The Company You Keep. Tracy Kelleher

up.” Mimi looked out the window. The maple and ash trees were thick with leaves. Every time she came back to this part of central New Jersey, she was struck by how green it was, especially in June. “So do you have any roommates?” She turned back, changing the subject.

      Press inched the car forward. “Nah, I decided to live alone after years of having roommates at boarding school and college.”

      “Maybe that’s one reason why you’re lonely? That can’t be good if you’re trying to fit in.”

      “Who said I was lonely? Anyway, you live alone.”

      “That’s no recommendation.” Mimi bit her tongue. She hadn’t seen her brother since his graduation last year, and she didn’t want to fight. “So what brings you back to our fair shores now? Don’t think I’m buying your explanation about the siren call of Reunions. You were always as blasé as I was about the whole rah-rah thing.”

      He breathed in noisily.

      Mimi recognized New Jersey allergies.

      “I don’t know,” Press said nonchalantly. “It’s been a year. I figured it was time to take a break. See some people.”

      “People?”

      “Sure, there’s Matt Brown. We met a ways back when we both worked at Apple Farm Country Club. You remember him, right? He graduated from Yale this year and is home in Grantham for a while.”

      Mimi nodded. “I remember him—the kid who interned for Lilah with her organization in Congo. What’s he up to?” Lilah Evans was her old roommate.

      “I’m not totally sure. From his Facebook page it looks like he’s going into the Peace Corps, then grad school. I thought I’d get more details, just hang out, you know?”

      “Anyone else you just hanging out with?” Matt Brown was a decent enough kid, but Mimi thought there had to be a bigger draw to travel this far.

      Press turned on the car radio. Katy Perry music suddenly blasted at megawatt force. “Crap. Someone’s been fooling around with the stations while I was away. I told Noreen she should drive the car to keep the battery from going flat, but she must have let Brigid play with the dials.” Brigid was their eight-year-old half-sister. “I mean, you don’t see me going into her room and mixing up her Barbies.”

      Mimi smiled at his frowning face. She remembered the spats she had with him when she’d come home from boarding school and found he had swiped some of her Beanie Babies. Not that as a teenager she still played with them. It was just the principle of the thing.

      He continued to fiddle with the buttons, neatly avoiding any further conversation. That was okay with Mimi. They rounded the steep curve by the gardening store, crossed the canal and entered Grantham proper, passing some modest clapboard houses from the early nineteenth century, then the university golf course on the left and some office buildings on the right. They even made the light behind the university theater where Press deftly avoided a throng of students crossing against the light. They must have stuck around after exams to work at Reunions. The hours might be long, but the money was good and the beer was free.

      No matter how long she was away, Mimi was always struck by how Grantham never seemed to change. Oh, the sign at the convenience store on the corner might be painted a different color and one stock brokerage firm might be replaced by another, but basically Grantham remained the same picturesque enclave with Colonial roots that was everyone’s ideal of a bucolic college town. Everyone’s but Mimi’s, that is.

      She had always found the reverence for history and tradition stifling. Her quest growing up had been to fly away as far and as often as possible. But now two things were certain: Grantham was quiet, and it was safe. Right now, that was about as good as it got for her.

      Press hung a right on Main Street and maneuvered around the cars turning left and those double-parked on the right. It was a slalom course for high-end European cars and the occasional Toyota. After they made the light at Adams Road, with the movie theater on the left and the university library on the right, Press pushed past the Catholic church and the flower stores before turning right into the parking lot opposite Hoagie Palace. They headed for the mecca of good, cheap greasy food that never, ever disappointed. It might be a weekday evening, but the line of customers was backed out the door.

      Still, it moved quickly, and Mimi and Press were soon in the door, ready to lean over the high glass counter and give their orders to one of the cooks wearing the ubiquitous Hoagie Palace T-shirt.

      “I’ve got this,” Mimi reminded her brother as they inched toward the cash register after placing their orders.

      “I’m going to get an Arnold Palmer, as well.” Press elbowed his way to the cooler of soft drinks and bottled water on the side wall.

      “Press, caro.” The woman behind the cash register lifted the counter and came to the other side. She embraced him and kissed him on the cheek. “Trying to sneak by without giving me a proper hello?”

      “Just testing your reflexes, Angie,” Press teased. Mimi was amazed to see that her brother—normally so reserved—returned the hug without hesitation.

      “Carlos, take over the register, okay?” she called out. “Sal will be upset that he missed you. He’s just gone to the barbershop. I was complaining that he was starting to look shaggy.” Then she held Press at arm’s length, her gold bracelets jangling, and eyed him up and down. “Speaking of shaggy, I like the beard. It’s very sophisticated.” She rubbed it lovingly. “So when did you come in?”

      “About two hours ago,” Press answered. “And I had to go pick up my sister Mimi. You remember her?” He nodded back to Mimi in the line.

      Angie gave a hello nod. Mimi waved.

      “Tell Sal not to worry. I promise I’ll stop by the house tonight.”

      “Only if you’re not too tired. I know you, Press. You never get enough sleep,” she clucked over him.

      “You only just got in?” Mimi tried to get his attention, but Press took no notice.

      Angie held Press’s face in her hands. “I can’t tell you how upset I was to find out that Australia doesn’t allow any food—even in containers—to be shipped to the country. I worried that you would lose weight. And you did.”

      Mimi shook her head. There was no point in trying to get his attention. He’d just gotten in after what? A twenty-hour trip? No wonder the kid looked exhausted.

      The line moved along and she reached the cash register. “An Arnold Palmer to drink, and a chicken cheese steak hoagie and a meatball hoagie with two sides of fries,” she announced. Then she stretched her neck over the countertop and addressed the chef working on her hoagie. “And could you put some extra hot sauce on the meatball?” A meatball hoagie with sauce was straight out of her college days.

      “For once we agree on something,” a male voice to her right declared.

      Mimi turned. Blinked once. And didn’t blink again.

      “That’s right.” Vic Golinski saluted her with one finger to his brow. “Only, this time, I’m the one with the container of water.” He showed her the large bottle he was carrying and unscrewed the top. “An open container of water.”

      He raised his arm.

      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