Matchmaking Mona

Three

“You really think she’ll go for it, Uncle Coop?”

“Monie, unless you call her, we’ll never know, will we?” Cooper answered for the third time as he carefully hung his suit jacket on the chair facing the somewhat decrepit desk. He took off his cuff links, and laid them by the tie that was already neatly folded on the desk. He wished he had other clothes to change into, but the best he could manage was a quick shower. Ms. Livingston did not strike him as a woman who spent too much time getting ready. But he had not had a chance to go shopping and get some casual clothes.

Mona moved toward the phone. “What if she says no?”

“Then you go over tomorrow, work your little fanny off and hope she asks you to the site again. And tonight we’ll rent movies and gorge on pizza and ice cream.”

“You know I can’t eat too much junk, now that I’m a starter on the team,” Mona began, chewing her lip as she played with the receiver. Seeing storm signals in her uncle’s eyes—a rare but definitely serious occurrence—Mona began dialing. “You’ll bring me another time if she says no?”

Cooper suppressed a sigh of impatience. Had he ever been such a combination of cocky self-assurance one moment, and then jellyfish indecision the next? Smiling at his niece, he decided, yes, he had. And probably worse.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he intoned, laughing at Mona’s dramatic rolling of eyes.

He went toward the bathroom, getting towels and soap ready—thoughtfully, Mona had asked for fresh towels, as three large fluffy ones lay in total disarray on the bathroom floor—and listened to the conversation briefly. When Mona’s eyes lit up like Buckingham Fountain on a clear summer night, he waited...

And watched his niece pump her fists in the air, and jump up and down. Affectionately, Cooper reflected that not only was Mona likely to get a firstclass scholarship, but that she could probably play pro ball in Europe—if she wasn’t so dead set on being the next Margaret Mead. Or better yet, Indiana Jones.

“Where to, Unc Coop?” Mona excitedly cut into his musings.

“Don’t know the area. Ask Ms. Livingston to suggest a restaurant, and we’ll meet her there in half an hour. Unless she wants us to pick her up?”

Unrepentantly, Cooper watched his jumping-jack niece relay his answer to her idol. It was cowardly, a truly craven thing to do, but on Wall Street he’d learned the end justified the means. Anything to procure that goal.

In this case, not only did Mona’s happiness depend on this, but he was quite willing to ride on his niece’s coattails. Until, that is, Ms. Livingston got to know him a little better, and he could erase that godawful first impression he must have made on her.

Once Mona had the details down, Cooper went for his shower, which set an all-time personal best for brevity.

“What made you decide to go into the field of anthropology, Ms. Livingston?” an excited Mona asked forty-five minutes later.

LJ. put down her glass of red wine and smiled at the youngster.

“I’ve always loved learning, and adventure, Mona. There were so many things I wanted to study—astronomy, geology, zoology, history...so I picked the science of man. It encompasses everything and I get to live vicariously every time we discover something of significance, something that allows us to shed light on where we come from, how we got here—and hopefully will help us predict where we are going.”

“But isn’t it somewhat boring?” Cooper asked. “I mean, most people think of skeletons and lost mines and rediscovered ancient civilizations, but very few scientists ever find another King Tut’s Tomb, King Solomon’s Mines—or even a reconstituted T-Rex or raptor.”

“And the real scientist doesn’t expect it, nor particularly desire it, Mr. Channahon,” L.J. said in even tones. But the look in her eyes as she pinned him to the chair told Cooper Ms. Livingston had seen through his somewhat thin ruse of using Mona to get her to have dinner with him—and didn’t think much of his maneuvering, or him.

“Please call me Cooper,” he began, but Mona, bless her heart, bridged the awkward moment, and with her youthful tunnel vision, pursued her own interest.

“But that’s exactly what I want to do,” Mona said. “I want to be the next Indy Jones.”

LJ. turned her gaze on Mona, and the green eyes miraculously softened. Cooper felt his chest tighten at the thought of those bedroom eyes trained on him with less animosity and in more secluded surroundings.

“That’s not what a real anthropologist is all about, Mona,” she said softly. “I’m afraid that while the Indiana Jones series makes for wonderfully entertaining films, they cause the serious archaeologist to shudder at the inaccuracies and careless handling of what would be priceless relics, had they really existed.”

