The Company You Keep (36 page)

“I look forward to that, too.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Prescott is there, I gather?”

Mimi gladly got up from her chair and waved her brother toward the computer.

Press slumped in the chair. He ran his hand through his curly hair, which was much longer than it had been in June, a fluffy Harpo Marx do. “Hello, Father, Noreen,” he said formally. He answered politely but monosyllabically while Noreen badgered him good-naturedly about his diet.

“And have you thought about what you’ll be doing after you finish up your master’s degree?” Conrad asked. He didn’t bother with small talk.

“I’m in the process of applying for Ph.D. programs in America,” Press answered curtly.

“I hope you’ve included Grantham among your choices,” Conrad lectured.

Press rattled off a handful of universities that were tops in the field of paleontology, none of which included Grantham. Then he set his jaw, clearly waiting for the anticipated critical response.

Conrad glanced over at Noreen.

The tension in Press’s tiny apartment in the South Yarra neighborhood of Melbourne was palpable.

Conrad turned back to speak. “They all sound like top-notch schools. And they will certainly be lucky to have someone of your caliber.”

“Thank you, sir,” Press said, stunned.

There was a collected exhale of breath in the apartment, during which barking could be heard from the other end of the conversation.

“Is that Roxie I hear?” Vic asked.

“You bet.” Noreen turned to Conrad. “Maybe you could get them to come in so Vic and Mimi can see them and say hello.” She watched as Conrad rose at her request, then to her computer screen, she said, “I invited Basia and Tommy over to swim in the pool. It’s so hot today. Naturally, Brigid insisted that Roxie come along, too. Actually, your sister’s been a godsend, Vic. She’s a wonderful babysitter, which has really helped me out, especially in the summer heat.”

The sound of high-pitched chatter and dog scrambling grew louder as the others came into the kitchen.

Brigid plopped, wet bathing suit and all, on a stool. “Hey, you guys? It’s me,” she announced.

“Hey, squirt,” Press called out. He pulled Mimi over and had her lean down to be in the picture, too. “You look like you’re having a good time. But how about you let your mom move the computer down so that Vic can see Roxie? I know he misses her.”

“I miss her,” Mimi added.

“Roxie, how you doing, girl?” Vic cooed.

There was a brief period of voices calling the dog and the screen moving this way and that. Finally, Basia poked her head into view. “Sorry, Vic, she’s scared witless of the computer. Why don’t I take a picture of her with my phone and I’ll email it to you—that is, if she’ll let me.”

Vic nodded. “It’s worth a try. Anyway, it sounds as if she’s getting lots of attention. Tell me. Have you started your lessons at Juilliard yet?”

Basia shook her head. “Not until after Labor Day. I still can’t believe I’ll be studying with the head of the violin program. It’ll be a juggling act for sure—going into Manhattan two nights a week and still taking courses at Rutgers and waitressing. I gotta admit. I’m scared but excited. Real excited.”

Vic frowned. “What did I tell you about the waitressing? I’m happy to help out. If you need money for child care…”

Basia held up her hand. “No, Vic, you know where I stand. Besides, Joe is already turning into a reliable babysitter.”

“Joe? Not our Joe?”

“I know. Who would have thought it? I guess we all learn to rise to the occasion when circumstances demand it.”

Mimi couldn’t help thinking that that statement just about summed up her topsy-turvy life—in a good way. And if she weren’t careful, she’d start blubbering. And there was no way that was going to happen. “Listen, it may be morning in Grantham, but it’s late at night here. Maybe it’s time to say goodbye, then? We’ll be seeing you in less than a week anyway.”

“We can’t wait,” Conrad answered from his end.

And then everyone waved goodbye, including Mimi, who was leaning over between her brother and Vic.

“Hey, something’s flashing on Mimi’s hand,” Brigid blurted out just before Press ended the connection.

Press let out a sigh. “Well, nothing like a family chat to dry out the throat. Can I get you a cleansing ale, Vic? Mimi?” He rose from the chair and made his way to the kitchen.

Vic held up a finger. “Why not?”

Mimi shook her head. “Not for me, thanks.” She took over the chair that Press had vacated—he had only two in his sparsely furnished rental. Nothing decorated the walls except for a mounted butterfly in a black frame. A snapshot of Amara was tucked into a bottom corner.

Mimi rested her right hand on her left and admired her new engagement ring. Mike Wilson, a local Melbourne jeweler designed irresistibly elegant pieces with the most beautiful Argyle diamonds. “It’s a beautiful souvenir of our Australian travels.”

She shifted her hand back and forth to enjoy the way the canary-yellow diamond glinted in a delicate circle of flawless white diamonds.

Vic took her hands in his. “It’s more than a souvenir. It’s a keepsake—for life.”

Mimi studied their joined hands. She smiled—from the heart. “You’re right. But, you know, the ring really isn’t what’s important.”

Vic brought her hand closer to study it. “Does that mean I can return it and get my money back?”

