Mimi lifted the arm of her sweatshirt close to her nose and detected the lingering odor of meatballs and hot sauce. Then she looked down at the front. There was a stain just below the “n” in Grantham—remnants of the hoagie she’d finished off while checking her email. Brigid might deem her ready for the trash heap, but Mimi actually took heart. After months of obsessive-compulsive behavior, she took it as a sign that she was finally beginning to chill out.
“I am so not yucky,” she rebutted Brigid’s comment. “That’s the telltale aroma of the food of the gods. And if you’re a good girl today, after school, I will spirit you away from this world of low-fat-low-carb-absolutely-nothing-artificial and introduce you to real world cuisine.”
Brigid looked at her with horror. “Will it make me look like you?”
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Mimi found herself smiling. Her facial muscles strained from the unfamiliar effort.
Noreen shook her head. “As a devoted believer in good nutrition and the benefits of honest local fruits and vegetables, I could plead with you not to interfere with my methods. But I must confess, there’s something about Hoagie Palace’s French fries that could make the most devoted health food nut question her beliefs.”
Mimi leaned toward Noreen and whispered loudly, “Tell you what. I’ll get a large order and bring them back. That way it won’t be as if you were really indulging—just making sure I don’t overdo it.”
“I’m so glad that I’ll be able to save you from yourself.” Noreen smiled and clapped her hands. “All right now, my sweet lassie. Time to get going. Otherwise you’ll miss the school bus. My Pilates class starts promptly at eight, so I don’t have time to drive you. And your father is already on the train into the City, so you can’t look to him, either.”
Brigid hopped off her stool and wrapped her arms around Mimi’s legs. “You could drive me, though, couldn’t you?”
Mimi was about to say yes—who could resist a kid with red hair and missing teeth, who also thought you were the greatest person in the world after her mother and father, and even maybe her big brother, Press?
“No, she couldn’t,” Noreen answered for her. She picked up her daughter’s lunch box and L.L. Bean knapsack and held them out. “Mimi is tired after her trip coming down here. You’ll have plenty of time to see her when you get home.”
Mimi got the message. There would be no spoiling her half-sister. At least, not at the moment. “Anyway, it’s a lot cooler to take the bus to school with all the big kids,” she informed Brigid.
Seemingly easily appeased, Brigid stepped back and slipped the straps of her backpack over her tiny shoulders—the navy blue coordinated with her striped blue-and-white shirt and blue cropped pants that were flared at the bottom. She stopped to kiss her mother, and then one more hug for Mimi, before she skipped to the mudroom and toward the back door. The final bang of the screen door followed as Brigid raced out.
Suddenly it was quiet.
And just as suddenly, an unexpected pang of anxiety gripped Mimi. She felt her heart race, her upper lip become moist. “Don’t you…don’t you worry that something might happen—her just taking off on her own?” Mimi turned to Noreen.
Noreen stepped over to the bank of windows on the side of the kitchen, and through the sparkling panes Mimi realized she could see Brigid skipping down the long red stone driveway. As soon as the girl was out of sight, Noreen walked swiftly to the front of the house.
Mimi followed and watched Noreen as she peered surreptitiously through the gauze curtains covering the sidelights on either side of the front door. Brigid followed the curve of the drive that led to the entrance where a hedge of hollies converged on two giant brick pillars topped by hand-blown electric lanterns. Wrought-iron gates, attached to the pillars, were open inward. A coded entry box was embedded into the side of one pillar, and it matched the control panel by the front door.
Noreen gazed at her daughter eager to start her day at school. Her eyes never left the window.
Mimi looked out the matching sidelight on the other side of the massive front door. She saw Brigid standing on the sidewalk, swaying her hips. She appeared to be singing her own personal background music. Then the noise of a school bus grew louder until it stopped and opened its door. Brigid swirled around and waved goodbye before dancing up the stairs. The doors fanned shut and the bus departed.
