The Company You Keep

by Tracy Kelleher

  “Well, I do. You gave me a birthday party. I was like Brigid’s age, and Father and my mom had gone to New York for the evening—totally oblivious to the fact that it was my birthday, and it was Noreen’s night off, too. So, I was all alone—except for Cook over the garage.”

  “Watching The Simpsons on TV,” Mimi supplied.

  “Yeah, she always liked that show.” Press chuckled quietly.

  Mimi sipped her tea. “I remember getting your call. It was in the summer, and I was a counselor at the water polo camp at the university. I’d been staying in some dorm—one of the disgusting modern ones that have since been torn down. It was like an oven—no air-conditioning, maybe one hundred degrees with one hundred percent humidity—typical New Jersey summer.”

  “Excuse me, but this is my sob story not yours,” he reminded her.

  “You’re right. And you were crying up a storm.”

  “I wasn’t that bad,” he protested.

  “Oh, yes, you were. And you had every right to be.”

  “And then you came home and you brought me this Hostess cake with a candle stuck in it. Only, you’d dropped the bag when you biked over, and it was kind of squished.”

  Mimi struck her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I didn’t just bike over—I biked over it. I was so mad at what they’d done that I borrowed somebody’s bike and raced to the convenience store by the Link Station. It was the only thing open that time of night, and the selection was either that or a bag of Chips Ahoy. So I went with the cupcake. And then I put the paper bag in my mouth so I could keep both hands on the bike—it was already dark and it didn’t have a light, and I wanted to be as careful as possible. I don’t know what happened, but somehow the bag fell out my mouth and the front tire went right over it.” She gripped the mug of tea with both hands. “What a disaster.”

  “No, I thought it was great. I thought you were a god.”

  “I guess the bubble had to burst some time,” Mimi mused.

  Press turned away. “I don’t know why I even bother to come back.”

  “I thought you were all excited to get together with your friends?”

  Press narrowed his eyes. “Excited? I’m not even sure I have any friends.” He grumbled the last statement. “When you were a no-show, I ended up hanging out at Lion Inn, helping out Tony, the manager. The kids who are supposed to be working Reunions this year are total losers, and Tony was going out of his mind. So I brought in kegs for him and set things up. You go away for one year, and you come back, and things are totally screwed up. He said as much.” Press sighed with disgust.

  He was becoming a bitter, old man fast, she realized. But Mimi held her tongue. Normally, she would have chided him about this. But it was hardly a “normal” occasion. Instead, she put her mug of tea on the counter and attempted to do the mature, empathetic thing. It wasn’t easy. “I’m sure that Tony appreciates your efforts. But speaking of Brigid, since Noreen stayed at the hospital tonight, she asked me to take care of Brigid in the morning, getting her off to school and stuff. And, trust me, I could really use some help in that department.”

  Press snorted.

  “I’m glad you agree.” She raised her eyebrows and set her mouth. “If it were left up to me, I’d feed her high-fructose sweetened cereal for breakfast and give her a dollar to buy a slice of pizza at lunch. So, will you help me?”

  Press shrugged one shoulder. “Sure, it’s probably the closest thing I’ll get to female company this trip. Anyway, clearly you’re clueless around the kitchen.”

  “You’re right. I only figured out how to turn on the faucet by accident.”

  “And she’d need at least three dollars for pizza,” Press continued seriously. He didn’t seem to catch on to his sister’s self-deprecating humor. Instead, he picked up the empty juice container and like a well-trained boy, walked over to the sink, rinsed it out and placed it in the dishwasher.

  Mimi smiled sadly. He was too nice a kid to feel slighted by the world and everyone in it. “Press?”

  He looked up.

  “I may be getting soft in my old age, as you put it. But, no matter what—I’m still your sister. And while we may be apart most of the time and I may forget dinner engagements, I’m always here for you.”

  “No, you’re not. If you were always here for me, you would have done what you promised.”

  Mimi furrowed her brow.

  “You would have taken care of yourself in Chechnya.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Mimi protested. “There was nothing I could do to stop it.”

