“I said you were misguided, even pigheaded—but that’s definitely not the same thing as dumb—not by a long shot.” She paused, the muscles in her neck taut. “You’re right. Ever since I was kidnapped in Chechnya—I don’t know if you heard about that?”
“It would have been hard not to,” he conceded.
Mimi smacked her lips. “Yeah, I guess it got a lot of coverage. Anyway, I was abducted in a car, blindfolded and now I get kind of antsy—more than kind of, actually—about getting into one. I mean, I barely managed to let Press drive me from the Junction, and he’s family…whatever that means.”
“Look on the bright side. It must save a fortune in taxis in New York,” Vic said positively.
The corners of her mouth turned up a little.
“Look, I promise you have nothing to worry about. Roxie will be there the whole time, and, trust me—she’d never let anything happen to you. Talk about loyalty at first sight—which has absolutely nothing to do with chlorine. And if Roxie can’t convince you, I’ll give you another good reason. My ex-wife—”
“Bringing up your ex-wife is supposed to help me get over my irrational fears?” She was teasing him.
Vic took that as a good sign, that she wasn’t quite as tense. “Your fears aren’t irrational. They sound pretty reasonable to me, considering what happened. If the same thing had happened to me, I’m sure I’d be holed up in my house, afraid to come out.”
“Well, I’m not that far removed from that state.” She studied his face with a lopsided smile. “You’re a good guy, Vic Golinski, despite what I may have said about you. Okay, what I
did
say about you.” She paused. “And I just wanted to let you know, I’ve never told anyone else about my car phobia.”
Vic was touched, like something important had just happened. But he wasn’t going to let it go to his head—at least, not in front of her. “So, are you going to let me finish or what?”
She crossed her arms. “Okay, tell me about your ex-wife.”
“Granted, Shauna—”
At the mention of her name Roxie started whining.
Mimi looked down. “Is she trying to tell me something?”
Vic laughed softly. “Roxie was not a fan of my ex, and the feeling was mutual.”
Mimi lifted her head. “I have a feeling I have nothing to fear, then.”
Vic cleared his throat. “Anyway—” he glanced down at Roxie “—she who shall not be mentioned was, as she used to say, ‘Committed to Feng Shui.’ I don’t remember much about it except that she was constantly changing around the furniture in our condo to create better peace and harmony.”
“Did it work?” Mimi asked, her head cocked. Arms still crossed, she tapped her fingers on an elbow.
“Right up until the point my contract wasn’t renewed. After that, the karma never seemed to align.”
“And how is this supposed to give me the courage to get into your car?”
He held up his hand. “Let me just finish. Anyway, according to Sh—” he stopped himself in time “—according to you-know-who, a double rainbow is apparently a sign from the cosmic universe, indicating something wonderful is about to happen. Not only that, one good thing will lead to another—’cause there’re two?” He made an arching shape with his index finger. “So, what do you say?”
Roxie was the one to react first. She rose and grabbed the leash dangled from Vic’s hand. Then she batted her long lashes at Mimi and wagged her fanlike tail.
“See, how can you say no to that?” Vic looked from his dog to Mimi.
Mimi nodded. “Wow, I wouldn’t want to disappoint Roxie. Besides, she can help in what psychiatrists call desensitization—helping me re-experience the scary thing thereby making it less scary. Basically, she just needs to sit close to me—real close.”
“Honey, the dog would Velcro herself to you, if you let her.”
Mimi laughed.
He took that as a yes. “Shall we?” he offered. “I’m just parked in the lot, one of the first rows. I’ll wait while you get the bike.”
She hitched up the backpack on her shoulder. “Okay.”
He watched her walk gingerly to the bike rack—obviously her leg was hurting her more than she wanted to let on. Then she leaned over to undo the lock and unconsciously shook her head, like a dog drying out its fur after a quick dip in a stream. Vic noticed how the dark brown, almost black strands were sculpted back from her face and had taken on amber highlights. They haloed her pale skin, emphasizing her high cheekbones and long, attenuated nose.
And that’s when he experienced one of those unexpected flashback moments. He was young and sitting in the old Polish church in Trenton. He saw the devotional paintings hanging on the walls of the side chapels in their gilt frames and the way the rows of votive candles in the tall metal holders cast a flickering, mysterious light on them. Going to church had never held any special religious significance for him, but the mystery, the exotic nature of the icons in the smoky light, had been fascinating for their magical beauty.
He stared, unable to take his eyes off her. She had that same mystery to her. Not that his reaction was devotional by any stretch of the imagination.
Mimi wheeled the bike next to him. She frowned, then looked around before focusing her lush mahogany-brown eyes back at him. “What?”
“Your hair.” He blurted out the first thing—well, the first censored thing that came to him. “It dries quickly.”
She ran a hand through the slicked-back strands, messing them. “Yeah, I know. It’s serviceable, but that’s about it. I just can’t deal with the whole stylist-salon scene right now.”
“Actually, I was going to say it was sexy.”
He’d come a long way from church in Trenton.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THAT SAME MORNING, Press lay in his bed, trying to decide if it was worth getting up. He was supposed to get together with Penelope at the Rare Book Library, but that wasn’t until after lunch. She had emailed him something about a Reunions show featuring manuscripts that dealt with time and memory.
“I look forward to hearing all about your studies,” she had written. “I know you will be excited to see Woodrow Wilson’s diaries that he kept while at Grantham University. Then there are some delightful folios from a volume of Diderot’s
Encyclopédie
depicting time piece mechanisms. But the manuscript of St. Augustine is truly the piece de résistance. Do you think anyone will appreciate it except you, Amara and me? Only time will tell. That, by the way, was my attempt at a joke.”
