LITMIR.BIZ

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Press turned to Matt. “I wouldn’t worry about the bended knee. Probably the two-armed boost-up would be more effective in this case.” He rested the bag of food on the patio table.

       Lilah opened one eye. “I’m not that far gone that I need help getting up. And it’s not the alcohol. It’s the jet lag that leveled me.” She hoisted herself to an upright position and rubbed her eyes, daring to open both in narrow slits. “Are these two Wise Men bearing gifts?”

       “I don’t know how wise they are, but that’s my half brother, Press, and his friend whose name I don’t remember—”

       “Matt.”

       “And Matt, apparently, who’ve brought your hoagie and fries.”

       Lilah made some noise.

       “Is that a sound of joy or disgust?” Mimi asked.

       Lilah yawned. “Neither. I’m afraid I’m too tired to eat anything.” She shook her head and studied Press and Matt with only the barest of insight. “I may be wrong, but you both seem to be growing boys. I’m sure you can figure out what to do with my share of the food.” She rose, a little wobbly on her feet. “I don’t mean to break up the party, but if it’s not too much trouble, I’d really appreciate it if someone could drive me to campus.”

       Mimi crossed her arms. “What a party pooper. Here you force me to come back to Grantham and attend Reunions and act as your bodyguard, and what do you do but crap out on the first night. Is that fair?” She pouted.

       Lilah pushed her bangs out of her eyes and felt the back of her head, realizing that her barrette had fallen out. She searched around her chair, then ducking her head underneath, she responded, “There will be other nights, I promise.” She righted herself, barrette in hand. “Tomorrow night, in fact. That’s when my dad comes in. You’re having dinner with us, remember?” She frowned as she looked around the patio. “I wonder where I left my backpack? It’s got all the information about where I’m staying on campus.”

       “Where were you besides here? If you were making drinks, maybe the kitchen?” Matt suggested.

       “Clever boy. Why don’t you hustle on in there and see if you can find it?” Mimi said. Matt did as he was told.

       Press breathed in slowly. “Do you have to be so imperious? I know you think coming back here is a real effort on your part, but how about toning it down a notch where my friend is concerned?”

       Mimi rolled her eyes. “Mr. Sensitivity. But all right. I promise to act nice.”

       Lilah winced. Even in her half-awake, mildly inebriated state, she recognized the bitter undertones. Mimi’s dysfunctional family had always seemed amusing from afar, and her renditions of the latest family gossip were always bitingly witty. But up close, what had seemed amusing now just appeared mean.

       Still, she didn’t want to think badly of her friend—her only old friend, for that matter. But that didn’t mean that Lilah was ignorant of Mimi’s shortcomings.

       She heard the sound of the screen door from the kitchen banging shut, and she knew relief was in sight. “Great, my stuff. You’re a lifesaver…ah…what is your name again?”

       “Matt,” he said enthusiastically and placed Lilah’s backpack on the table next to the food. His thin shoulders noticeably straightened up when he was relieved of the weight. “And can I tell you what an honor it is to meet you. I’ve read all about your work. You’re so inspiring.”

       Lilah offered a trembling smile. “Thank you. I don’t feel very inspiring at the moment, but it’s nice to hear that people your age are still interested in social causes.”

       “Oh, he’s interested all right,” Press added. He looked at his friend, who was eyeing him with embarrassment. Then he leaned closer and whispered, “Are you going to ask her about a job, or what?”

       “Not now, dude. She’s half-asleep,” Matt said out of the side of his mouth.

       Lilah was vaguely aware of their conversation, but she needed all of her concentration just to unzip an outside pocket. “Finally.”

       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,

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