  “Yeah?” He didn’t look like he believed her. “Well, you left me—you left me alone, that’s what you did.” He pushed past her and hustled out of the kitchen.

  Leaving Mimi confused and alone with her half-empty mug.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  EARLY FRIDAY MORNING, well before anyone else was in, Vic unlocked the front door to GSI’s offices in Edison. It was overcast and chilly. June, which usually was the nicest month—mild, low humidity, sunny—was shaping up to be really lousy. The forecast had called for rain today, and tomorrow was supposed to be wet, as well. They were even calling for thunderstorms on and off the whole day.

  The organizers of Reunions must be ticked, Vic thought. He held the door open for Roxie, and she trotted through, holding her leash in her mouth. Without prompting, she took the first left before the reception desk and headed down the row of offices along the wall. Then she stood and waited as Vic flipped on the lights.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he told the dog. It was their routine every weekday. Oh, who was he kidding? It was their routine practically every day of the week since Vic frequently came into work on the weekend, too.

  He unlocked the office and pushed in the door. “There you go.” He stepped back and let Roxie lead the way.

  She headed to her bed near his desk, sat and barked. She wagged her tail expectantly.

  “What makes you think you deserve a treat?” he addressed her. This was also part of their routine. Somehow it never seemed to get old, which no doubt said a lot about what made a dog happy, but even more about his own simple pleasures. Vic set his canvas briefcase atop his desk and fired up the desktop. Then he reached for the bottom drawer on Roxie’s side, pulled out a bone-shaped biscuit and tossed it in the air.

  Roxie caught it in one swift motion, chewed loudly, then looked up for more. She batted her thick eyelashes. She was killing him and she knew it, especially when she cocked her head and batted those same lashes some more in all innocence.

  “You must think I’m a sucker,” Vic responded. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He dug into the drawer and pulled out one more. “Here. But that’s it. Otherwise you’ll get fat, and I won’t love you anymore.” He tossed the biscuit, and the dog swiped it in midair before chomping loudly.

  Vic shook his head and returned the bag to the drawer.

  Roxie sniffed around the floor for escaped crumbs, finally giving up before inspecting her stainless-steel water bowl. It was empty, and she made a pathetic attempt to lick up a bead of moisture, causing the bowl to bang repeatedly against the wall.

  Vic shook his head. “I get it. I get it. You stay here, and I’ll get you something to drink.” He picked up the bowl and headed toward the water fountain by the side door. His footsteps echoed on the marble floor of the empty building.

  Vic usually enjoyed getting into the office early and having the place all to himself. Usually. Today he found he was antsy. He had come in on purpose to get a head start on his phone calls, especially to his people in India. This proposal for Conrad Lodge’s new office in Australia was getting to the crunch stage, and he wanted to make sure that his suppliers could deliver on the mammoth order on time and at the cost he had estimated. With the decision seemingly stalled for some unknown reason, he wanted Joe to be able to come back with a supply dateline that other competitors couldn’t match. His brother had been in close contact with the female project officer at the firm a
nd had wielded his considerable charm to keep him in the loop.

  Given the time zone changes, early morning was the best time to get a hold of people, but for the first time in a long time—forever, really—he found it difficult to concentrate on work. And he knew why.

  He held the dog bowl under the water fountain and depressed the side button. A steady stream arced into the center of the bowl, and he stared as it filled the container. Actually, he didn’t stare. He spaced out.

  Mimi Lodge. Who’d have thought it? He pressed the tip of his tongue against his top lip. He hoped she’d like the show this evening. He’d ordered the tickets online, and he wasn’t really sure. The last show he’d been to had been when he was married. It had been in Vegas. Some Canadian female singer. Tall. Huge voice. Shauna had loved it. He’d been nursing a dislocated shoulder at the time and couldn’t remember much of anything through the fog of painkillers.

