On Common Ground (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Kelleher, Tracy

  She considered what he said then spoke. “So if I understand what you’re saying, it has nothing to do with intelligence? In which case, I don’t know why your father would be embarrassed about it.”

  Justin smiled, enjoying watching her gesticulate the way he remembered of old. Then he answered her question. “Who knows? It was his own ignorance, I suppose.”

  “So when did you figure out what the problem was?”

  “That’s the thing. I didn’t, or maybe I just felt too embarrassed to seek help. Anyway, I developed these mechanisms for compensating. It worked pretty well, but even then I read slowly as a student, and still do today. That made it hard to take lit courses with a lot of heavy reading. I knew if I tried I’d just feel so stupid.”

  “But you weren’t.”

  “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one who had to stay up all night just to keep up. You have to understand—a person can know they’re not dumb but still feel that…well…they’re stupid. Weird, I know, but true.”

  “I can believe you. The same way I can get on a scale or look in the mirror, and still think of myself weighing twenty more pounds like I did in college. It’s not logical. It’s all about self-perception.”

  “Exactly.” Justin couldn’t believe it. Without having to go on and on about what it was like, Lilah just knew. “You’re incredible…you really are.” And when he saw her flinch to deny his words, he immediately went on. “No, I mean it. So get over your own issues with self-perception.”

  “Believe me, self-perception isn’t my only issue. But listing them ad nauseum would probably be a complete mood breaker.”

  “Hold on there. Me telling you about my dyslexia isn’t a turnoff?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. It’s like a key to this great, unsolved mystery. It explains so much about you in college.” She touched his arm to emphasize her point.

  And she didn’t remove it—for a beat. Then two beats—two beats of silence except for breathing.

  Until she nervously closed her fist. “But go on. You haven’t finished the story. Explain to me more about how you got to where you are today.”

  “Okay, if you insist.” He was dubious.

  She nodded. “I’m sure.”

  He stared at the wine in his glass. This was the first time he had told anyone about his personal journey. “So college and compensating. Okay. The truth.” He closed his eyes and thought, really thought. “I guess even though I didn’t have a name for what I had, I figured out that the best thing was to gravitate to music and math. And then there were other outlets—sports, socializing.” He opened his eyes and smiled at the stars glinting in the black of night. “I got pretty good at both and—what can I say—neither required me to read a thousand pages a week. Unlike what some people could do who I won’t mention.” He looked at her from under his brows.

  Lilah bit back a smile. “So all those women were really a form of overcompensation?”

  He shot back a crooked grin. “Okay, not completely. But they did help take my mind off of you.” He waited for her reaction, wondering what she would say to that admission.

  Instead, she took a long, thoughtful sip of her wine.

  Damn. She wasn’t going to make this easy.

  “So when exactly did you get a diagnosis?” she asked, changing the obvious subject.

  He could be patient, he told himself. “It was in Italy actually. Not to be overly dramatic, but it was this epiphany. The national rowing team was invited to visit this elementary school in Reggio Emilia—before the international competition held nearby. It was one of those goodwill outings—a photo op, really. You can imagine—these oversize jocks with little kids. Anyway, I was in this kindergarten, and the teacher, who happened to be an American on an exchange program to Italy, invited me to read a book to the class.”

  “In Italian?”

  “I know—wild, huh? The weird thing was that even though I had never studied Italian, just Latin—I couldn’t be the son of a classicist and not study Latin—I realized I could read it with very little difficulty. With a terrible accent, of course—but that only made the kids giggle and enjoy it all the more. Afterward, I mentioned how surprised I was to the teacher, saying that I had trouble reading out loud in English. I mean, even as a kid I found things like Dr. Seuss books totally confusing. I just didn’t get them. Anyway, she looked at me and explained that Italian is totally phonetic—you pronounce everything exactly the way it is written. And for that reason dyslexia is just about unknown in Italy. In fact, to diagnose it, they have to perform completely different tests.”

  “So, you mean this total stranger diagnosed you?”

  “No, this incredibly gifted teacher explained all the symptoms of what I had dealt with all my life. Suddenly, I felt this huge weight lift from my shoulders. As soon as I came back to the States, I went to a specialist, who confirmed the diagnosis. But even before I’d come back, I made a decision that if there was something I wanted—no needed to do—it was to try to make sure that no other child would feel the lack of self-esteem that had burdened me as a kid. And I realized that the key to this goal was early intervention and more broadly, early education. So, gone were my ambitions to go to the Olympics and support myself on a dead-end job. For the first time, I had a purpose in life—a passion.”

  “Talk about a turnaround. They should give the alumni award to you.”

  Justin laughed. “Not if you ask my principal. He hates my approach to teaching. He just wants me to follow the state’s emphasis on teaching to the tests—even for five-year-olds.”

  “But I’m sure you’ll win,” Lilah encouraged him quickly. “Noreen told me how much the parents love you and how well the students do in your classes.”

  “That may be true, but my principal’s brother works in the governor’s office, and through him he’s found a mouthpiece…you get the picture. And we all know New Jersey politics don’t play fair.”

