On Common Ground (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Kelleher, Tracy

  The song reached the chorus, and as one, the alums raised and lowered an arm as they belted out, “Huzzah for Grantham U. Huzzah for Grantham U.”

  Lilah found herself involuntarily raising and lowering her right arm in time to the music. “If we go ahead with this, we’ll need to draft an agreement with a lawyer, of course.” She raised her voice over the din.

  “Of course,” Noreen shouted back. Ever in tune with the proper protocol, she, too, went through the hand motions like it was some light aerobic exercise.

  Lilah thought some more as the old school spirit soared in slightly off-key fashion. Then she spun around, and cupping her hands around her mouth, shouted to her mother that she would join her in a few minutes.

  Daphne nodded, but kept on with her enthusiastic hand motions, and being a natural overachiever, she raised and lowered both arms.

  Lilah chuckled under her breath, then turned back to Noreen. She reached out and tugged her out of the street and away from the marchers. They ended up next to a low wall that bordered the university library. “Okay, it’s like this. I agree.”

  “You agree so soon?” Noreen seemed stunned.

  A first, Lilah figured. “Yes, but on one condition.” She still had to raise her voice to be heard. “That it’ll be on a trial basis, for your sake as well as mine. I think it’s only fair that you really get a sense of what this all could mean to you. First, have you ever been to Congo?”

  Noreen shook her head.

  Lilah leaned in close. “Then you need to go there in person. That way you can see if, indeed, this is a cause you can put your heart and soul into—that you can commit to it despite the inevitable hassles and disappointments that I guarantee will come up—regularly. That way you can decide if it’s worth the investment—financially and emotionally.”

  “That seems reasonable.”

  All of a sudden the music stopped and cheering erupted. Noreen waited for The Parade to start going again before she finished. “As I was trying to say earlier, I may not be prepared for everything from the start, but I like to think that I am up to the challenges.”

  “You might well be. I have no doubt. But what about your family?” Lilah pointed over her shoulder toward the marchers. “You have a little girl? And even though you’ll probably spend most of your time here in the States—in fact, Grantham is probably as good as any place since most of the meetings and communications are online—there’ll be times when you’ll have to travel. Are you prepared to leave your daughter, even for a short while?”

  Noreen pursed her lips. “I haven’t talked directly to Brigid about it since I didn’t want to get her involved until I knew one way or the other how you felt. But I know she knows how much I love her, and I know she’ll be proud of the work I’ll do. The hard part will be convincing her she can’t come along.”

  “And who would take care of her while you’re away?”

  “I’ve already spoken to Conrad and Mimi about helping to pick up the slack. I think it might be time and actually good for both of them.”

  “Mimi? Really?” Lilah blinked. “So that’s why she had to rush home last night?”

  “Yes, I wanted to discuss it with her up front,” Noreen confirmed.

  “And she’s okay with it? And your husband?”

  “I’m not sure okay is the best word. Both of them were immediately imagining all these horrendous scenarios of what could go wrong, but they’ll get over it. I promised I would leave detailed instructions, not to mention backup systems in the form of friends, a list of babysitters and even my mom. And while Congo certainly isn’t around the corner, I presume I’ll still have satellite phone communication. Besides, I’ll let you in on a secret. Sometimes I think it’s good for people not to be in constant touch. That way they’re forced to rise to the occasion and realize they can muddle through all on their own. I know it did me the world of good when I arrived here all by myself.”

  Noreen had thought it all out, that was for sure, Lilah realized. She was smart. She was tough and caring at the same time. And she was realistic.

  What had Justin said last night? Was it only last night? She swallowed. Yes, it was only last night when he talked about being open to good things happening.

  She lifted her head and saw Justin wave over the heads of her classmates and their families, indicating where they were for her to catch up. She waved back in return.

  “I guess we need to get a move on,” she said, turning to Noreen. “But before we do, let me ask you one more question. What do you think about coming on board with Sisters for Sisters sooner rather than later? Actually traveling to Congo in the next couple of weeks?”

  Noreen cocked her head. “I’m listening.”

  “Then let me fill you in on the phone call I just had with Matt.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “WHAT’S THAT YOU SAID, Father?” Justin asked, turning back to face Stanfield. He had been looking where Lilah had stepped out of The Parade with Noreen. “Sorry, I didn’t hear.”

  “Yes, I can see that your attention is elsewhere,” Stanfield said.

  Justin wasn’t sure if his father was being critical, but he probably was—knowing his father. But for once Justin let it go. And why? Because of the love of a good woman. Originally, he’d hoped for a carefree weekend involving a trip down memory lane, and what he had got was so much more—he was sure of it. Now he just had to convince Lilah.

  So, with only half an ear, he listened to his father talk about his research—and with the other half and the lazy smile on his face, he contemplated how good life could be. All right, he’d only just renewed his friendship with Lilah. And, okay, it was all happening pretty quickly. But sometimes you just know, he told himself.

