Tracy Kelleher - The Company You Keep

Just before his graduation last year, Mimi had told him that she was setting up an interview with some Chechen rebel. He’d known it was important to her—even more important than the other stories she’d covered. This one had been personal. Family. Her mother’s family.

Then he had waited—for her to return from her interview. Only, she hadn’t. He’d been worried sick for her. But he’d also felt sorry for himself. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t help it. Because he realized—if he lost Mimi, he’d lose the only touchstone he had to a real sense of family.

Now, standing in his father’s dark paneled study, he caught his father gazing off into space. If he didn’t know better he’d say the man appeared consumed by his own demons. Though the more likely explanation was indigestion or alcoholic haze.

Whichever, he wasn’t about to stick around. “So, if there’s nothing else? I came home to grab a shower before I meet up with some friends.” Press fisted his hands.

Conrad took a healthy swallow from his drink and returned his gaze to his son. “God forbid we get in the way of your social life. So, if I may be so bold as to ask—where is your sister?”

“We stopped off at Hoagie Palace because Mimi wanted to, and she ran into someone she knew from college who lives in town.”

“Not Lilah Evans? Noreen told me this morning that she and Lilah were involved in some kind of Board meeting today for Sisters for Sisters, their nonprofit organization, and then a dinner afterward. That’s why I have made arrangements to eat at the Grantham Club this evening.” He hesitated. “Though perhaps Noreen got her dates confused, in which case I wonder where she might be.” He nervously turned his cigar in the glass tray, knocking off the burnt ash.

If Press didn’t know better, he’d think his father sounded worried. “I don’t know anything about meetings or dinners. And it wasn’t Lilah. It was some guy.”

“Some guy?” His father drew out the second word. “Does this guy have a name?”

“Vic. Vic Golinski—the ex-football player.”

His father arched one brow and smiled. He savored a sip of whiskey and followed it with a few puffs of his cigar. The smoke curled upward from the tip.

Then, after a long moment, he glanced dismissively at his son. “You may leave then to do whatever it is you’re so hot on doing.” He made it sound dirty.

Press’s lip curled. Just being in the same room as his father made him feel dirty. He didn’t waste any time crossing the carpet to the door. He reached for the brass door handle, then stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh, sir.” He couldn’t resist.

His father looked up.

“Don’t bother to thank me for coming.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“SHE’S NORMALLY VERY SHY with people she doesn’t know. So don’t take offence if she tries to hide,” Vic explained protectively. They crossed the street at the Indian restaurant that always seemed to be under new management. He pointed. “I’m just parked ahead in front of the dry cleaners. Her name’s Roxie, by the way.”

“You sure it’s okay for me to meet her, then?” Mimi asked. She was looking at him like he was crazy.

Well, maybe he was. First off, he could have pretended not to recognize her in The Palace. But, no. Then he could have butted in line and paid his bill and hightailed it out of there. But, no, again. Then he could have easily waved goodbye and sauntered back into the rest of his life, with only a minor blip on the radar screen when they both served on the Reunions panel.

But, no.

Because he couldn’t. All for reasons too complicated and yet too simple to explain. He was still ticked off. He was curious. He wanted to see if she’d remembered the guy she’d humiliated in front of hundreds of people, not to mention his father at the police station. He wanted to see if she would squirm. Act remorseful. Penitent. He was running out of adjectives.

Hell, he’d just wanted to see her.

Not that he’d had any problem recognizing her instantly, and not from seeing her on TV. As far as he knew, she hadn’t been on air in months, maybe longer. No, despite the span of more than ten years, and that she now wore her hair much shorter than in college, he’d known her immediately. It wasn’t as much as her voice, or her stance or even her face, it was something about the way the air seemed charged around her.

She was like some skittish colt. With the same long, lean body that he remembered so well. Which he could recall with infinitesimal detail from the one time her body had been plastered up against him. With the same proud set to her shoulders and arching posture—a testament to good breeding as much as good genes. Still skinny, though—too little meat on her bones to be vibrantly healthy like some well-tuned athlete—the way she had been in college. And too jumpy, like she always had an eye out for someone to pounce on her when she wasn’t looking. So she looked.

And kept looking—surreptitiously—as they headed into town and past his car. He had thought he’d wanted to see her squirm with remorse, not…not anxiety. Oh, she tried to cover it up, acting as if she were simply curious about her surroundings. But come off it, how exciting was a closed bicycle shop, a religious bookstore and a phone company repair office?

He should have let her leave with her brother, or since she seemed set on walking, pretended his car was parked in the other direction. But that seemed pretty wimpy, even to his reluctant self.

Anyway, he’d been the one to insist she meet Roxie. And that one was a lot harder to explain. Oh, well. He’d make the best of it, and then move on.

“She’s a bit conscious of her ear, too,” he warned her.

“Her ear?” Mimi patted hers as if to mimic the question.

“That’s right. She had surgery during the winter to remove a tumor that luckily proved to be benign.”

“You both must have been so relieved.” She pushed the French fries in the top of the bag with her hoagie and rearranged it more comfortably under her arm.

“The doctor said that plastic surgery was an option, but I thought why put her through any more pain and suffering just for cosmetic reasons. Don’t you agree?” Why was he even bringing this all up? As if Mimi Lodge’s opinion on how Roxie looked mattered one way or another.

“As long as it isn’t disfiguring, I see no reason to bother. The world is overly obsessed with superficial beauty in my opinion.”

She actually sounded reasonable. And if the fine vertical line between her eyebrows was any indication, she practiced what she preached. Not that he thought the wrinkle was ugly. Far from it. It made her look more thoughtful than the know-it-all he’d remembered.

Then he spied his car up ahead. “That’s me. The gray Volvo station wagon.” He saw Roxie sit up at the sound of his voice. From the looks of it, she’d been snoozing in the trunk. She quickly hopped over to the backseat and squeezed her head through the opening in the lowered window. Her tail fanned enthusiastically back and forth.

“Why didn’t you tell me Roxie was a dog? I was all prepared for…I’m not sure what I was prepared for. I haven’t quite gotten my head around you.” Mimi picked up her pace and leaned down to the window.

“I wouldn’t just bend over the window like that.” Vic rushed up to her side. “It’s not like Roxie’d bite or anything, but she’s not entirely comfortable with new people…”

Too late.

Mimi already held her hand to the window, palm-side up, and was letting the dog get a good sniff. “Not bad, huh? Eau de Hoagie Palace. Tell you what. I’ll give you a small taste, but just this once.” She undid the paper around the hoagie and tore off an end.