Mimi snatched her hand back. “No way.” Then she smiled. “What I was about to say before someone interrupted me—” she glared at him, but couldn’t really muster much irritation “—is that the important thing, the really important thing, is the company you keep—for life.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt of Unraveling the Past by Beth Andrews!

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CHAPTER ONE

WHEN JESSICA TAYLOR lost her virginity three months and six guys ago—after fiercely guarding it for fifteen years—she’d been stone-cold sober.

She hadn’t made that mistake again.

Her stomach rolled. From the Jack Daniel’s, she assured herself. She should’ve stuck with beer. It always gave her a nice, mellow buzz without making her want to puke. Mostly because she knew her limit. Whiskey was a new beast, one she hadn’t figured out her tolerance to yet.

But Nate had been so sweet when she’d arrived at the party a few hours ago, teasing her into trying J.D. and Diet Coke, making sure her glass was always full, adding more soda when she choked, her eyes watering at the first taste.

Yeah, he was a real prince.

A cold sweat broke out along her hairline. Her stomach churned again. Because of the alcohol. It had nothing to do with her being on her back in the middle of the freaking woods.

She stared up at the moon peeking through the branches of the trees and pretended she was somewhere else, anywhere else, doing anything except what she was doing. That she wasn’t wasted—yet again. And that Nate Berry, with his floppy, pop-star hair and tight circle of friends, really liked her. Cared about her. That he wasn’t using her.

That she wasn’t letting him use her.

Her skin grew clammy. Prickled with the cold. Nate’s fingers clenched her hips, his face pressed against her neck. He was just another boy. And this was just another meaningless, drunken hookup in what was quickly becoming a long line of meaningless, drunken hookups.

Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and she squeezed her eyes shut. No. No feeling sorry for herself. She had every right to have sex with whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. It was her body after all. Her choice to give it to some guy or not.

She was in control.

Her back and butt scraped against the rough earth. Her neck was stretched back, her hair caught between the crown of her head and the ground, pulling painfully each time he moved. She just wanted it to be over. Wanted to pretend it had never happened in the first place. Just like all the other times.

Clutching his arms, she lifted her hips to keep from getting the mother of all brush burns, to stop the contents of her stomach from sloshing. She inhaled deeply, breathed in the scent of Nate’s cologne and the pungent smell from the bonfire in the clearing outside the trees. His grip tightened, his nails digging into her skin as he groaned hoarsely and shuddered then finally—finally—stilled.

Thank God.

He collapsed on top of her, surprisingly heavy for a guy who looked as if he’d never heard of carbs, let alone ate any. His heart beat frantically against her chest, his breath hot and ragged against her shoulder. They had connected in the most elemental way. And still she felt alone. Always alone.

Her throat closed. Without a word, without a kiss or a murmured endearment or even an outright lie about how fantastic it’d been, how fantastic she was, Nate climbed to his feet. He turned his back and adjusted his clothes.

The cool night air washed over her bare skin. She shivered but couldn’t find the energy or the care to cover herself. After she’d lost her virginity to a smooth-talking college freshman, she’d stopped believing guys’ lines. Had quickly learned they’d do and say anything to get into a girl’s pants.

Yeah, she’d learned. But she hadn’t stopped hoping, couldn’t stop wishing that each time would be different. That, when it was all over, the guy she’d been with would think she was…special. Instead, once she gave them what they wanted, they all thought she was trash.

She was starting to wonder if they were right.

As she yanked up her jeans, shouts of excitement from the party still going strong reached them. The bonfire illuminated the colorful graffiti on the huge rocks that formed a barrier between the woods and what passed for civilization around here. Flames shot high into the air—probably from someone tossing gasoline onto the fire.

What a bunch of idiots.

“Come on,” Nate said, facing her as he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. “Let’s go. Sounds like the party’s getting wicked wild.”

Jess snorted. “Yeah.” She lurched to her feet and swayed. He held out a hand to steady her but she slapped him away. She didn’t want him touching her again. “I’m sure it’s a crazy wild time,” she continued, her words slurring. “At least by this town’s standards.”

“Mystic Point not good enough for you?”

Okay, so she’d pissed him off, either with her comment or her slap. Good.

She rolled her eyes—and immediately wished she hadn’t when she almost tipped over. “Relax. God, why is everyone so defensive about this place?”

“Maybe we don’t like outsiders slamming our town.”

Outsider.
That was her. And she was glad. She didn’t want to belong here. She just wanted to go home.

“There’s a whole big world out there,” she said, waving her arms. “Places where parties are held in actual houses instead of in the middle of nowhere surrounded by some stupid rocks.”

She’d much preferred last week’s party at the secluded part of the beach. The one and only thing she liked about Mystic Point was its proximity to the water. She loved the sound of the waves crashing on shore, the smell of salt water, the power of the ocean. But word had spread that the local cops had gotten wind of the underage drinking going on there and were going to increase their patrols of that area.