Mona squared her little chin pugnaciously and said, “Well, I intend to combine both accuracy and adventure in my work. I’m sure I can rediscover an Atlantis, or a new mummy’s tomb.”

“What about your basketball, Mona? Just a year or two ago you were intent on becoming pro,” Cooper reminded her.

“If I do join a woman’s league in Europe or South America, I’ll just be postponing my real dream,” Mona said after taking a sip of orange juice. “And if I do, it will be only long enough to finance my education and my research trips and expeditions.”

“Well, I’m sure if anyone can accomplish combining Mead, Leakey and Indy into a career, it’s you,” LJ. said.

As the waiter approached with a tray laden with food—most of it Mona’s—L.J. asked Cooper, “That was an astute observation, Mr. Channahon. Have you ever taken an anthropology course?”

Cooper waited until they sorted out their dinners. He noticed LJ.’s hidden quick smile at the plethora of plates surrounding Mona like Indians circling the proverbial wagon train in those musty Westerns, and felt his spirits lift. Anyone that attuned to a youngster could not remain unthawed for long.

At least he hoped not. So far, Dr. Livingston did not seem to be responding to what his sister, Corliss, had called his legendary charm.

Which reminded him. “Would you prefer to be addressed as Dr. Livingston?” LJ.’s initial friendliness toward him had deteriorated after Mona’s lethal comments, and he wanted to make sure Mona did not overstep her boundaries.

LJ. almost choked on a piece of shrimp. “For heaven’s sake, no! Not only does it remind me of that old African Continent chestnut I’ve had to hear all my life, but it’s far too stuffy.” Turning to Mona, who was helping tame her spaghetti with a fork and a bagel, she offered, “You may call me LJ.”

Mona’s eyes lit up, but she waited until she gulped her spaghetti down before saying, “Thank you, Ms. Livingston. I mean, L.J.,” she added shyly.

Cooper hadn’t seen the shy side of his niece in ages. She really had a bad case of hero worship.

He just hoped that Dr. Livingston—he would always remember their inauspicious beginning, and it was going to take a while for him to accustom himself to thinking of her as L.J.—realized it.

As their eyes met across the table, Cooper saw that L.J. had, indeed, recognized the extent of Mona’s adoration. Her look was less frosty, and her gaze telegraphed reassurance.

Cooper’s fierce protectiveness quieted. He had been at the hospital when Mona had been born. His brother, Corbett, had been out of town on business, and because of a blizzard, had not been able to return immediately when the baby had made a premature appearance. Corliss had still been away at school, and Cooper had been at Lauren’s and Mona’s sides when the doctors had not been sure if either of them would pull through.

As much as he liked L. J. Livingston, he would never let anyone harm Mona or make her unhappy.

Not even a woman he was coming to like and admire as much as L.J.

Mona’s piping voice distracted him from those dark hours, a long time ago...

“You stated you were not married, right, L.J.?”

His niece’s question alerted all of Cooper’s senses. It sounded like the beginning of a typical Mona interrogation.

He knew there had to be one good thing about being closely related to a teenager...they really did go where angels feared to tread.

“No, I’m not,” L.J. said, her voice laced with amusement.

To disguise his curiosity, Cooper offered her some more wine, which she declined. He served himself one more glass, and set the bottle down.

“Because I was wondering, like, if you had a husband, or boyfriend, or something, wouldn’t it be hard to be here, so far away.... I mean, won’t it take you weeks to excavate this site?”

“Months, actually,” LJ. answered after slowly chewing some rice. She wiped her mouth delicately with a white cloth napkin, and added, “I wasn’t supposed to be here for another few weeks, because of the weather—it’s been unusually rainy, as well as unseasonably cold—but I couldn’t take a chance with the APs.”

“Accounting Programmers?” Cooper asked, perplexed.

Well, that answered one question, L.J. thought. He was not one of the Aliens and Other Paranormals true believers.

Smiling, she answered, “I wish that were the case. No such luck. There is a convention of Aliens and Paranormals in the farm field next to the site, and I came down early to make sure they don’t disturb anything while chasing and investigating flying saucers and other phenomena. While one of their directors, Serena, seems a levelheaded young woman, the more extreme members keep drilling me as to whether I’ve found the link with lost civilizations.”

