The Company You Keep (23 page)

Mimi backed away from the bed and out of the room before answering. “Yeah, fine. Brigid’s asleep.” She closed the door quietly behind her and moved to the table in the upstairs hallway. She turned on a small crystal lamp and the soft glow illuminated photos of smiling children and women in a jungle setting. Mimi recognized the decidedly unglamorous one as Noreen, towering in the background. They were pictures from Noreen’s work in Congo with Lilah, she realized.

“Brigid was concerned, but I told her that Father was having good care.” She paused. “So what’s the story?”

“It seems that his guardian angel was near,” Noreen expressed with a sigh, her Irish brogue coming out with the tiredness and stress. “It appears that it was no more than a panic attack. Just the same, they’ll keep him overnight for observation—to be on the safe side.”

Mimi was confused. “Panic attack? Why would he have a panic attack?”

“He had a…ah…a rather stressful time at work earlier in the day. In fact, that’s why he asked me to join him in the city.” She didn’t offer any more details.

Mimi wanted to know more, but given the strain Noreen was under, she held off on a full-scale interrogation. Soon enough, the details would come out—they always did. She wasn’t about to start feeling sorry for the insensitive jerk in any case.

“So do you need me to come and get you?” Mimi asked, trying to do the right thing. After all, her beef wasn’t with Noreen.

“No, thank you. I think I’ll just stay here. I couldn’t get to sleep anyway—not after all the excitement and the bad coffee from the hospital cafeteria. And there’s a comfortable chair in Conny’s room, so that should do me fine. And if I really need a treat, they have Jell-O in the nurse’s refrigerator for visitors. Green Jell-O. It’s totally against my dietary philosophy, but at times like this it seems the perfect thing.”

Mimi was about to mention the ice cream with chocolate—sorry, carob sauce—sprinkled with almonds, raisins and organic Gummi Bears—but Noreen continued unabated. She was definitely a bit wired, Mimi realized.
Wait till she crashes.

“Anyway, since I’ll stay until Conny’s discharged, which heaven only knows when that will be, I have another favor to ask of you. Could you make sure Brigid gets to school on time? I suppose she could miss one day of school, it being Friday tomorrow and all, but I think it’s important to maintain her regular schedule. Children thrive with order, you know.”

Mimi thought back to the way her mother would sometimes spontaneously decide that Mimi should play hooky, just to have tea at the Plaza Hotel or go skating at Rockefeller Center. Once they’d even hopped on a plane for Bermuda. “You must see pink sand,” her mother had exclaimed. “It’ll be our secret, our ounce of naughtiness,” her mother had said conspiratorially, kissing Mimi on the brow. In the end, her father had to come and bring them home when her mother had lost her passport. The adventure had ended in tears and recriminations.

“And as soon as we finish here, I’ll text you a schedule of when she should get up and dressed and have breakfast, as well as when the bus comes,” Noreen rattled on, bringing Mimi back to the present. “Cook left last night for a long weekend. I always give her off Reunions since we rarely eat at home then. So it will be up to you to make Brigid her porridge in the morning as well as fresh-squeezed orange juice. If you need to make more, the juicer is in the cupboard next to the sink. And if she wants a piece of toast, could you make sure it’s from the loaf of spelt bread?”

Mimi wasn’t sure what spelt was, but it sounded so earthy that it had to be exceedingly healthy. “No problem. I might even have some myself.”
Not.

“What a good idea,” Noreen chimed in.

Clearly, the lack of sleep was affecting Noreen’s sarcasm-detection radar.

“Oh, you know where the bus stops, right? You were with me the other morning, but just in case, I can send you a Google map—”

“Noreen?”

“Yes?”

“I remember, and even if I didn’t, I think Brigid might be able to tell me.”

“Yes, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I think it’s more that you’ve been thinking too much for the past six hours or so.”

Noreen emitted a shrill laugh.

“And you don’t normally drink coffee, do you?”

“No, does it show?”

“Kinda.” An understatement if ever there was one. “Listen, thanks for the update, and I’m glad the news is good. I really am.” She had to be getting soft in her old age. Either that, or Vic was once more correct. In the end, family was family.

Speaking of Vic, Mimi knew whom to call next.

* * *

VIC PICKED UP THE PHONE immediately.

He hadn’t bothered to go to bed, but instead sat in the second bedroom that served as his office, staring at the computer screen. He had been nominally checking the sales figures of the past quarter and catching up on overseas emails. With offices in Asia, there was no such thing as downtime.

And while he had a remarkable—Joe would even say inhuman ability, though in words far less refined—to concentrate on the task at hand despite total chaos going on around him, that focus was sorely tested tonight.

Roxie, he noticed, was antsy, too. Instead of simply curling up on the dog bed by Vic’s desk, every twenty minutes or so she’d get up and wander down to the kitchen where he’d hear her lapping water from her bowl. Then, she’d pad up the carpeted stairs and check out his bedroom before coming back to the study. At which point, she’d give him a soulful look, step on her soft bed, circle several times before settling into a donut shape, only to repeat the whole process twenty minutes later.

Now as the ring tone of Vic’s cell phone cut through the dead of night, Roxie pricked up her ears and raised her head.

“Mimi,” Vic answered, recognizing the number on the screen. He swiveled his desk chair away from the desk and crossed his free arm over his chest.

At the mention of Mimi’s name, Roxie got up and stood next to Vic. She rested her head on his thigh.

Vic shifted his arms so he could rub her behind her ears. “So, what’s the news?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t believe it, especially after all that drama with the ambulance and the police. Apparently, all he had was some sort of panic attack. I guess those symptoms can mimic a heart attack. Anyhow, he’s sedated now and resting, and will be released tomorrow.”