Noreen turned away. “It’s our little game. I pretend I don’t watch her go, and she plays along until the last minute as if to tell me she really knew all along. In any case, we’re talking about broad daylight in Grantham, New Jersey—not exactly a high-crime area.”
Mimi still couldn’t help feeling uneasy. “I know you’re right. It’s that…”
Noreen stepped toward her. “I understand. And if it makes you feel more at ease while you are here, I can wait with her for the bus. Or better yet, why don’t you?” She didn’t bother to elaborate.
Mimi was grateful for her sensitivity. “Okay, I’d like that. I could say that I wanted to have some sister time together.”
“I think that would be splendid. Now, if you don’t mind, I really should be off. I try to squeeze in exercise whenever I can. Age has not been particularly kind to my hips. I can feel exactly where all the rich food from the Board dinner last night has settled.” She patted her thighs.
Mimi couldn’t detect any evidence of middle-age spread, but Noreen, as she’d come to realize, was something of a perfectionist.
“Would you like to come along, too? I’m allowed a certain number of guest passes at the gym,” Noreen offered.
“No thanks. I think I’ll do my usual workout at Delaney Pool on campus. I used to resent all the hard work at the beginning of water polo season, but now I find the swimming immensely therapeutic. Nothing clears the mind like the intense monotony.”
“If you say so. Frankly, without the commitment of a regular class, I’d probably never do anything. And speaking of commitments—” Noreen whisked her purple Prada bag off the narrow table in the foyer “— I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you when you came in yesterday. I know your father and I are looking forward to getting together while you’re in town.”
Yeah, like her father was turning handstands in anticipation. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” Mimi said politely. “After my workout, I promised Lilah I’d get together with her, and I’m not quite sure what my plans will be after that.”
“Oh, you’ll get to see Sam,” Noreen gushed about Lilah’s one-year-old baby named for her father, Walter Samuel Evans, who had died unexpectedly just before the baby was born. “There’s something so innocent about babies. I remember your father cooing over Brigid when she was born.”
“Now that I find hard to believe.”
“You’d be surprised. Your father can be quite attached to you children, the way all proper fathers should be. In fact, we had a conversation about that not long ago.”
“More power to you if you managed to get him to admit that,” Mimi said incredulously. “But I guess better late than never—especially for Brigid. It’s important that she has a loving father.”
“For you, too, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s too late for that.”
“It’s never too late.” Noreen wrestled her keys from deep within her bag. “Do you need a car, then? Conrad’s Mercedes is in the garage.”
“No, thanks, I’d thought I’d bike. Get some fresh air—as opposed to the stuff I breathe in the City.”
If Noreen suspected Mimi’s reluctance to get in a car, she didn’t comment. “Well, make sure you grab a jacket. I know it doesn’t look like it now, but the forecast is for rain. And don’t forget—if you are free tonight, we’d be delighted to get together. Press, too. I know he’s always up for a home-cooked meal. I can’t promise anything fancy since Cook is off this long weekend, but I’m sure we’ll make do. Slán, then.” And she headed to the back of the house and out to the garage.
&nb
sp; And like that, Mimi was alone. Oh, Press was probably sleeping off the jetlag in his bedroom, but for all intents and purposes she was alone. Ever since her mother’s death she’d been alone.
Noreen said she could use a father’s love. “I don’t think so,” Mimi responded out loud. Then she felt her cheek. “What I could really use is a slobbery kiss from a certain sweet dog,” she decided.
Then how come her thoughts immediately jumped to kisses from a certain dog’s owner?
CHAPTER TEN
VIC WENT ROUND AND ROUND, swinging his three-year-old nephew, Tommy, in a wide circle. His sister had called him earlier.
“I’ve got to work breakfast at The Circus and Mom isn’t back, and there’s still an hour to go before nursery school. I just can’t leave him,” she said in desperation.
“Where’s Dad?” Vic had asked as he finished packing his gym bag. Four days a week he hit the gym before heading off to work. It kept the weight off from his mother’s cooking. And it was force of habit, a prudent measure to ensure a sound mind and a sound body.