“Then it’s true?” Mona asked excitedly. “My teacher, Ms. Thompson, said you were trying to uncover connections to the Maya and Aztecs.”

“It’s too early to tell. Supposedly stones depicting Great Temple altars and Maya glyphs were found by some farmers, but we still have to do carbon dating, and ensure that artifacts were not intentionally interred. A certain AP element believe that the Maya were ancient voyagers, and that the lights they sighted in the sky signal their return in their advanced vessels.”

“With the popularity of Independence Day, ‘X-Files’ and ‘Dark Skies,’ there are a lot of people who seem to believe in UFO’s and extraterrestrials. The more ruthless elements could really do some damage,” Cooper said thoughtfully, pouring the last of the sour cream on a potato already heaping with butter and cheddar cheese. He saw both Mona and LJ. observing him, and added some more butter. He didn’t often indulge like this, but watching LJ.’s generous mouth thin with concern for his arteries, he figured he would brave some hardening of his vital vessels if it got him some attention from the aloof doctor.

While LJ. politely refrained from chastising him on his unhealthy habits, Mona had no such compunction.

“Too much cholesterol,” Mona said with typical teenage inconsistency. Her many plates more than doubled Cooper’s intake of heart-sabotaging foods. “You know Mom said it will be the death of you, yet.” To LJ., she confided, “My Mom used to be a nurse.”

“Oh, did she change careers? Or did she just want to stay home for a while?” L.J. asked, spearing her last shrimp.

“Oh, neither. Mom died a year ago. A heart attack.”

Four

The words were spoken casually, and Mona dug into her fruit salad, picking up her favorite, the pineapple bits.

LJ.’s fork remained frozen on the way to her mouth for an instant. Then she set it down.

The shocked look on her face was quickly replaced with one of concern. Her hand went to Mona’s slender wrist.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean—”

Mona looked up quickly, and then back down to her salad. She said casually, “Oh, that’s okay. You couldn’t have known.”

LJ.’s comforting hand remained on Mona’s for another instant, her face a study in compassion. It was at that moment that Cooper realized he could easily fall in love with Dr. Livingston.

The thought struck fear into his heart. He had dearly loved Lauren, and had seen the devastation the loss of his brother’s high school sweetheart had wrought on his previously carefree younger sibling. Corbett had not recovered yet. He was dazed and confused, daunted before the prospect of raising a teenager without the levelheaded, loving discipline of Lauren.

Cooper pushed that fear aside. Lauren had never been a strong, healthy person. She had been advised against bearing children, but had decided to have Mona at all costs. It had eventually cost Lauren her life.

L.J. seemed a more robust specimen of womanhood. At least, he hoped to God she was. It had been agonizing dealing not only with the loss of a dear sister-in-law, but with the heartache his brother and niece had experienced.

Cooper noticed L.J.’s concerned glance. She was obviously puzzled by Mona’s casual attitude. Cooper had been worried at first, too. Mona had never cried.

But Mona was a tough kid. She had obviously resolved her pain and loss in private.

Once again, it was Mona herself who bridged the sudden silence.

“How come you don’t have more people helping you?”

L.J. paused while the waiter came over to serve them coffee—Mona decided on a fat-free double-chocolate yogurt—and declined dessert. Cooper asked for an apple pie with scoops of vanilla, strawberry and black cherry ice cream.

At the parallel raising of female eyebrows, Cooper grinned unrepentantly. “Hey, I’m having fruit for dessert! I’m having my vitamin C for the day.”

Mona rolled her eyes, and finished the last of her large fruit salad serving.

“The reason I don’t have more people helping out, Mona,” LJ. answered her, “is that funding is awful tight. I have to beg, borrow or steal to get necessary equipment, money and even qualified people.”

“That means you’re desperate enough to take on a kid like me?”

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” L.J. quickly denied. She seemed to realize belatedly that the endearment had slipped out a second time. A lot of people “deared” and “sweethearted” strangers right away, but L.J. had never been one to instantly assume familiarity.

Mona, though, had brought out her protectiveness right away. Maybe, because in some ways, despite Mona’s outward tough-guy image, she reminded L.J. so much of herself at that age—ready to take on the world on the outside, a quivering mass of hurt and insecurity on the inside.

Did Mona’s father realize that, too?

From the affectionate look on his face, perhaps he did, also.

