Mia Like Crazy

by Cordoba, Nina

  “Does Drew know that marriage clauses are invalid?”

  She nodded. “I tried to get him to challenge the will. He refused at first, and when I looked into it further, I was told there’s a no-challenge clause. But something’s changed Drew’s mind now and that’s why he needs you—to figure all this out. My attorneys wouldn’t be appropriate because of possible conflict of interest.”

  Meridith sipped her coffee before she continued. “Anyway, my father died a year ago, and that’s when I learned there was another heir, and that Drew was my brother. I wish I’d known sooner.” Her eyes were filled with sadness, regret.

  What was I supposed to do with all this emotion? “I don’t know what to say,” I replied. “I’m really sorry for everything you’ve both been through.”

  She laid her hand on my arm and peered into my eyes with such intensity, I thought she was trying to read my soul. I wondered if I had one.

  “Mia, would you please come back with me and give it another try?” I opened my mouth to object, but Meridith hurried on. “Perhaps you could find a loophole or contest the will. I’ll pay you whatever retainer you want myself. I think he needs this as some sort of closure on his past. There’s a good heart in there, although Jack Larson tried his best to cut it out.”

  “Are you sure it’s still in there?” It struck me as darkly funny— a soulless woman and a heartless man. I was sure someone could write us into one of those country western songs.

  “Well, it’s punctured, mutilated maybe, but yes, I believe it’s still there.”

  I hadn’t had anything but my own gut feelings to rely on for the past twenty-eight years. They’d never steered me wrong before.

  Besides, there was something about Meridith, caring so intensely for a brother she barely knew, that was compelling in a way I’d never experienced…and the money. That would be the main reason, of course.

  “Okay, I’ll try,” I said.

  ~

  During the drive back to the apartment, Meridith gave instructions as though I was on my way to baby-sit an unruly child. “Drew is prone to throwing tantrums, but he rarely means them. If he likes you, he may act annoyed with you much of the time. If he starts to feel he’s making a connection, he’ll turn on you and try to scare you away. Just refuse to leave.”

  “And if he throws me out bodily?”

  “Dust yourself off and go right back in.” Meridith laughed. “Actually, it’s unlikely he’ll touch you at all. In the time I’ve known him he hasn’t wanted to touch anyone, although when my kids insist on piggyback rides, he won’t disappoint them.”

  I had to chuckle at the idea of Drew Larson being forced to give piggyback rides. I couldn’t imagine it, though. “Does he have any friends, girlfriends?”

  “He tries to be an island.” Meridith had stopped at a red light. She looked over at me and said, “You know your brown eyes are really lovely.” She was studying me intensely again, and I was sure she had more on her mind than compliments. She seemed to notice my expression. “Oh, it’s just that I always admired that exotic look—you know, growing up with blonde hair and freckles like I did.” For some reason, the exotic thing didn’t bother me when Meridith said it.

  Still, I knew she was covering for whatever she’d been thinking before. There was definitely more going on in Meridith’s brain than she was allowing out of her mouth.

  She suddenly jumped back to her original subject. “Anyway, he leaves the apartment as little as possible. I guess he believes if he’s alone, no one can hurt him and vice versa. I think you’ll be good for him, though.”

  I couldn’t fathom what kind of help—other than the legal kind—she thought someone like me could give her weird hermit brother, or anyone else, for that matter. I thought of Lauren. It still made me nervous that she actually took my advice that day.

  “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Meridith,” I said. “I came because I need the money.”

  “Yes, but that’s not why you’re staying. I have a good feeling about you.”

  How annoying.

  For as long as I could remember, I’d worked at being opaque, carefully picking and choosing what I wanted people to know. How could this woman know anything at all about me?

  But she was right. I needed the money, but I wasn’t staying for the money.

  What was I staying for? Meridith? Drew? Because I felt something when I was around them and maybe feeling something was better than feeling nothing at all?

  As we passed through downtown Vaughndale, I stared out the window at the nice-looking shops, the movie theater, and the moms with their kids at the park. None of this was the stuff of my dreams. I missed New York.

  When I quit my job, I wasn’t even thinking of leaving the city. Not that this was a one-horse town, by any means. It was a small city of a hundred thousand, or so. It had the usual chain stores and fast food restaurants, but it didn’t have Time Square and all those hurried, well-dressed people on the sidewalks. People who were going somewhere, like to their good jobs at their well-respected law firms.

  What had I done?

  I pushed the pointless thoughts away and tried to focus on Meridith’s pleasant tour chatter.

  The ride was way too short, and before I knew it I was standing outside Drew’s door, bracing myself for embarrassment. Meridith knocked and he opened the door, staring at us like we’d just stepped out of our space capsules.

  I found I was having trouble making eye-contact again. And I wasn’t about to start this conversation, so I waited for Meridith to speak.

  “Hi, Drew. I ran into your lawyer when I came by earlier, and I liked her so much I took her out for coffee,” she said cheerfully, as she stepped past him into the apartment.

  “Not to that dive you always go to,” he replied. “She probably likes her pie without the cockroaches. She’s from the city.” Despite the sarcastic tone, I was glad to know there was something we could agree on.