  Somehow Vic couldn’t see Mimi going to Vegas. She didn’t look the glitz-and-glamour type. Come to think of it, he’d only ever seen her in loose pants and sweaters. The woman sure covered up her body. He wondered if she had good legs. He frowned. Probably. She’d been a jock, after all, and no amount of loose fabric could hide everything—especially when a woman was lying on top of you. Vic opened his mouth wider and—

  And jumped. Cold water had run all over the side of the dog bowl and down his hand, traveling up the sleeve of his blue Oxford button-down shirt, what else? He jumped back, swearing and banging the bowl against the stainless-steel basin of the water fountain. The metal-on-metal impact made a loud clang that echoed off the painted cinderblock walls.

  The outside door opened. Vic looked over. And saw his father poke his head in.

  “Vic,” Gus Golinski said, startled. “I heard a noise.” He stepped into the hallway but kept the door open behind him with his back.

  Vic rubbed his mouth, embarrassed. “Sorry, I was filling Roxie’s dog bowl and accidentally dropped it in the water fount—” Vic stopped midsentence. “Wait a minute, don’t you play racquetball with your group today?”

  His father frowned. “Something came up and I had to cancel.”

  “I can’t remember you ever skipping racquetball.”

  “Gus, is everything all right?” a woman’s voice asked from outside the open door.

  Vic lifted his chin to get a better look at who was standing behind his father. Not that he really needed to. The larger-than-life, strong Jersey accent was unmistakable. “Abby. I didn’t know you were here, too,” Vic said, acknowledging the firm’s receptionist.

  “Yes, well…” She stepped closer to the open steel door and sniffed.

  Vic looked down and saw she had a wad of tissues in her hand. Her jet-black mascara had run under her eyes. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine, fine.” She shook her head.

  “You don’t look all right.”

  “Why don’t I just wait outside?” she suggested, then ducked away.

  Vic watched as his father let the heavy door close behind him. “I don’t get it. Anyway, she shouldn’t stay outside. It’s not very pleasant.”

  “She’ll wait in her car,” his father assured him.

  Only, it wasn’t reassuring at all. Vic looked at his father. “What’s going on here?”

  “It’s not what you think,” Gus said quickly. A little too quickly.

  Vic opened his eyes wide. “You have no idea what I’m thinking. I don’t even know what I’m thinking.”

  “It’s just that Abby and I…we talk to each other.”

  “Talk?”

  “About things.”

  “Things?”

  “Witek, don’t act that way,” his father ordered.

  His reprimand didn’t make a dent. “What way should I act?” Vic asked.

  “We’re not having an affair, if that’s what you’re thinking. More a support thing. Abby tells me her problems—like how her oldest son told her late last night that he’s decided to leave his wife. He’s met someone online. Claims he’s never been in love with his wife. Can you believe it? Married going on eight years. Two kids, the youngest with Down’s syndrome and everything, but cute as a button. What kind of a man does that?”

  Vic had absolutely no idea—about a lot of things at the moment. “How long has this been going on?” He waved his hand toward the closed door.

  “What?” His father stuck up his chin. He was still a powerfully built man, with wide shoulders and a barrel chest. Hands like hams. But middle age had brought a small stoop, and his once black hair was more salt than pepper and thinning on the top. His legs, from years of laying tile and brick, now gave him trouble, and he wore elastic knee braces when he played racquetball. Not that he would ever give it up. They’d have to drag his cold, dead body off the court before he’d stop. “It keeps me young,” he liked to boast.

  Young enough for more things than racquetball, Vic had to think. He didn’t buy this mutual support baloney. Even if they were not having sex—geez, he didn’t want to think about that—there was clearly something going on, something that he had hidden all these years. Speaking of which. “How long has this been going on?” Vic repeated.

  Gus set his jaw. “Fifteen years.”

  Vic did the math. “Was that before or after Tom died?” His voice was stone cold.

  “After.” His father looked away.

  “So when you recommended that I hire her to work here?” He let his voice trail off.

  His father nodded without looking at Vic directly.

  “What would Mom think?” Vic asked accusingly.