“Where’s Dad? Oh, come off it. It’s Thursday. Where do you think he is?” Basia had asked impatiently.
“Right. Racquetball with the guys. God forbid anyone gets in the way of his Thursday and Friday racquetball.”
“So, if you can just fill in until Mom gets back from church?” she pleaded.
“What about Joe? He lives in town. You could drop Tommy off on the way,” Vic replied. He didn’t mind helping out, but why was it that everyone always called him first in times of need?
“Are you kidding me? I don’t even trust Joe to take care of himself. The guy shows about as much responsibility as a feral cat.”
“You know, if you’d let me pay for your tuition, you wouldn’t need to waitress and be stuck in a bind this way,” he pointed out.
Basia sighed. “Listen, we’ve been through all this before. Mom and Pop already let me stay at the house for free. You pay for my violin lessons. The least I can do is pull my weight as far as getting my degree. Besides, I think it sets a good example for Tommy—showing him his mom isn’t afraid of hard work. But, Vic, I really don’t have time to argue.”
Vic shook his head. “All right. Bring Tommy over and I’ll watch him ’til Mom shows up. But I was really hoping to get to the gym before work.”
“Thanks, Vic, you’re the best. If you ever need anything from me.” But she’d already hung up the phone, and a few minutes later, she knocked at his front door and swept in, Tommy and his lunch box in tow.
So there he was, swinging his nephew around on the sidewalk in front of his town house. Tommy’s squeals of joy permeated the small street. His laughter mixed with the calls of sparrows and robins that squabbled in the trees and the scramble of squirrels chasing one another up and down the rough trunks. Their mating rituals had already begun. Roxie lay on the sidewalk soaking up the sun. She was oblivious to animal life unless it was cooked and came sliced from the deli counter.
“No more, no more,” he called out to Tommy. “I’m getting dizzy here, buddy.” He slowed his rotation but still clasped his nephew firmly by the wrists. His legs were starting to feel wobbly.
A neighbor drove by in her midnight-blue BMW and waved. A divorcee in her early forties, she worked for the university in their alumni office. She was an avid gardener and even enjoyed having Tommy tag along when she was planting bulbs or flowers in the strip of common property that ran along their private road. Vic had asked her out for dinner once. And while their conversation had been enjoyable, it was clear to both of them that there was no chemistry to go beyond that.
“Uncle Vic, Uncle Vic, more merry-go-round.” Tommy tugged at him.
Vic looked down. Aside from his dark hair, the boy looked just like his younger sister, and he remembered twirling Basia around the same way when she was a kid. “Okay, Tommy, one more time. But if you barf up your Cheerios, you’re going to be in big trouble. You will personally wash my clothes.”
Tommy laughed. “Silly Uncle Vic. Mom washes clothes. Not me.”
“I wouldn’t tell that to your mom.” Vic adjusted his grip around Tommy’s thin wrists. “Away we go,” he said and started to spin the boy around. Tommy closed his eyes and put his neck back, reveling in the speed.
A gray Camry bumped up over the edge of the curb into the next driveway. The driver’s door swung open. “Witek, what do you think you are doing? You could kill the boy.” His mother jumped out of the car and scurried across the small lawn. She was dressed in black knit pants with a black blazer over a white shell. A gold cross hung from a chain around her neck. Aside from the brown-and-beige Coach tote bag with its signature “C”s, she could have been dressed for mourning. Well, in a way, Vic realized, she was.
Roxie stirred from her slumber and retreated to Vic’s front stoop. The dog was afraid of Vic’s mother—understandably.
Vic slowed his swinging. “Don’t worry, Mom. Dad used to do this to us kids all the time.”
“Just my point,” his mother shot back. She grabbed Tommy and inspected him closely. “Are your shoulders all right, your wrists? You could have easily broken something.”
“I’m fine, fine, fine, Grandma,” Tommy said in singsong fashion. “We were just playing.”
“Fine, but no playing like that on my watch, young man. Here are the keys.” She held up her key ring. “Go in the house and wash up in the front powder room. Who knows what kind of germs you got playing outdoors. Then come stand by the front door until I come in.”