  “Mrs. Farley keeps a very clean kitchen. I’ve been back there several times myself.” Meridith patted him on the side of his face. “You just don’t like the friendly atmosphere.”

  He took a step back to avoid any more patting, walked to the wooden table behind the couch and adjusted the antique clock until it was positioned directly in the middle. He turned abruptly toward me.

  “What are you doing back here, Medina?”

  Meridith jumped in again. “She came to work on your case…for your inheritance, like you asked her to.”

  Drew didn’t look at his sister as she spoke. Although he was several yards away, his dark eyes stared intently at me, as though he was looking for evidence I knew the truth.

  He wants to know if I’m judging him, or afraid of him. He’s wondering what Meridith said to get me back here.

  His gaze left mine and his manner became overly casual. “Whatever. Hey Sis, you want some popcorn? I just popped it. It’s the real kind, not that microwave crap.” He strolled toward the kitchen as Meridith trailed behind him.

  “That would be nice,” she answered.

  I was left standing in the doorway wondering whether to stay or go. Meridith turned around briefly and nodded her head toward the table where the papers still waited.

  She wants me to start working like nothing happened.

  I stood motionless for a few seconds after they disappeared into the kitchen. For the first time in my life, I felt utterly indecisive.

  I tried to tell myself this was only a decision to stay or go for a few hours today, but it felt like a lot more than that. Becoming part of a trio in which I was the one with the most stable childhood seemed ill-advised, but something drew me to them.

  Pushing my emotions aside, I tried to think through the problem logically. I was still in debt and had no other way to support myself at the moment, and I already knew I was unhappy working at a law firm...

  I shrugged away the negative thoughts and walked over to the table. As I flipped the file open, it slid over a bit, rev
ealing a slim note pad underneath. I picked up the pad and examined the scrawled notes written in black ink.

  “Harper and Barnes” and “Josh Samuels” were there with a phone number, as were my name and number.

  But my name appeared again, lower on the page, standing alone. Only, it looked very different. Though in the same ink, and possibly the same handwriting, this time it was done in flowing script as though the writer had wanted to recreate it with more care.

  I’d never seen my name written so beautifully before. It was like a work of art. I traced over the letters with my index finger and wondered if Drew Larson had done it.

  Before we met or after?

  Although my stress level had dropped since he left, I found myself wishing he’d return. I’d been in the same room with him twice, but his manner was so allusive, I still didn’t feel as though I’d really seen him.

  I slid the notepad back underneath, opened the file, and started working. There was a healthy pile of legal documents in front of me. Some pages pertained to the ten thousand dollar per month allowance Drew was getting since the death of his father. Others involved the disbursement of funds and investments upon his “legitimate marriage,” and who would decide whether or not the marriage was legitimate—some old friend of Vaughn’s, although I wondered how a man like that could have an old friend.

  There were financial papers revealing how much money was in what type of investment and who was overseeing all of it. Perhaps these were there to make the inheritance possibility even more enticing…or more depressing, if the “heir” felt the terms were impossible for him to fulfill.

  I was lost in my reading, so it didn’t seem long before Meridith reappeared with Drew behind her. She explained that she had a meeting to go to and she was sorry she couldn’t stay longer.

  “Bummer,” Drew said sarcastically. He didn’t bother to show Meridith out.

  She breezed to the door, said her good-byes and left, completely overlooking her brother’s rude behavior.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, he turned and asked, “What are you still doing here?”

  I felt the tension race up my spine and into the base of my skull all at once. I stood to face him. “I’m here because your sister convinced me to come back. She’s a very kind pers—”

  “But I’m not, and I’m the one you’d be working for.”

  “That’s irrelevant. It’s just a job and—”

  “Is it irrelevant? This is all irrelevant to you?” He began pacing like a caged animal, and I could feel a rave coming on. “Why are you here, Ms. Medina?” His voice grew louder. “Why would a beautiful, smart woman with so many other options, choose to stay here?”

  “How do you know I’m smart? We only met today.”

  “You think I’m an idiot? I had you checked out. You graduated fifth in your class at Columbia Law. You’re perfect. Any law firm would want you to work for them. Any man would want to—” He stopped speaking abruptly.

  “Why did you have me come here?”

  “I wasn’t expecting you. I was expecting some egghead reject with thick glasses and a bun in her hair. You don’t belong here. You should be in a plush office, or lying by a swimming pool.”

  “I don’t enjoy working in a large firm. I can’t help how I look.” That was a little bit of a lie because I knew how men saw me and certainly didn’t do anything to detract from it. “The fact is I’m a lawyer. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be your lawyer.”

  “No reason? No reason?” The rage was back in his voice. “Did you say enjoy?” He threw my words back at me with such force, I gripped the edge of the table next to me. “Do you think you’re going to enjoy working for me?” He paused only briefly for an answer and when none came, he resumed his erratic strolling. “Did my sister tell you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “You aren’t afraid of me?” He paused and looked at me, and for a moment I thought I saw something other than rage in his eyes. The look was almost pleading, then hopeful, but he quickly turned and began pacing away from me.