“A kid like you, as you put it, is a valuable asset. I’ve had grown-ups that have volunteered for digs because they thought it’d be a cool thing to do, something to relate at the country club when they got back. But they were not too careful with the pottery, or minimal skeletal findings. And anything resembling garbage, a lot of people refuse to treat as valuable.”

“And if I recall correctly,” Cooper added, “that is how you tell about the history, living conditions and evolution of a people over time—by the layers of debris accumulation.”

LJ. nodded her head, pleased at Cooper’s comment. “That’s right. So when I run into someone as informed as you, Mona, and as enthusiastic, I know I won’t have to constantly remind him or her of how valuable each tiny, seemingly insignificant piece of evidence is.”

Mona’s flat chest expanded to twice its size. “So you think I’ll be of some help?”

“I think you’ll be a great help,” L.J. said, smiling. “And I’ve called Bradford, another high school kid who comes in to help me on weekends. He lives in Morton, a couple of hours away, and couldn’t make it today. But he’ll be there tomorrow, to show you the ropes.”

“And how old is this Bradford guy?”

L.J., who seemed surprised at Mona’s sudden change of demeanor, answered, “He’s a senior. He’s seventeen.”

“Is he going to lord it over me?”

“Mona!” Cooper gave his niece a stern look. “You’re not in charge of this excavation. You’re there to give Dr. Livingston a hand, anywhere she sees fit. That’s what volunteers do. They help out where needed and take directions from anyone in charge. Got that?”

Mona turned bright pink, and Cooper was sorry he’d jumped at her. But he knew how stubborn his niece could be and did not want her to get in LJ.’s way. Despite what the good doctor had said, LJ. was really giving a high school freshman the chance of a lifetime, and Mona better appreciate it. Mona had always been spoiled, but after Lauren’s death, everyone had tread even more softly around her. Maybe too softly.

“Oh, I’m sure everything will go along swimmingly,” LJ. said lightly, noting the identical pair of blue eyes locked in silent combat. “But if you don’t mind, I have to get going. I’ve still to organize some things before tomorrow. I’d hoped the article in the daily paper would not have come out for another couple of weeks yet, to allow me to get things in order first, before volunteers and visitors start dropping in.”

“We could always come back next weekend, if that would be easier for you, L.J.,” Cooper offered.

“No, that’s all right. You’re here now, and Bradford can instruct Mona in some grid techniques before there are too many people around—most of them gawkers.”

L.J. got up, and Cooper followed suit. “Oh, please, just finish your dessert. I hate to eat and run, but I’m really crunched for time.”

As she was about to pick up the check, Cooper forestalled her. “Please consider this a donation to the cause.” He smiled.

LJ. returned the smile. It was nice to again see the woman hidden behind the serious professor, thought Cooper.

“Thank you.” Turning to Mona, L.J. added, “And thank you, too, Mona, for the lovely company and conversation.” Including Cooper in her glance, she added, “See you both tomorrow.”

The weather was miserable. Mona had not given Cooper too much of a hassle when he’d gotten her up at five, but he’d worried about the drizzling rain and biting wind from the north.

He’d picked up some hot coffee, hot chocolate, bagels and doughnuts from the all-night diner, and had been surprised to find two people in LJ.’s trailer already: one, the high school kid named Bradford L.J. had mentioned last night, and a second male, which instantly raised his hackles.

L.J. introduced them.

“Cooper Channahon, this is Dr. Roarke Gallagher. Roarke, this is Cooper and Mona Channahon. Mona will be helping out.”

As both men sized each other up and stiffly shook hands, both teenagers looked on in wide-eyed interest. L.J. took the bags with drinks and food from Cooper and inspected them.

“Wonderful. We’ll actually get to eat well this time. Roarke brought some muffins and fruit, as well as some juice.”

“How thoughtful of him,” Cooper almost snarled.

“Likewise,” Roarke Gallagher answered. His urbane smile revealed a row of perfect white teeth, and Cooper had a sudden urge to rearrange them. Not just the teeth, he reflected, but the smooth cap of straight chestnut hair. And perhaps add the finishing touch of a couple of raccoon rings around those smoky gray eyes, which Cooper was certain many women, bless their misguided hearts, would consider sexy.

The question was, just how sexy did Dr. Livingston find Dr. Gallagher?