  “Which means?” She let her words float in the air, which was starting to cool. She rubbed her arms.

  Justin saw it immediately. “You’re getting cold. We should go in.” He moved to gather up the bottle.

  She stopped him by resting her hand on his forearm. “Is that what you want?”

  “It’s more a question of what you want.” He waited.

  And then she spoke. “You.”

  One syllable. A ton of meaning. Expressing just what he wanted. But still… He looked into her face, obscured by darkness except for shadows defined by the light coming from within the window. “You mean what you said about Stephen? That he’s no longer an issue?”

  She nodded. “He’s no longer anything.” Then she put the tip of her tongue to her top teeth. “One thing though?”

  “About Stephen?” He was worried still.

  “No, forget Stephen. I have. It’s the phone call you had to make at the pig roast?”

  “Phone call?” Her question came out of left field, and he wasn’t ready for it.

  “Don’t you remember? You excused yourself when Mimi and Matt came over?”

  “Oh, yeah, that.”

  “You called a woman didn’t you?”

  “That’s right—Roberta.” He smiled. She was jealous.

  “She’s…someone you’re close to.”

  “You could say that.” He couldn’t help teasing her.

  “She’s…”

  “Roberta is someone very important to me.” That was the truth. “She’s older, a good bit older.” Also true.

  He watched her digest that information as she wet her lips. They glistened in the backlighting.

  Finally, she lifted her chin and spoke forthrightly, bravely—just the way he always pictured her. “There’s nothing wrong with older. Society unjustly consi
ders an older woman diminished in sex appeal, but frankly, I think having all that experience and knowledge gained over time can make someone that much more attractive.” She rubbed her hand back and forth on her thigh, then glanced to the side.

  Justin couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. He reached for Lilah’s upper arms and made her look at him. “Roberta is my mentor. She was the teacher in Reggio Emilia who’s taught me so many things—about myself, about teaching. She’s a master teacher at Bank Street School in New York, and I studied under her when I got my Master’s in elementary education and teaching certification. She also happens to have been happily married to a successful artist for more than thirty-five years and has a daughter who’s an incredibly gifted violinist. I keep in touch with her because I like and admire the whole family. And when I need advice about my work, she’s the one I turn to.”

  “It’s good to have someone like that. But if you called, does that mean you have problems?” Lilah asked, relief evident in her tone even though he could see she was trying to show interest in what he was saying.

  He caught her gaze with his. “I don’t want to talk about work right now.”

  She shook her head. “Neither do I. I just needed to clear that up. Because even if this is a one-night stand, I could never do anything that would betray someone else.”

  He inched closer, removed her wineglass from her hand and twisted to place it on the window ledge. Then he tilted his head. “I would never betray anyone, especially you.”

  She tilted her head the opposite way. “You have a way with words, Mr. Bigelow.”

  “So, are you telling me something’s going to happen?” he murmured as his lips brushed hers.

  She answered, offering up her mouth to his for a kiss that was fierce, as well as fearless.

  And when the kiss finally ended, he rested his forehead on hers—an act that required him to contort his back in ways he would probably regret tomorrow—but then who cared about tomorrow at this moment? And he said, his voice rising in a smile as much as a question, “Your place or mine?”

  She raised her chin and twined her hands around his neck. “Heck, this is Reunions. For nostalgia’s sake, why don’t we do it in my dorm room? See if two people at our age can still fit on a single bed?”

  He smiled with joy. If angels were trumpeting his happiness then, they would blow the roof off the Lion Inn and more. “As I remember, those beds are extra-long.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LILAH FIDGETED WITH the passkey in the lock at the entryway door. It was one of those magnetic strip things, and she flipped it back and forth, trying to read the arrowed directions by the light of the lamppost. In keeping with the Tudor Gothic architecture of the university campus, it was a wrought-iron affair—very picturesque, but not giving the best light when it came to reading fine print, especially without her glasses.

  Justin shifted the garment bag to his shoulder. On the way to her dorm, he had driven by his apartment and run upstairs to get clothes and things for tomorrow. Lilah had left her new rental car parked in the campus lot.

  “Here. Do you want me to try?” he asked. He brushed the back of her hand.

  She looked back at him, knew she was blushing. “No, I can do this, I know. It’s just that I’m never very good at these things, and having you touch me like that is wonderful and all, but it makes me even more nervous.”

  Justin smiled warmly. “I’m nervous, too.” He stepped away, wiggling his fingers. “See? No touching. Does that make you feel better?”

  “It does and it doesn’t.” She swiped the card in front of the optical reader again and could finally hear the lock on the entryway door click open. “Eureka.”

  Justin held the door open for her. “So, now we’ve got three flights of stairs to look forward to?”

  “No, haven’t you heard? They’ve put elevators in since our day.” She eyed the garment bag slung over his shoulder. “I wish you’d let me see the monstrosity I’m going to have to wear in The Parade tomorrow.”

