The Company You Keep (29 page)

He rubbed his mouth, then his chin. “It wasn’t about me last night. Besides, it’s not something I talk about all that much.”

“What do you mean it’s a question of not talking? You let me bare my soul to you the way I’ve never done to anyone one else, and you don’t think it might be relevant to mention somewhere that you lost your twin brother?” She stared at him and waited.

And got nothing in return.

She breathed in. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Vic, you of all people are ill equipped to play dumb.”

Vic rested a hand on the kitchen’s center island and looked down. “I wasn’t there when it happened,” he said with resignation. “But I was supposed to have been.” He glanced up. His face was clearly marked with sadness.

Mimi sat down on one of the kitchen stools, pulling out another next to her. She patted the seat. He relented and straddled the cushion. He rubbed his fingers across the smooth black countertop, his eyes not really focused on anything in the room.

Roxie got up and rubbed against his leg. He reached down and patted her silently.

“Vic?” Mimi ducked her chin and tried to get his attention. “If it’s too difficult, you don’t have to talk about it. I understand, you know.”

He swallowed and turned to face her. “I know. But it’s all right. I mean, it happened a long time ago.” He massaged Roxie’s bigger ear. “Tom and I were really close, which you’d expect from identical twins. When we were little, we even had our own twin language. But as close as we were, we were also really competitive.”

He laughed philosophically. “No more so than on the football field, even back to the Pop Warner League. Anyway, we always had this thing in our family—whoever had a better game that Saturday got to go fishing with my dad on the Delaware River.”

“This particular weekend, I had the better game, but it was raining, and I really didn’t feel like going. But tradition is tradition in my family.”

Why did that phrase sound so familiar to Mimi?

“Anyhow, I claimed I had a sore throat and that Tom could take my place—I made it sound like I was really bummed and being all magnanimous.” He stopped.

Mimi skirted her hand across the island and rested it atop his. “It’s okay. It was an innocent act.”

Vic frowned. “Is anything an innocent act?” He shook his head, obviously not in the mood for a philosophical discussion. “Anyway, the river was swollen from the rain storm, and the water was running fast. My father couldn’t see a tree trunk that had gotten snagged on some rocks. They capsized. Dad made it. Tom didn’t. They found his body two days later washed up downstream.”

Mimi was horrified. “Wasn’t he wearing a life jacket?”

“Yeah, but—” Vic held up his hands in frustration. “He didn’t make it.” He stood up, wandering to the refrigerator. He opened one of the double doors and stared inside.

Mimi still sat. “Your family must have been devastated.”

Vic shut the door without removing anything and turned around. “Tell me about it. I don’t think they’ve ever fully recovered.”

“And what about you? Have you fully recovered?”

Vic bit down on his lower lip. “For a while I was pretty angry. But then I learned that if I just kept everything in check, lived a very orderly, well-regulated existence, I could put it behind me.” He made an exact chopping motion with his hand. “I learned to focus on the tasks at hand, work hard and try not to screw up. I figured that was the best way to make sure there were no more family tragedies.”

Mimi digested what he’d said. It explained so much about him. “So that’s how you acquired your overdeveloped sense of responsibility?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But that’s just what the oldest is supposed to do.”

“Then I must have missed that gene,” Mimi admitted. “And what about the anger? Does it ever get out?” Not that she was personally worried. The man was intrinsically gentle. Why else would the world’s most fearful dog feel the need to wander over and entwine herself between his feet? No, Mimi was more concerned for him.

“Anger? No, not really. Not since I stopped playing football.”

“Ah-h. Now, I get it. The infamous head-butting incident? Something triggered it?”

“I was playing a lousy game—getting beaten out, missing my tackles. And it was the anniversary of Tom’s death. One of those perfect-storm moments.”

“Hence, the psychiatrist’s diagnosis of unresolved anger management issues?”

“Hence, indeed.” He walked to the other side of the island and rested his hands opposite her. “So now you know.”

“Now I know.” Then she thought of something. “Does Tommy know? I mean, your nephew? Does he know he was named after his late uncle?”

“Kind of. Obviously he doesn’t yet understand the significance of his namesake. Not that my sister had any choice, mind you. My mother had declared as soon as she found out Basia was pregnant, that it was God’s way of preserving Tommy’s memory. She was convinced it would be a boy. She even claimed she’d been praying for it the whole time. Truthfully, I think it was more a question that Basia’s boyfriend, soon to be husband—and in rapid succession, future ex-husband—in his usual loser ways, didn’t bother to use a condom. But don’t tell that to my mother.”

“Maybe it’s better for Tommy to find out when he’s older. Less pressure,” Mimi responded.

“Meanwhile Basia has had to bear the burden of preserving the sainted legacy. It’s not bad enough that she’s had to compromise her own ambitions and talents. She’s also had to put up with my mother micromanaging Tommy’s life.” He breathed in slowly. “So, you see, your rosy view of the Golinski family?”

Mimi got up and circled the island. She tucked a hand between his arm and waist and forced him to turn toward her. “I’m truly sorry that things haven’t been easy for you. I guess the moral of the story is that no one is spared sorrow at some time. And I understand your desire to move on, to not dwell in the past.”

She put her other arm around his waist and drew him close. Heat emanated from his naked torso. She looked up, willing him to lock eyes with her. “But you know, don’t you, that you can tell me anything?

He gazed down at her, opened his mouth, hesitated, and then spoke. “About Reunions…”

“Didn’t you hear? The Parade is cancelled because of the rain. Leaves more time before the panel, don’t you think? For more reflective activity?” She smiled playfully.