  Justin had never been in love before. Oh, he’d had a secret crush on the idea of Lilah Evans, but that was different than the real deal. And after last night, really starting with their conversation last evening, he felt they’d connected in a way that was so close—so right.

  If he could just buy a little more time. Convince her how great it would be to run her nonprofit from Grantham, for instance. He wouldn’t insist on a permanent move. Even he knew that suggestion was premature. But maybe, if she was in the U.S. anyway, organizing fundraising runs or talking to other people, did it really matter where she was staying? Couldn’t she do all that over the phone or via email? And if she needed to go into New York City, wasn’t it an easy hour train ride?

  Speaking of New York City, he couldn’t wait to introduce Lilah to Roberta. He had this feeling they’d hit it off right away.

  He adopted a certain bounce to his step and for a change Justin actually felt magnanimous toward his father. He might even listen to the old man—especially because Justin thought he heard mention of his mother.

  “Mother?” Justin repeated.

  “Yes, I know I should tell her, but I just don’t have the heart.” His father seemed genuinely downcast.

  “Are you ill, Father?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. It’s your sister.”

  “Penelope’s ill?” To Justin, Penelope had always seemed like one of those impervious people—impervious to germs or bodily mishaps like broken arms or stubbed toes. He sometimes wondered if she were also impervious to affection, both giving and receiving.

  “No, thank goodness. Though for her, this is perhaps worse,” Stanfield said philosophically.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not following you.” Maybe he’d been wrong about Penelope’s lack of human attraction? Maybe someone she’d grown close to was unwell?

  “She didn’t get tenure.”

  A sick friend? What was he thinking? Not getting tenure meant that Penelope was effectively fired from her faculty job. They might give her a year’s grace period to let her look for
another post, but the meteoric rise of her career had come to a crushing halt.

  “She called me at the American Academy in Rome, where we’ve been staying while on sabbatical. Apparently the decision came down in early spring and she’d tried to fight it, but was unsuccessful. That’s why I’m concerned about your mother. I haven’t told her, and she’s still in Italy, blissfully unaware of the development. Naturally, she’ll be devastated.”

  “I imagine that Penelope’s the one who’s devastated,” Justin observed. And he meant it. To say that they had never been close was an understatement, but she was still his sister.

  “You’re right, of course. It never occurred to her that this could possibly happen. True, her book on Catullus has yet to come out, but then she’s such a perfectionist, she didn’t want to rush it,” his father said matter-of-factly. “In fact, the whole Reunions and meeting with the trustee turned out to be a handy excuse for me to come back here. I couldn’t let her be alone in this moment of failure.” He looked at his son. “She flies in on Tuesday, you see.”

  Justin tried not to think about all the failures he had experienced growing up. Never once had his father offered a shoulder to cry on. “Bigelow men don’t cry,” he could imagine him saying.

  Stanfield stopped. Their fellow marchers streamed around them. He bent his head low. “She’s not strong like you, you see,” he said with a certain quaver in his voice.

  Justin coughed out a laugh. “Not strong? Penelope could bite through steel if she thought it would help her academic career. Knowing her, she probably has.”

  “But she’s never failed before, don’t you see? You of all people must understand?”

  “Excuse me?” he said, offended. “I’m supposed to empathize because I’m such a failure myself?”

  “I never considered you a failure,” his father replied quickly.

  “Well, it sure felt like it when I was growing up. And the fact that I’m a kindergarten teacher doesn’t appear to cut it compared to a chaired professorship at a prestigious university.”

  “On the contrary, do you know how many people stop me at the supermarket or in the dry cleaners to tell me what a difference you’ve made in their children’s and grandchildren’s lives? And several of our junior faculty have told me what a remarkable teacher you are.”

  Justin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’ve never said anything.”

  “And as to your…your issues growing up—”

  “They weren’t issues, Father. I suffered from undiagnosed dyslexia,” Justin stated firmly.

  “Yes, well, mistakes were made.”

  Justin noted his father’s refusal to accept any responsibility in the matter, which didn’t come as a surprise. What was surprising was that his father was talking to him at all. He supposed he should be grateful for these baby steps of progress.

  “I will admit that our relationship has never been an easy one,” his father continued. “The bond between father and son is complex, going back to the Greeks.”

  Justin looked to the heavens. Great. Our dysfunctional relationship viewed through the lens of Greek tragedy, he thought.

  “The way you were big and athletic. I always found it a bit intimidating, you know. And you certainly never seemed to take any notice of what I had to say.” Stanfield laughed. Then he cleared his throat. “Yes, you may have experienced failure as a boy, but it toughened you up. Made you into a mature man, a man that any father would be proud of.” He nodded his chin curtly.

  Justin frowned. “Thank you.” He really didn’t know what else to say.

  “There’s one other thing, though.” Enough people had moved by that they were caught in the middle of alums from three classes below.