  “Not on your life. I don’t want you having any excuse to back out.”

  They rode the elevator to the third floor and got out. She turned to the left and headed down the hallway. The top floor, which had been formed by opening up the ceiling to the roof, was a jumble of angles and planes—slanting rooflines and alcoves with tiny windows. “I guess you know the way,” Lilah said, pointing down the long, narrow hallway.

  “What you do mean?”

  “You’re kidding me? You didn’t look in the packet with the registration information?”

  He shook his head. “I just have a copy of the schedule.”

  Lilah stopped in front of a door. She looked to the right.

  Justin glanced at the room number. “It’s not?”

  “You bet it is.” She pulled out the key from the pocket of her pants and unlocked the door. “Da-dah!” She flicked on the light switch and swept her arm around in a grand gesture. “Your senior-year suite.”

  Justin stepped in reluctantly. “This is more than a little creepy.” He went to the center of the room and did a three-sixty. Two small bedrooms flanked a central sitting room. A bank of lead-paned windows filled the outside wall, exposing the stone crenellations of a small terrace amid the treetops of the courtyard.

  “At least it’s not furnished the same,” he said. The hardwood floors were bare, and a single desk chair was pushed into the built-in desk by the windows. Each bedroom contained a single bed and a dresser. Justin had displayed an eclectic assortment of Grantham University memorabilia when he’d lived there, but now the paneled walls were bare. “It’s not quite the same without all my empty beer bottles,” he said somewhat nostalgically.

  “I think Stephen threw those out as soon as he could.”

  “No, that would have been the sofa that I’d rescued Dumpster diving.” He wandered among the rooms, turning the lights on and off, the single overhead fixtures providing a dismal atmosphere. “Without all the usual student stuff, it looks bigger.” He swung around to face her. “Still, I’m a little freaked out, I gotta admit,” Justin confessed.

  “I suppose we could burn some soothing incense to impart the correct aura.”

  “We’d probably set off the fire alarm.” Justin shook his head. “I’m trying to remember which bedroom was mine.”

  She pointed with her thumb in a hitchhiker gesture. “You had the one on the left.”

  “You have a good memory.”

  “For certain things.”

  “And you put your stuff?” He craned his neck to look into that room.

  “In there.” Then she walked to the windows and turned her back to them. “So what do you think?”

  “What do I think? Truthfully? I’m trying to decide if what we’re about to do here is some warped form of getting even—even though we’d both probably deny it was true.”

  “But I told you, the past is so over.” She stepped toward him and looked up. “When I think about it, I was so naive.”

  “You were never naive.”

  “Oh, please. I was probably the only virgin in our freshman class—there’s not a lot to choose from when you live on Orcas Island, trust me.” She held up her hand when he started to say something. “But it wasn’t just sex. It was the whole experience of coming east to an Ivy League school. I was this middle-class kid who lived on an island, for Pete’s sake. I never knew rich people or people who went to prep school or who ‘summered’ in places like Nantucket or Martha’s Vineyard. The first time I met Mimi, she scared me witless.”

  “She still frightens me,” Justin joked.

  “No, you know what I mean,” Lilah insisted ruefully. “Or maybe you don’t?”

  “Please, I hardly grew up in the lap of luxury.”

 
“But you did grow up in Grantham, which is about as far from the real world as it gets. Safe and sweet with the statistical claim of having more Cooper Minis per person than any other community in the U.S.”

  “To think we beat out Park Slope, Brooklyn.”

  “Stop it. I’m serious.”

  “I know,” he said with an understanding nod. He put his hands on her shoulders, kneading them to help her relax.

  She frowned and gazed up. “That’s part of my problem, isn’t it? My seriousness? Especially back in college when my whole attitude—my whole view of the world—was so black-and-white.” She shook her head in exasperation. “What I used to think of as commitment to a cause now seems like the sanctimonious posturing of a girl.”

  Justin pulled her close. “Why are you so hard on yourself? You were young. We all said and did stupid things. That goes with the territory. Besides, your passion was always the thing that I thought was so amazing.”

  From the comfort and warmth of his chest, she spoke. “You’re kidding? Me? The geeky, chubby, unathletic girl is the one you found amazing?” She tilted her head upward.

  “Like I said, don’t underestimate yourself.” He kissed her lightly on the lips.

  It would be so easy just to fall into his arms. But Lilah had never taken the easy route in life. She pulled away from him, however reluctantly, and wandered to the windows again. “Easy to say when I seem to be harboring all this guilt.”

  He came up behind her. “Guilt? What could you possibly have to feel guilty about? You live simply, you do good work and you have everyone’s admiration.”

  “Stop it. You’ll make me sound like a saint. I’m far from it.” She whirled around to face him. “Don’t you get it? I’m not perfect,” she shouted, thinking of her ambivalence about accepting the alumni award.

  “Does it matter?”

  “I don’t want to be put on a pedestal. I want to be treated as a woman.”

  Justin took a step toward her, and as if she were a rag doll, placed her hands on his chest. “Do you feel that?”