That was so Penelope. Some people never changed. As opposed to his good buddies—Matt who was a no-show, and Amara who seemed to do nothing but talk about Matt.
It was inevitable that they would grow apart, he supposed, with him being so far away and doing completely different stuff. Maybe he had only himself to blame for being the worst correspondent possible. Besides, it’s not as if he had encouraged Amara to keep in touch, either. At Reunions last year, he had been the one to give her the cold shoulder when she practically threw herself at him.
But she had been a kid, just about to graduate from prep school, whereas he was four years older. Two different worlds, two different paths. Anyway, like he was boyfriend material? His idea of commitment was to watch a movie from start to finish. As for relationships? It wasn’t his style. True, the hook-ups that were so common at college these days seemed pretty bloodless to him. But the alternative—pledging your trust and loyalty to one person—seemed destined for failure, especially if his family’s history was anything to go by.
So, okay, she hadn’t appeared to be pining after him. He could live with that. But did she have to latch onto Matt like he was the next Messiah? Hopefully, he and Matt would be able to get together soon before they both took off again, and then he’d find out what was really going on.
Speaking of Matt, Press glanced at his cell phone to see if he had texted him. Nothing, but then it was probably too early. He’d only woken up because he was totally screwed up with the time difference. Maybe if he was lucky, he could roll over and get some more sleep. He’d just get up to close the blinds and block out the sunlight. It was gray outside, but still light enough that it interfered with sleep.
He pushed back the quilt that he’d had since prep school and got up. His bedroom was pretty much untouched from when he was younger—the autographed baseball posters, the ship model and the Grantham University banner with his grandfather’s class year tacked up over his dresser. On his desk sat an old computer that looked primeval, and he couldn’t imagine what kind of software it ran. Needless to say, his laptop was on the floor by his bed, charging. He stepped over it and reached out for the cord by the window.
And that’s when he heard the loud gagging noise. His first thought was Mimi. He forgot all about the window and went running out of his room and down the hall toward her bedroom in nothing but his boxers and the T-shirt he’d slept in. He flung open the door.
The room was empty.
“Mimi?” he called out and walked to the center of the room. The double bed was neatly made, a beige comforter pulled up tautly under a mound of pillows. He pivoted around. The armoire doors were shut, the dresser, covered in a white lace runner had a brush and comb placed just so, a bottle of perfume positioned directly to the side. He continued to survey the room—her suitcase open on the blanket chest, a pair of opened-toed flats lined up to the side.
“Mimi,” he said out loud again and craned his neck to look in the bathroom that her room shared with Brigid’s farther down the hall. But that was empty, too. Maybe he’d imagined it… .
The noise started up again. Press backed out and listened carefully. It was coming from the side wing of the house.
Confused, he walked gingerly toward his father and Noreen’s bedroom around the corner. His fingertips traced along the country French toile wallpaper with farm animals and gamboling farm maidens. He hesitated.
And heard the retching noise again, this time louder.
Press picked up his pace, then stopped at the partially closed bedroom door. He knocked.
There was no answer.
Only another bout of gagging, louder.
He pushed the door wide open and strode into the room. “Hello? Is anyone there?” he asked.
Well, duh? There has to be somebody, but who?
He crossed the carpeted floor, past the giant canopy bed with miles of gauze and mounds of embroidered pillows, the clothes tossed over delicate chairs, the bottles of lotions and perfumes. “Hello?” he inquired tentatively,
He stopped at the threshold to the en suite bathroom and stuck his head inside. He gasped. “Noreen?”
His stepmother was squatting next to the toilet, her head over the toilet bowl. She weakly lifted one hand and flushed. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slowly looked over her shoulder. “Press? How long have you been standing there?”
He shook his head. “Not long, but long enough to see…that you’re sick.”
She slumped to a sitting position, bracing her back against an enormous claw-foot bathtub, and leaned her head back. She inhaled slowly through her mouth, her eyes shut.
“Is there anything I can do? Should I call Dad?”
She shook her head and opened her eyes, focusing on him. Her skin was pasty and moist. Her hair had half fallen out of her ponytail and a lock was plastered to her cheek. She unzipped her warm-up jacket and slowly stretched out her legs.
“There’s no need to call your father. He should just be getting to the office now, and I don’t want to bother him. I’ll talk to him this evening when he comes home.”
“And tell him what? What’s wrong?” Press was scared. Noreen normally seemed so healthy, invulnerable.
“Nothing’s wrong. Something’s right, in fact. I’m pregnant.” She blinked and stretched out a wan smile.
“You’re what?”
“I’m going to have a baby.
We’re
going to have a baby.” She breathed more easily now.
“But…but…you’re old.” Press grabbed on to the doorjamb with one hand. “And Dad is…is…he’s practically ready for retirement.”
Noreen laughed. “I’m not that old, thank you, and I doubt if your father will ever retire. Oh, he’s slowed down like I’ve asked him to, but he’s much too vigorous to ever give it up totally.”
Press was trying to wrap his head around the news. He was going to have another sister—or maybe a brother this time. He actually found the thought appealing—especially the brother part. “Does Dad know?”
“No, you’re the first to hear the news. I just got confirmation myself.” She raised an arm and pointed to a pregnancy kit opened on the marble-topped vanity. “It’s just like last time—getting sick right away, that is.”
“But what about your job? Traveling to Congo? You can’t exactly do all that if you’re pregnant and…and throwing up all the time.”
Noreen sighed. “If this pregnancy continues like the last one, I’ll be over the nausea in a couple of months. So, of course there’ll be adjustments, but there’s no reason to think that I won’t be able to continue working, even traveling up until a month or so before the baby’s due. I’ll find out more after I’ve seen my obstetrician. It’s not as if this baby was planned, but a baby is always a blessing.”