  Gus looked up. “You really think your mother doesn’t know? Your mother and I haven’t had a real marriage in years—ever since…ever since…”

  “Ever since you took Tom fishing and he died.”

  “It was an accident,” his father pleaded. Then he dropped his head. “Your mother will never accept that. She’ll blame me forever. Even now she can barely stand to be in the same room with me.”

  “But…but…you live with each other. We get together every Sunday—the whole family.” Vic was confused.

  “That’s different. That’s family,” Gus explained as if that one word said everything.

  Maybe, but not to Vic. “But if it’s all a farce, why don’t you get a divorce?”

  “Your mother would never agree to a divorce. Marriage is a holy sacrament.”

  Vic was dumbfounded. He tried working through all the thoughts racing through his head. “And Abby? She’s content with this…this…I don’t even know what to call it.” Vic felt dirty just searching for the word.

  “She understands. Life isn’t so simple. She’s been through a lot, too. A lousy divorce. Raising kids on her own. It hasn’t been easy.”

  Vic narrowed his eyes. “Do you support them, too?”

  Gus balled his fists. “You’ve gone too far now.”

  “I’ve gone too far?” Vic bellowed.

  There came the clipping sound of toenails.

  Roxie had gotten up to see what was wrong. “It’s all right, girl. Go lie down,” he ordered. Somehow he didn’t want her getting close, didn’t want her tainted.

  The dog hesitated, then turned back to the office.

  Vic rubbed his forehead.

  “From all the shouting, Abby’s probably worried like crazy that you’re planning on firing her,” his father criticized.

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before you began screwing her?” Vic looked at him askance.

  Gus breathed in sharply. “You apologize for that remark.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s no way for a son to talk to his father. We’re family.”

  “Wow, some family.” Vic stormed back to his office. He completely forgot about the water bowl.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  VIC SHOWED UP at the Lodge house at seven o’clock focused on only one thing.

  To put any thought of his family out of his mind.

  Well,
that—and sex.

  He reached for the brass knocker on the massive front door painted a glossy black to match the shutters. There was also a very discreet—what appeared to be mother-of-pearl—doorbell. He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to use that, too. Frankly, he wasn’t sure anyone was supposed to even touch it. As he considered his options, Vic let his eyes peer upward and saw a security camera pointed to exactly where he was standing. He hadn’t noticed it the night before. But today, now that he recognized the extent to which old money made sure of the safe continuation of the dynastic line, he fully expected armed guards to descend on him if he made the wrong move. Talk about Big Brother.

  The door opened. He was spared the quandary.

  And it wasn’t Big Brother.

  It was more like little sister.

  “Hi, you must be Mimi’s friend.” An extremely confident young girl with red pigtails, wearing a black T-shirt and jodhpurs, held out her hand. “I’m Brigid, Mimi’s half-sister. She asked me to invite you in.”

  “Vic Golinski. Pleased to meet you.” Vic solemnly returned the handshake—Brigid’s hand dwarfed in his much larger one—and noticed the dirt along the side of her riding pants. Clearly, they didn’t serve as a fashion statement, and she’d actually been in close contact with horses. Probably her own horse, Vic thought. The rich are definitely different.

  “Mimi should be down shortly. Would you care to sit in the living room?” She sounded like a highly trained, miniature etiquette expert.

  Then Brigid leaned toward him conspiratorially. “I’m supposed to ask you that, but the furniture’s really uncomfortable. I always slip off the chairs. You want to go to my room instead and see my Barbie collection?”

  “Brigid, Vic probably doesn’t want to play with Barbies.” Mimi called out from upstairs.

  Vic glanced up as she ran lightly down the stairs, her hand skimming the railing. “Sorry I’m running late, but we just got back from Brigid’s riding lesson at Daisy Hill stables.”

  Brigid pulled on Vic’s pants leg. “It’s not called Daisy Hill. It’s Colonial Hall. Anybody knows that.” The little girl rolled her eyes, then turned to the grand staircase. “And I don’t know why he doesn’t want to play Barbies. Press plays Barbies with me, and he’s a boy.”