And more suspiciously, just why had Dr. Gallagher appeared just when Cooper had been ready to stake his own claim?

Turning to L.J., Cooper decided to ask.

“How come Dr. Gallagher so thoughtfully decided to drop by on a Saturday morning at six o’clock with some juice and muffins?”

Cooper knew he was being less than civil—heck, he was being downright rude, and he half expected to be told to mind his own business.

He’d never considered himself a jealous man, but the longer one lived, the more one found out about oneself, he told himself with the half of his brain that was not being governed by his raging testosterone level.

The implied question was: Does he do this all the time? And the corollary was, maybe he didn’t drop in on Saturday morning, maybe he was already there from Friday night?

“Dr. Gallagher is with a foundation that concentrates its efforts on the Mississippian culture,” LJ. replied frostily. “Since the CAA—Center for American Archaeology—has recently flooded, and everything in the museum has been evacuated, he has some free time on his hands. He’s a visiting lecturer, but will be doing fieldwork and writing a book on the area—you know, the ‘Nile of North America.’ His help will be invaluable.”

Cooper corralled his baser instincts. From the concern on both LJ.’s and Roarke Gallagher’s faces, the flooding was a tragedy.

But he had his own selfish concerns to attend to.

“You know, I was giving some thought to what you were saying last night, about how you were so short on volunteers. We’re having some slow time at work, so I’d like to volunteer my time, too, in the weekends to come.” Belatedly remembering to look at L.J., he tore his challenging gaze from Roarke. “If you can use me.”

“Oh, we can use any able bodies that are willing to work for free and put in long, arduous hours,” LJ. said challengingly.

“But didn’t you tell me that with the recession you’ve got to put in more time at work, because all your clients are having puppies, and you’ve got to hold their hands while they are having their panic attacks?” Mona asked innocently.

Cooper frowned as both LJ. and Roarke hid smiles at Mona’s question. His reason for volunteering, he was sure, was as clear as crystal to Roarke. But now L.J. would think that only out of macho competitiveness, had he volunteered to help her, and that was not entirely true. Besides, Mona’s words did not make him sound like a particularly endearing fellow.

“That’s not exactly what I recall saying, Mona—”

“Oh, no, you used stronger words than that, but you told me that I’m not allowed to use them myself.”

Damn! But it was getting hot in this cramped trailer. And Mona kept digging deeper holes for him.

“You know, the coffee and hot chocolate are getting cold,” he said into the loud silence that greeted Mona’s latest pronouncement. The child had truly homicidal tendencies.

Roarke was hiding his amusement well, but that kid Bradford had a smirk on his face. There was nothing teenagers liked better than seeing adults busted, and Bradford was getting an eyeful.

Thankfully, LJ. took pity on him and said, “We can use some hot drinks in our tummies before we go out there. It looks like the storm system from the north is going to be joined by the one visiting southern Illinois soon, and we’d better get cracking if we want to get anything done today.”

Cooper breathed a sigh of relief as they all moved to the tiny galley to consume breakfast.

Five

Despite their best efforts and intentions, they were not able to get much done before the converging storms from north and south unleashed a torrential downpour on them. The temperature also plummeted, and everyone was forced back into the trailer.

“You know, L.J.,” Roarke said, “I’ve got to get Brad home soon and make it back to Springfield myself. Early tomorrow morning I’m meeting some benefactors regarding possible grants.”

“Please don’t let us keep you,” Cooper said helpfully. He had been downright jealous of the easy camaraderie between Roarke and L.J., and feeling a bit insecure about the fact that they shared a whole world of which he was only vaguely aware. He felt on the fringes of it, and did not like the feeling.

Mona, apparently, was none too thrilled with Bradford Palmington herself. The Channahons were not happy campers.

“Oh, we still have a little bit of time. I’m not going to be able to do anything in Kampsville for quite a while. The rains are predicted for days, so I should be able to help you set up,” Roarke said. He turned to Cooper. “Dr. Livingston wants to model this excavation after the Kampsville experience—getting people to dig, but also assist in the laboratory to wash, sort, catalogue and tabulate any materials that might be recovered from the site.” Looking at Mona, he added, “LJ. has told me how interested you are in the field. You’ll benefit from an interdisciplinary approach in which you’ll be able to explore ceramics, paleontology, botany, geomorphology and lithic findings.”