  “Yes?” Justin asked.

  “I was wondering if you would be the one to talk to your mother. You have a way with people, and somehow coming from you, she might take the news about Penelope better.” Stanfield’s black-and-orange rep tie fluttered in the breeze.

  Justin noticed there was a small spot on the silk.

  And he also noticed that for the first time in a long time he wasn’t angry with his father. It was like Archimedes shouting, “Eureka!” in the bathtub. His father would have been pleased with the classical reference, he thought with a twisted grin.

  And why wasn’t he angry? Because now he knew—his father was weak. The reason he hadn’t been able to deal with Justin’s dyslexia wasn’t intellectual snobbism or even disappointment that he had a son who would never live up to his high academic expectations. No, the reason his father had been incapable of offering love and support was because he was scared.

  No, Justin wasn’t angry. He was sorry. Sorry for the inevitable anxiety and disappointment that life must bring to his father on a regular basis.

  “Sure, Father,” he said in the end, “I’d be happy to talk to Mother.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE UNIVERSITY’S BASKETBALL arena was the location for the awards ceremony that followed The Parade. Even with temporary carpeting covering the hardwood floor and the array of tables festooned with white linen and china, the large, high-ceilinged space still looked like an indoor sports center.

  Lilah was expecting rubber chicken, and she wasn’t disappointed.

  But everything else at the ceremony was pleasantly…well…wonderful. It was so great to see her parents and how happy they were. They were seated at the head table with President Forsgate, Vivian Pierpoint, Mimi, Stanfield Bigelow—a seating arrangement that Lilah found somewhat mysterious—and Justin. Of course, Justin.

  She hadn’t needed to change the order of the place cards to make sure he was next to her. Vivian had taken care of that she noticed as they approached the table.

  “I want to hog Stanfield all to myself, so I switched Justin’s card with mine,” she had said conspiratorially to Lilah. “Somehow I didn’t think you’d mind.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “No problem,” Lilah had responded, thanking the gods on high.

  What could be better than listening to your mother give Mimi advice on raising young children—and Mimi actually listening? Or your father and President Forsgate finding out they have mutual friends in the aerospace industry? But the best of the best was having Justin here with her.

  “Have I told you how terrific you look?” he said, leaning into her shoulder.

  “I bet you tell that to every girl in a ninja outfit.” She smiled.

  He smacked his forehead with the back of his hand. “Oops! You found me out.”

  She kicked him playfully under the table and looked up and nodded as a waiter came by asking if she wanted coffee with dessert. This being Grantham, there was a heavy orange theme to the menu, and dessert was a pumpkin mousse. Just like the luncheon the other day, she passed it on, this time to her father.

  “Always thinking of others,” Walt said, taking the plate. He winked at her before digging in.

  Then the president stood and took his place at the raised podium. “Hello, everyone. It’s time for the festivities to begin, but please don’t stop eating.”

  Walt did, though, a measure of his love for his daughter. He placed his hand atop Daphne’s and beamed in pride as President Forsgate ran smoothly through his opening remarks.

  “As you all know, Lilah Evans, class of 2002, is our Distinguished Alumni Award winner this year.” There was a thunderous round of applause from the gathering.

  “Lilah truly embodies Grantham’s motto of service for the greater good. In fact, her example has already inspired another member of our community.” The president raised his arm and pointed to Vivian.

  “In honor of her senior paper advisor, Vivian Pierpoint has endowed the Stanfield Bigelow Award to be given yearly to an outstanding senior to carry out an
international project that will benefit everyone. Vivian and Stanfield are here today. If you could rise.”

  Vivian rose and looked totally comfortable taking a bow. She needed to encourage Justin’s father to rise, however. “You, too, Professor. President Forsgate knew that you especially would appreciate the goal of the prize.”

  Stanfield looked totally flabbergasted. “Maybe the man understands what Grantham is about after all,” he begrudgingly admitted.

  “Congratulations, Father.” Justin turned to him. “You are a gifted teacher. I didn’t come by my skills in a vacuum, you know. Now it’s time to take a bow.” He helped him up by the elbow.

  “That was very magnanimous,” Lilah said softly to Justin.

  “No, it’s the truth.” He looked at Lilah and breathed in. “None of us are perfect, even our parents.”

  “I don’t care what you say. I know better.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. And then she saw the president lift a plaque and heard him invite her to join him on the podium.

  This time it was Justin who squeezed her hand.

  Lilah marched up the stairs to the podium, taking in all the clapping and excited cheers.

  “This is overwhelming,” she said to the president.

  He passed her the plaque, and they stood together while the cameras clicked and flashed. Finally, when the applause had died down, he reached under the lectern and spoke into the microphone once more. “Before I turn over the podium, I have been given strictest instructions to inform everyone that the annual Tenth-Reunion-Graduating Class softball game took place yesterday, and lo and behold, the class of 2002 won.”

  There were a few catcalls and foot stampings.