From the sound of irritation in Mimi’s voice, Vic could sense that she had come down from the initial shock. “I’m glad it wasn’t more serious.”

“I suppose I am, too. But, you know, it’s just so typical. Complete attention-seeking behavior. All this fuss. Everybody worried sick. And he doesn’t even have the decency to have a heart attack.”

“I don’t think a panic attack is something you can plan.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. You don’t know my father. He can manipulate anyone and everything to get what he wants. I am
not
exaggerating. Please, if his own mother were still alive, he’d sell her out if he could gain something by it. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s used me from time to time for his own ends. The man is amoral.”

Vic stilled his hand atop Roxie’s head. He thought about the bargain he’d made with Conrad. He wasn’t convinced it was manipulation, but that still didn’t allay the fact that he’d need to come clean with Mimi before the secret dragged out any longer.

Now is probably not the best time,
he told himself. She’d just been through a traumatic night. It was late. Clearly she was exhausted. Hell, he was exhausted. And besides, it was not the kind of confession you made over the phone—especially not to Mimi, whose first reaction, given her low opinion of her father, was bound to be outrage. Besides, he didn’t feel like having to regain her respect all over again.

Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.
What he needed was to have her in a good mood, a lighthearted mood. Not weighed down by family dramas or her own demons.

“You should try to get some sleep,” he said softly.

“I know I should, but I’m wide awake, so maybe I’ll catch up with my email. I’ve been neglecting my colleagues, and it’s time that I touch base, maybe make a few appointments.”

“Don’t you think that can wait until tomorrow? I doubt anyone’s awake,” he pointed out.

“I know, I know. It’s irrational. But that’s the problem with being up at this time. You kind of think you’ve slept enough or gotten past that time when you really did feel tired. Does that make any sense?”

“Perfect. You’re talking to someone who rarely gets more than five hours of sleep a night. I just wake up, and that’s it for me.”

“Me, too,” she said with surprise in her voice.

“You see. We have more in common than you might have thought.” Speaking of thoughts, Vic had one of his own. He quickly swiveled around to the desk—apologizing to Roxie for disturbing her chin rest, and with the phone tucked under his chin, typed in Grantham University and found the Reunions website. He scanned the events listed for Friday. And then he saw it.
Perfect. Talk about silly, non-traumatic, definitely not tragic.
He checked the availability.
Good.

Then he leaned back in the desk chair, very pleased, very pleased indeed. “Tomorrow, we’re on, then, right?”

“You bet. There is no way I’m sticking around here. I don’t want to get roped in to having to get hot cocoa or slippers for the imaginary invalid.”

“In which case, I’ll pick you up at—” he looked over his shoulder at the screen again “—seven o’clock.” He suddenly remembered. “Is riding in my car going to be all right?”

“You know what they say. Second time around is the charm.”

That’s exactly what Vic was hoping.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

MIMI STUCK HER HEAD in Brigid’s room.
Good.
Her sister was out like a light. She tiptoed across the room to turn off the lamp on the nightstand, and noticed their dirty bowls lying on the hook rug. Mimi scooped them up. The spoons rattled against the porcelain—Brigid had insisted on using her baby Royal Doulton Bunnykins china bowls. Mimi rested her thumbs on them to dampen the noise. Then she bent back to the lamp and turned it out. A nightlight in the center of an elaborate carousel on Brigid’s dresser cast a dim, reassuring light.

Mimi closed the door behind her and descended the staircase to the kitchen. The under-cabinet lights cast a soft-white glow over the granite countertops and polished hardwood floors.

She put the dirty bowls and spoons in the farmhouse sink, but when she went to turn on the water realized she had no idea how to work the gooseneck faucet. She sniffed and arched her neck, looking for a handle but didn’t see any. “Oh, come off it.” She held up her hands in exasperation and accidentally bumped the side of the faucet. Instantly, a stream of water gushed out.

Mimi stared speechless. She guardedly touched it again. It turned off. “Wow!” She repeated the process a bunch more times, each time mystified. “What is the world coming to?” she wondered. She rinsed the bowls and silverware and placed them in the dishwasher. No doubt she was loading it all wrong, but such was the price of delegating authority to the prodigal daughter.

Satisfied with this tiny bit of domesticity, she straightened and rested the small of her back against the counter. Then she crossed her arms. She was bored, not really hungry, but searching for something to occupy herself.

The expansive country kitchen didn’t really inspire her. The bowl of fruit was too virtuous. She pushed away from the counter and checked out the commercial-size refrigerator. There, too, nothing caught her fancy.

“Maybe herb tea,” she said out loud. Isn’t that what people drank to relax themselves? Surely that’s something that Noreen would have. Barring that, she’d just have to hit the liquor cabinet. But first, she’d look for the tea.

Mimi padded in her bare feet to the adjoining pantry and turned on the light. Talk about herb tea. The choices seemed to span several continents and flavors including exotic fruits she’d never heard of. Mimi studied the labels, deciding in the end that chamomile sounded like something that a kindly grandmother would suggest in moments of stress. She jimmied off the lid and discovered that the tea was loose and not bagged.
Of course. Proper tea, not that wimpy American sort.

Back to the kitchen, tin in hand, she searched through the drawers, looking for a tea ball.

Silverware, pot lids, plastic storage containers. She switched to the drawers under the center island. More silverware, a drawer with plastic spatulas and serving spoons. She was getting warmer.

She had her hand on yet another drawer when she heard a rattling of the back door. She stopped, the drawer half open. The door creaked open on its hinges. Her throat tightened. Then she grabbed the first thing her hand could reach.

The door slammed shut. Footsteps came closer. Mimi raised her hand, adjusted her grip. The metallic taste of fear flooded her mouth. An overwhelming sense of anxiety threatened to engulf her.