“I have a brother. Actually a half brother. He’s four years younger than me.”
“Do you ever see him?”
“We work together. He’s my business manager, or agent, or financial advisor, or whatever you want to call it. Lee Fitzgerald. He was there Tuesday morning … but you don’t remember much of that, do you?”
She eyed him shamefacedly. “I wasn’t exactly at my best Tuesday morning.”
“You wouldn’t have had any way of knowing he was my brother. We don’t look at all alike. But he’s a nice guy, and very capable.”
Marni was remembering what Web had said that Tuesday morning, in a moment of anger, about his being a bastard. “The name Webster?”
“Was my mother’s maiden name.”
“Did you ever know your father?”
“Nope. It was a one-night stand. He was married.”
“Do you ever … wonder about him?”
He caressed her shoulder through the thickness of her coat as though he needed that small reassurance of her presence. Though his tone was light, devoid of bitterness, almost factual, Marni suspected that he regretted the circumstances of his conception.
“I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t. I used to do it a lot when I was a kid—wonder who he was, what he looked like, where he lived, whether he’d like me. I can almost empathize with Tanya. I spent all those years wandering, traveling, never staying in one place long. Maybe I didn’t want to learn that he wasn’t looking for me. As long as I kept moving, I had that illusion that he might be looking but, of course, couldn’t find me. Pretty dumb, huh? He doesn’t even know I exist.”
Marni’s heart ached for him. “Your mother never told him?”
“My mother neversawhim, not after that one night. She knew his mame, but he was a salesman from somewhere or other. She didn’t know where. And she knew he was married, so she didn’t bother. She married my stepfather when I was two. He wasn’t a bad sort as stepfathers go.”
They turned onto Fifth Avenue, walking comfortably in step with each other. “Is your mother still living?”
“She died several years ago.”
“I’m sorry, Web,” Marni said, feeling all the more guilty about the times she’d resented her own parents. At least they were alive. If she had a problem, she had somewhere to run. “Do you still wonder about your father?”
“Nah. I reached a point when settling down meant more than running away from the fact that he didn’t know about me. I decided I wanted to do something, be something. I’m proud of what I’ve become.”
“You should be,” she said softly, holding his gaze for a minute, until the intensity of its soul-reach made her look away.
They walked silently for a few blocks, their way lit frequently by storefront lights or the headlights of cars whipping through the city night. The sound of motors, revving, slowing, filled the air, along with the occasional honk of a horn or the squeal of brakes or the whir of tires.
“What about you, Marni? I know what you’ve become, but what would you have done if … things had been different. I knew you wanted a college degree, but you hadn’t said much more than that. Had you always wanted to join the corporation?”
“I hadn’t thought that far. Business, a career—they were the last things on my mind—” her voice lowered “—until Ethan died. I grew up pretty fast then.”
“Why? I mean, you were only seventeen.”
“Ethan had already started working, and I knew he was being groomed to take over Dad’s place one day. It wasn’t like I wanted the presidency per se, but my father needed someone, and it seemed right that I should give it a try.”
“Did you go to Wellesley after all?”
“Mmmm. I did pretty lousy my first term. I was still pretty upset. But after that I was able to settle down. I got my M.B.A. at Columbia, and joined the corporation from there.”
“Are you sorry? Do you ever wish you were doing something else?”
“I wish Ethan were here to be president, but given that he’s not, I really can’t complain. I do have an aptitude for business. I think I’m good at what I do. There’s challenge to the work, and a sense of power because the corporation is profitable and I’m free to venture into new things.”
“LikeClass.”
“LikeClass.”
