Читать книгу The Company You Keep - Tracy Kelleher, Tracy Kelleher - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

VIC TOOK A LARGE GULP, lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Vic. Vic Golinski, in case you didn’t remember.”

Mimi raised her head, then raised it more. “Of course. You’re hard to miss.” She’d forgotten just how big, how imposing he was. Maybe he was a little fuller around the jaw line and not quite so pneumatically blown up in the shoulder area, but she was pretty sure he could still bench press everyone behind the counter, and maybe the counter, as well. She stared at his chest—the top button of his blue Oxford shirt undone, the striped tie loosened and casually tossed over his shoulder—and wondered what else he could press… .

“That’s fourteen ninety-nine,” Carlos announced. “Fourteen ninety-nine,” he repeated.

Mimi shook her head and held up her hand. “Sorry, that’ll be me.” Flustered, she reached for her shoulder bag—and didn’t feel it. She patted along her hip. Nothing. She looked down. “Oh, cripes.” She peered over her shoulder, seeking out her brother. “Press, hey, Press,” she called out.

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his name.

“Listen, it looks like I left my purse in the car.” She pointed outside. “I can run back and get it if you give me your keys. Or can you cover it, and I’ll pay you back?”

Press pushed toward her, shaking his head wearily. “I don’t have any cash, but I suppose I could use my debit card.”

“That’s all right, Press,” Angie said reassuringly as she reached his side. She motioned for Carlos to vacate his post at the register. “I know you’re good for it. You can pay me some other time.” She waited as her assistant raised the flap in the counter for her to come across.

“Please, allow me.” Vic pulled out two twenties. “Just add it to my bill. A meatball hoagie with hot sauce, side of fries and—” he raised his eyebrows at Mimi “—and one bottle of water—large and extremely wet.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll just run back to the car. It’s only across the street,” Mimi insisted. She waved away his hand.

He squeezed closer to the cash register. “She’d give you the shirt off her back—and trust me, I’ve seen her do it. But it’s probably faster if I take care of this.” He kept his arm outstretched with the bills.

Mimi nudged him away with her elbow. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned to Angie. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Will someone make up their mind?” Press asked behind them.

Mimi and Vic turned their heads, she clockwise, he counterclockwise. Mimi raised her eyes. Vic lowered his. His nose almost grazed her forehead.

The cash register drawer opened with a loud ding.

Mimi and Vic turned back, she—lowering her head slightly, he—pulling back ever so much.

Angie reached out for Vic’s twenties and deposited the correct change in his hand at the same time. “Okay, big boy, let’s keep the line moving. We’ll call you when your orders are ready,” she said smartly, all five foot two of her substantial body imposing itself. One did not argue with Angie.

Needless to say, Mimi and Vic shuffled to the side and hovered as inconspicuously as possible against the side wall. Mimi pretended to look at the snapshots of patrons wearing Hoagie Palace T-shirts in places like Machu Picchu and the Parthenon in Greece. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Vic pocket his wallet and fold his arms across his chest.

Press sidled over and popped his can of Palmer iced tea. He eyed Vic skeptically. “Hey, do I know you?”

Vic uncrossed his arms. “Vic. Vic Golinski. I was a classmate of Mimi’s at the university.” He held out his hand to shake Press’s.

Mimi glanced over. “Oh, sorry. Vic, this is my half-brother, Press Lodge. He’s a Grantham grad, too,” Mimi said. Press might be almost as tall as Vic, but Vic had about sixty more pounds of muscle on him.

“Hi, there.” Press went through the handshake motions, then scratched his head. “Wait a minute. You used to play pro football, right?”

“Briefly.”

“I remember seeing you play at the Meadowlands.”

Mimi looked at Press. “You went to a game? With Dad?”

“No, of course not with Dad. It was a birthday party or something, and someone else’s parents took me.” He narrowed his eyes and considered Vic. “Yeah, I’m sure of it. It was a game against the Giants. There was this head-butting incident. And you were involved in it. Am I right?”

He shrugged. “That’s so long ago, it’s ancient history.”

“No, no.” Mimi shook her head. “Even I recall something about it. I mean, I was in Kuwait at the time, and the Armed Forces Radio was going bananas over this flagrant foul.” She looked at Vic. “I remember it being totally out of the blue. And it sounded absolutely malicious. Were you badly hurt?”

