanked you.” She waved vaguely around the car. “For everything really. I wasn’t myself just now, maybe not since I’ve arrived.”
So, the old Lilah really is still there, Justin’s inner voice sounded in jubilation.
“And I know I haven’t said it. But, I always remember you as being helpful. So natural with people.”
His pulse started thumping along at an accelerated clip.
She grasped his sleeve more firmly. “This is terrible.”
“It is?” It is?
“I mean, this is the worst time and all to decide to say this. I mean, you’re in a rush and all, doing me a favor.”
He shook his head. “There’s plenty of time.” Time? What’s time?
Lilah pursed her lips and winced as if in pain.
Not a good sign, Justin worried.
“You see, it’s like this. I’m attracted to you—the old you, the party-boy you.” Lilah looked at him with desperation.
Justin tried not to say the wrong thing. “And that’s bad?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s good. But I’m also attracted to you—the new you, that is, the current you. The caring teacher. The guy who loves kids.”
“Well, not some days. I could tell you—”
“Don’t interrupt, okay?”
“If you say so.”
“I say so. Where was I?” She cocked her head in thought.
“The new, improved me—if that’s all right to say?”
“Yes, that’s right. The new, enlightened though vulnerable you.”
“And that combination’s good, right?” He wanted to get it straight.
She shook her head violently. “No, that’s bad. Very bad. Because if I were to have sex with the old you, it would be meaningless and maybe even revenge sex for all the obvious reasons. But if I go to bed with the new you it would involve this emotional component that could potentially make the whole thing significant, even lasting.”
He frowned. “Now I’m completely baffled. Could you just go back to the sex part? My brain kind of stopped with that one word.”
“Arghh!” Lilah threw up her hands. “Don’t you get it? Things are too unsettled. I’m too mixed up with my life, my goals, to get involved, really involved, with anyone right now.”
“Hold it. Are you telling me that you’re just not that into me, or whatever the appropriate breakup line is in women’s magazines?”
“Do I look like the type of woman who reads women’s magazines, let alone has time?” Lilah shook her head. “I can’t deal with this. My lack of certainty about where I am. My impressions of you today versus my memories of you before. Besides, you really do need to go get my father.”
Justin forced himself to wait a beat or two before responding. “I don’t like to leave this discussion hanging—and it’s not over, not by a long shot. But for now, let’s just say I recognize my cue.” He pushed down on the handle and cracked open the door. The noise from the cars speeding by assaulted them. He lowered one leg to the pavement and got out. But before he closed the door, he lowered his head and stared at her a moment. “You’ve got my cell phone number if you need to reach me?”
She nodded.
He grasped the car door. “One thing before I go.”
“What?”
He held himself still. “You know, while you’re sitting here trying to figure out what you think of the new me and the old me, you might also try asking yourself where the old you has gone.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MIMI 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.
On Common Ground (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 10