Tommy ran off to the front door of Vic’s parents’ house, right next door to Vic’s own. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Bye, Uncle Vic.”
Vic waved. “Kids are supposed to play outdoors. They’ve got energy to burn.”
“Like you’re such an expert on kids? We should all be so lucky.” She crossed her arms.
Vic rolled his eyes. Now was not the time for his mother to lecture him on how she wanted some more grandchildren to pass on the family name before she died. The way she talked, you’d think she was closer to eighty than sixty. “I’ll be off, then.” He turned to go back to his own house.
“Hold up. Where’s Basia? Why wasn’t she taking care of Tommy like a good mother?”
“Give Basia a break, Mom. It wasn’t her fault she had to leave for work and you weren’t home.” He felt very protective where his sister was concerned.
“But you know I always go to seven a.m. mass at St. Urzula.”
Vic glanced at his watch. “It must have been an extra-long service. Anyway, you know there’s a perfectly decent Catholic church here in Grantham. There’s no need for you to go all the way to Trenton every day.”
“We’ve been through this before, Witek,” she said. “St. Urzula’s is the old neighborhood church.”
“But your neighborhood—your house—for more than eight years is here,” Vic argued. He didn’t bother to add that it was a house that he had paid for.
“That doesn’t mean I still don’t have ties with my old friends. Besides, I feel comfortable there. And it’s nice to hear the older generation still speaking Polish.”
“Mom, you were born in this country.” As the years went by, his mother seemed to become more and more attached to her Polish heritage, even going back with church groups to various religious sites. Vic didn’t get it, but then there were a lot of things he didn’t get about his mother. “Listen, I respect your choices, but if you’re going to be held up in traffic, could you call me on your cell phone. You carry it, right?”
“Of course, how else would I show everyone the latest photos of Tomasz? In any case, it wasn’t the traffic that held me up. I wanted to speak to Father Antonin about Basia.”
“What about Basia? Is something wrong? I thought her last semester went fine. Better than fine—all As.”
His mother turned her head to check if Tommy had returned to her front door. When he still hadn’t, she leaned forward and whispered, “She has a husband.”<
br />
Now Vic was going to lose it. “You mean that deadbeat with a gambling problem? Once the divorce is finalized she’ll be rid of him for good.”
“Witek, he’s still the baby’s father,” his mother protested. “And more to the point, marriage is a holy sacrament.”
Vic shook his head. “And if you’re worried about Basia’s soul, don’t. When she’s passed on to greater glory, she can spend her time with me and the rest of the sinners.”
“Watch your tongue.”
“Hi, Grandma. See, my hands are clean,” Tommy called out from the open door. He held up his hands. Water blotches dotted the front of his striped T-shirt.
Vic’s mother waved. “I’ll be right with you, sweetheart. We’ll change that shirt before you catch a cold.” She pushed her large bag up to her elbow. “I have to go. But before I do, a friend of mine from Zumba class mentioned to me that she saw you talking to a woman the other day on the street.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Now it’s a crime to talk to women?” Vic asked. He didn’t really want to get into a long-winded discussion, but he knew his mother wouldn’t let up until she got details. “It was Mimi Lodge. You know, the TV reporter? She’s back in town for Reunions.”
His mother narrowed her eyes. “Since when are you so buddy-buddy with this Lodge woman?”
“She’s not ‘this Lodge woman.’” He was starting to feel as protective of Mimi as his sister. “Mimi was a classmate of mine at Grantham.”
His mother stared at him.
He knew she was itching to say something more. “What?” he asked.
“Don’t mess with those Lodges,” his mother warned.
“Why? They’re good for business. Joe’s working on a major contract with her father’s company now. If that comes through, you’ll be swimming in Coach bags.” That wasn’t particularly nice, but so what. He couldn’t be nice all the time.
“Grandma-a,” Tommy wailed. “Can I have some string cheese?”
The Company You Keep Page 8