“Oh, darling sister of mine—” Press chimed in, sounding pretty pleased with himself “—before you offer any after-the-fact consoling, I do believe your buddy here was doing the butting, not the player on the receiving end.”

She opened her mouth. “Oh.”

“Oh, is right,” Press said with enthusiasm. “What a hit! And what a fine. If I remember correctly, it was a League-leading record at that time.” He seemed very ebullient, practically bouncing on the white soles of his beat-up boat shoes.

“Not one of my finer hours. How about we just drop it?” Vic said, his voice eerily soft.

Press closed his mouth and opened his eyes wide. “Sure, no problem.”

“A chicken cheesesteak, meatball with hot sauce, Arnold Palmer, another meatball with hot sauce and water,” Carlos shouted out.

“I’ll meet you guys outside with the orders,” Press offered. He clearly knew a way out when he saw one and lunged back to the counter.

“Shall we?” Vic offered, holding his hand out for her to lead the way.

She nodded, and she could sense the crowd part not so much for her as for the large set of shoulders sheltering her to one side.

They stepped out of the door. Mimi stretched out a tight-lipped smile. Vic made a similar face. She looked down where the sidewalk was heaving from the encroachment of a large tree root.

“So do you come back often?” “You live around here?” they asked at the same time.

“You first.” She nodded.

“No, you.” He held out his hand.

She smiled nervously. “No, I don’t get back much. But when I do it’s always great to get a hoagie first thing back. Kind of like Grantham’s version of madeleines, don’t you think?” She sounded pretentious, even to her ears, but here among the throng of people on the street she wasn’t relaxed. Not fearful, as she would have expected, but nervous—giddy nervous. Which was…well…unexpected.

Vic frowned.

“You know, Proust? How he smelled madeleines—the little French butter cookies—which evoked all the memories of his past?” She stared up at Vic. Why the hell was she talking about some nineteenth-century author, who truthfully, she’d never read more than a few pages of, when what she really wanted to ask him was, “So you do remember me? In a really bad way? Or maybe just a bad way?” Or maybe not at all.

Press forced himself through the doorway, leading with two large bags. “Here you go.” He peered in the bags and handed one to Vic. “Yours, I believe.” Then he slipped out a waxed paper covered hoagie for Mimi and a paper pouch of fries. “If you want ketchup for the French fries, I can muscle my way back in. Sorry, I forgot, but I’m happy to…” He cocked his head over his shoulder.

“No, I’m fine,” Vic said.

“Me, too. I don’t want anything to get in the way of the mounds of salt.”

Press stuffed the bag with his food under his arm. “Listen, you guys, I just got this text about meeting some friends. They’re free shortly. So, I don’t want to cut your personal reunion short, but I’d like to get a move on if possible.” He motioned with his car keys to where they’d parked across the street.

Mimi stood there, hugging her hoagie to her side. “I’ll need to get my wallet out to pay Vic.”

“No, don’t bother. It’ll be my treat,” Vic offered. “Anyway, I don’t want to hold you up,” he said to Press.

“Don’t worry about me, Press. I’ll find my own way home,” Mimi blurted out. “Whenever you get a chance, just leave my suitcase and stuff in the foyer. It’s not like there’s anything I need right away.”

“If you’re sure?” Press asked.

Mimi wasn’t sure of anything—especially where Vic Golinski was concerned. Why had she told her brother to take off without her? More to the point, why wasn’t she quite ready to say goodbye to Vic? Was it guilt for what she’d done the last time they’d crossed paths? Or maybe her hormones were sputtering to the fore after a long, bleak period? Or maybe she just needed to set the record straight before their next public showdown. Yes…that was it. She just needed to set the record straight—not that she intended to back down from her principles, but just to let him know that she wasn’t looking for a fight.

“Okay, then,” Press said breezily, seemingly unaware for the mental gymnastics Mimi was going through. “And nice meeting you,” he said as a farewell to Vic before stepping off the curb, his head already half-buried in a bag of fries. A Land Rover made a quick stop, missing him by a few inches. But Press munched away.

“Were we ever that oblivious?” Mimi asked in relief.

“I thought you people were born that way,” Vic replied.

“What?” Mimi turned back to him.

“Oblivious to others. Using words like foyer.”

“Foyer?” She was completely lost now.

“Yeah, you told your brother to leave your suitcase in the foyer of the house. Who uses words like that? Who even has a house with a foyer?”