“You know, you can really be a distraction when you want to.” He smiled back.

The phone on the kitchen counter rang.

Mimi glanced over her shoulder towards the noise and frowned. “You know, if I were paranoid, I’d say your mother has stepped up her surveillance.”

* * *

VIC RECOGNIZED THE NUMBER that lit up the screen. “You were right to be paranoid. I better get that. It’s my parents’ house. Who knows what tales Tommy’s been telling them.”

Still in her clasp, he leaned over and picked up the phone.

“It’s raining. I thought it wasn’t allowed to rain on Grantham University Reunions.” It was Basia.

Vic swiveled back and faced Mimi.
It’s my sister,
he mouthed silently.

She made a pointing motion as if to say, “Do you want me to go to the other room?”

He shook his head, adjusted one of her arms on his hip and snuggled in closer. “Is that the only reason you’re calling?” he asked his sister.

“Hmm, Tommy did mention something about you having a friend with boobies—a direct quote—but unlike the rest of our family, I figured I’d give you a chance to explain in your own time.”

“I always knew you were special. You’re bound for greatness—and that includes Carnegie Hall one of these days.”

Basia laughed. “Who knows? But, listen, I’m calling because I went on the Grantham website this morning, and not only did I find out the Parade was cancelled, but I also learned that there’s going to be a big party in Baldwin gym—in the basketball arena—instead. Everybody’s still supposed to come dressed up, and all the bands from the Parade will be there. Like one big party. Doesn’t that sound great?”

“Not really. I can think of other things I’d much rather be doing.” Vic winked at Mimi.

“Uh-huh, that’s too bad because in case you’ve forgotten, you invited Joe and me and Tommy to be in the Parade with you. I don’t know about Joe, but Tommy’s not about to let you off the hook.”

“Not even with the latest Lego set?”

“Vic,” Basia warned.

Vic rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. When are we supposed to be there?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

“Got it. Give me five. I’ll text you when I’m in the car and ready to go.” He clicked the off button and rested the receiver on the counter. “Duty calls,” he announced to Mimi.

She raised her eyebrows.

“The rained-out Parade has morphed into an indoor Un-Parade at Baldwin Gym.”

“Goody, goody. My favorite—drunken alums in bizarre class costumes rubbing shoulders in a confined space. Just stick a stake in my heart now.” She punched her chest dramatically.

Vic kissed her on the forehead and pulled away. “Gladly, but I’ve got to first take my sister and Tommy to the festivities. After that, I’ll gladly stick whatever you choose anywhere you want.”

She rocked her head back and forth at his teasing. “You sure you can’t be a few minutes late? I have a few ideas.” She wrangled him back with a tug on his arm.

He angled his head, ready to kiss her and more when…

When he cocked his head. “Now it’s my turn to be paranoid. I could swear I can hear marimbas playing? Did a Caribbean band suddenly sneak into the house when I wasn’t looking?”

Mimi sighed and shook her head. “No, that’s the Disney song ‘Under the Sea’ from the
Little Mermaid.
It’s Brigid’s ring tone on my phone. She knows how to use speed dial.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I
also
promised to take her to the Parade, along with Noreen and my Dad, and now she’s undoubtedly calling to let me know about the change of plans. If ever there was someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer, it’s her.”

Vic shook his head. “Who’d have thought our sex life would be held prisoner to the youngest members of our families? You don’t think we could skip out on the panel this afternoon instead, do you?”

“And have my father on my back—even more than usual—for the rest of my life? No way. But never fear—this is to be continued.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “As much as I hate to say this, I’ve got to get home and change and put on our wonderful class costume. Speaking of which, I can’t wait to see you in it.” She put her chin in her curled up fist and pretended to study him. “Somehow I can’t picture you in a Beefeater’s outfit.”

“Me? Wear something that ridiculous? I don’t think so. I’m prepared to wear a black-and-orange-striped tie, but that’s as far as I will go.”

“Chicken,” Mimi taunted him and started to run from the kitchen.

He grasped her by her trailing hand. “Mimi, before you go. About my not talking about things until you brought them up?”

She pulled away. “You don’t need to explain again. I get it. It’s a guy thing. We can talk about this at the Un-Parade Parade, okay?” And she scampered away with Roxie trailing right behind.

“Traitor,” Vic murmured.

He just hoped she wouldn’t think the same thing about him when she found out the truth.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

IT WAS SHEER BEDLAM at Baldwin.

Unlike the Parade, where each graduating class and their family members marched in groups through the university campus and down Main Street of Grantham, the Un-Parade compressed everyone into one massive jumble. The orange battle fatigue outfits in one class mingled with the orange-and-black tuxedoes of another, not to mention the Viking faux-animal skins, Roman togas and yoga mom costumes.

Massive orange balloons bobbed against the netting covering the super-high ceiling and wafted to the floor as the helium escaped. Children scampered underfoot and batted them around in haphazard patterns.

Added to the cacophony of colors and ages was the din of voices and music. The customary bands had relocated to the seating above the basketball court, and it sounded like they were having a face-off. Dixieland competed with a tuba group. New Orleans jazz tried drowning out a swing band. Somehow, the organizers had even managed to maneuver two of the Parade floats into the entrance area of the building.

True to her word, Mimi wore her class’s Beefeater’s jacket. Only instead of the London Tower’s traditional red with gold trim, it was Grantham’s school colors—orange with black trim. She drew the line at wearing the oversize black hat, and instead clutched it in one hand. With the other, she held on to Brigid.

“Don’t lose me now,” she said, bending down.