  “No, I’m not.”

  He was across the room, but as soon as I answered his last question, he turned and charged toward me like an angry rhino.

  I was startled, and began walking backwards, but after only two steps I felt the wall at my back.

  His hands slammed into it on either side of my shoulders, giving the illusion that I was pinned there without him actually touching me. His face was only a few inches from mine, and he stared directly into my eyes.

  Although the sound of his palms hitting the wall jarred me, when I looked into his face, all fear dissipated.

  As I peered up at him, curiosity took over, since I realized this was the first good look I’d gotten since we met. His brown eyes were framed by surprisingly lush lashes, which softened his features when viewed up close. His skin had a nice tone, halfway between my deep olive and Meridith’s peaches and cream. And, he was tall enough to make me feel small, though I was a respectable five foot six.

  The jaded attitude had thrown me off before. Drew was younger than I’d thought, maybe not even thirty. His face was slim—not gaunt—but considering the harsh expression he wore, if I’d added a goatee and horns he truly might look like Lucifer’s son.

  Yet, my mind wouldn’t let go of the snapshot it had taken when he smiled.

  I remembered to breathe.

  Odd. He didn’t smell like any of the normal things—cologne, soap, fabric softener. It was a clean, pleasant scent, though. The term “lemon fresh” came to mind.

  Furniture polish? I glanced over at the gleaming end table by the sofa.

  Since Drew was still leaning over me with his hands propped on the wall, I could feel his warm breath on my forehead. I didn’t have the slightest urge to flee my imaginary confinement. I looked up at him and held his gaze for several long seconds.

  His eyes shifted down to my mouth, and I got that feeling I always did, right before a man tried to kiss me. Although kissing him was surely the last thing I needed to do, my lips parted automatically in anticipation.

  His breathing was suddenly very shallow. His mouth opened. The slight movement of his face toward mine was almost imperceptible.

  He spoke to me in a whisper. “This is a very dangerous place.”

  When I didn’t reply, his eyes drifted to a section of my hair that hung down past my shoulder. I sucked in a deep breath, inadvertently causing it to move up and down, with the rise and fall of my breasts.

  He turned his head away, squeezed his eyes shut, and took in a deep breath.

  “Look, you need a lawyer,” I said, finally remembering why I was there. “And I’m willing to take your case—”

  He slammed the side of his fist into the wall, but looked more frustrated than angry now.

  “I’m trying to warn you.”

  “And I appreciate that.”

  He pushed off and went over to the table. I felt downright silly about the twinge of disappointment I experienced.

  “Here.” He scribbled something onto a scrap of paper and handed it to me. “These are the directions to the library. Look up all the newspaper articles that were written about me, and if you’re really not afraid, come back tomorrow.” He turned away from me, and, for the second time that day, disappeared up the staircase.

  ~

  An hour later, I was sitting in the grimy basement of the library, trying to work an ancient-looking microfiche viewer.

  Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do this. I’d asked the woman at the desk for all the stories on Drew Larson, but I didn’t want the unvarnished truth—for once—and I certainly didn’t want the demonized version reporters often enjoyed writing.

  When I got the first page into the viewer, I was stunned by the face staring back at me—a young boy with unreadable, dark eyes. The headline read, “Larson Wins Little League MVP Award.”

  But while the sto
ry was positive and congratulatory, the boy didn’t show any signs of the delight that should accompany such an honor.

  I removed the page and went to the next article and the next several after it. They mentioned Drew Larson’s top honors at the science fair, first place ribbon at a state math competition, and winning season as the quarterback of his high school football team. However, whenever a photo accompanied the story, the same odd expression stared back at me.

  I was shocked to note that the crude, apathetic man I’d just left had an overachieving past that rivaled my own.

  “Why was he trying so hard?”

  “Hmm?” The librarian had stopped on the stairs, a cardboard box in her hands. “Did you say something?”

  “Oh, no…yes,” I replied. “I was talking to myself.”

  “I do that all the time,” she said as she continued up the steps.

  “I don’t.”

  Once I heard the door shut at the top of the stairs, I copied each of Drew’s pictures, and placed them into a file in my briefcase, as I wondered why in the world I was doing it. Then, I went back to the pile of unread articles.

  I was soon faced with the one I’d dreaded from the minute I sat down.

  It said Drew Larson was accused of raping a young woman at a high school graduation party. This story was followed by a deluge of others about the trial.

  There were no witnesses other than the victim, and no mention of a confession, but after reading several stories, I got the impression Drew didn’t participate in his own defense. It was understandable that he made no statements to the press before or during the trial, but he also didn’t testify or even speak at his sentencing.

  The pictures that appeared with these stories made me sick to my stomach. Drew, so young, being led away in handcuffs. Drew on his way into the courthouse. Photo after photo held the same unreadable expression.

  Apparently, getting arrested inspired the same emotion in this young man as winning a track meet, with one exception.

  One photograph—one moment in time—seemed to capture the boy inside. He looked as though he was surprised by the camera as he stepped out of a police car, and it was there in his eyes, a desperate, pleading look, much like the one I thought I’d seen earlier when he asked if I was afraid of him.