“What’s wrong with foyer? You want me to say entryway instead?” She shook her head. “Listen, I didn’t stick around to argue. I wanted to make sure that since we’re going to be sitting on that panel again that we should bury the hatchet.” She set her jaw.

“You think I need to bury the hatchet? I could point out that you were the one who spilled the water.”

“Which you just did. And I could point out that you were the one with the flagrant head-butting violation.”

“That was different. That was a onetime occasion,” he argued.

“And you think I just go around dousing people with water whenever it strikes my fancy?” She stared at him.

Vic seemed about to speak, then looked away. After a moment, he turned back. “Shall we agree to try to be civil? Or at least put up the front of being civil?”

Mimi peered around and saw that several people were slanting them nervous looks. She stood up straighter. “I don’t see why not. Besides, it’s not as if we really know each other to get all riled up anyway. And I’m sure that since I last saw you you’ve changed and…developed in many ways. I mean, you look…” Her voice trailed off. Yes, she had already noticed just how physically developed he’d become.

“Older?” he suggested.

“Settled,” she said instead.

“You make that sound like a criticism.”

Mimi shook her head. “On the contrary, over the years I’ve grown to appreciate stability. It’s like something isn’t missing in your life.”

He studied her face. “You think you know me?”

She touched the top of her hoagie bag. The burst of energy she had felt when first seeing him was slowly seeping away. And she could almost feel her eyes darting back and forth, studying the people passing by on the sidewalk or going in and out of Hoagie Palace.

Stop it! she reprimanded herself. This is bloody Grantham, after all! The biggest criminal threats were bored teenagers shoplifting from the drug store.

She squared her shoulders and fixed a smile on her face. “Let’s start again. So, are you living nearby or did you just come in early for Reunions?” The Reunions festivities didn’t begin until Friday evening, so there were a few days to go.

He studied her some more, then visibly eased off. “I live in town now. Actually, my whole family does. In a small town house development behind the shopping center.”

Mimi nodded. “I think I know the one you mean. Brick? Kind of a Georgetown re-dux? Very exclusive. I bet you even have an aesthetically minded owners association.”

“So you heard about the no clothesline rule, then?”

“You’re joking?”

“Could I make something like that up?” he asked. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth.

“No, I guess not.” She chuckled then gazed into his face. “So you think we’ll be able to be civil to each other?” She cocked her head.

“Only with immense amounts of restraint.” He shifted his bag of food to the other arm and cradled it like a football.

How fitting, thought Mimi. She was actually starting to relax again. Weird, the one person in Grantham who had vexed her the most now seemed capable of putting her best at ease. “If you want, we could eat our hoagies together?” She held up her paper bag.

“I was going to take it home.” He hesitated. “Of course, you’re welcome to come.”

Why did she feel he was just being polite? And anyway, even though he had bought food for only himself, who was to say he wasn’t meeting someone? For some reason, the prospect of having to make polite conversation with Vic Golinski’s current squeeze was more than she could bear at the moment.

So, instead, she glanced down at her oversize wristwatch—not the sturdy Rolex from her mother, that one was gone forever—and started to back away down the sidewalk. “Thanks for the offer, but on second thought, I should probably head home.” She held up her wrist and tapped the crystal of her black Swatch. “My family’s probably wondering what’s happened to me.” Like that was really going to happen, Mimi thought. Whatever, it was as good an excuse as any.

“So, I’ll be off, then.” She pointed vaguely toward the center of town. Her family’s house was located on the west side about a half-mile past the commercial stretch, in the Old Money residential section. Even the rhododendrons on that side of town could boast aristocratic lineages.

“I can give you a lift if you’re in a hurry.”

She shook her head. “Not to worry, I’m fine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to take you out of your way.” The ride in from the train station with Press had not totally been knuckle biting, but it had probably been enough to tax her stamina for one day. “It’s not personal. I prefer to walk.” Now that was the truth.

“Don’t worry. I don’t take it personally.”

From the scowl on his face, she wasn’t so sure.

“On the other hand, I’m parked in a spot down a ways—right in the direction you’re headed. If you don’t mind, I’ll just tag along that far. That way you’ll get the chance to meet my girl. She’s waiting in the car.” He seemed very chipper all of a sudden. “She’s the hot sauce fanatic actually.”

Was it too late to run?