SHE HAD KNOWN he’d been married, of course. He was described in the city directory as a retired doctor and a widower. But the city directory hadn’t told her that he had children, and now Maria felt like a complete fool, gazing across the table at her father’s son. She was suddenly alienated from the old man who was her father, a person for whom she had begun to feel an incipient—something. She wasn’t sure what. Not tenderness or affection...perhaps a kind of comradeship, a feeling that someday maybe she’d be able to ask the things she couldn’t ask now, and that by the time she got the questions out, he’d be able to answer them. Trust—that was it. Perhaps one day there could be trust between them: that’s what she’d been thinking.
And now this. He didn’t want her in his life, that was obvious. At least not publicly.
But then, she hadn’t let him into her life, either, she reminded herself. Neither Richard nor Belinda knew yet that he existed, and he didn’t know about them, either. Maria felt a thrill of excitement: it could be said that she was leading a double life. And as she studied this person opposite, she decided that at least for the moment, until her father had had a chance to explain himself, she would cooperate. But he’d better be prepared to do all the talking. Maria knew nothing about travel agents and tours to foreign places.
His son had the face of an overweight ferret, she thought.
“Where’s he thinking of going?” the son asked her.
“He’s considering several destinations,” she said, and was pleased with herself.
“Where’s the brochures?” said the ferret.
“Oh, we’re past the brochure stage,” said Alan.
Harry sat back on his chair and watched his father eat. The waitress came over and asked if he wanted to order anything, but he waved her away.
Maria hugged to herself her secret knowledge. It made her feel powerful. He was nibbling on the inside of his mouth, this man who didn’t know he was her half brother, while he examined his father’s profile. Maria was exceedingly curious: what could he be thinking about so furiously?
“When are you planning to go?” he said.
Alan shrugged and bit into a piece of whole-wheat toast. Maria thought that at least some of his teeth weren’t his own.
“When’s he planning to go?” Harry asked her, swiveling his head to inspect her with his black ferret eyes.
“Soon,” said his father sternly.
Harry leaned close to him. “How come you didn’t tell me, Dad?” he said with the echo of a whine in his voice. Alan made an impatient gesture, and Harry’s right hand shot out to grip his left shoulder. Alan froze. At first Maria thought that Harry had hurt him, but it wasn’t pain on his face, it was anger.
“Get your hand off me.”
Harry waited a moment, to make a point, then sat back.
He glanced across the table and winked at Maria, who turned away from him to look out the window.
Harry knew that something was off kilter. Something was definitely being kept from him. Could the old man be having it off with the travel agent? He could feel many things in the air, beams of various kinds, like silent alarm systems, and he was the receiver. His dad’s chin was ducked into his chest, and his shoulders were hunched; the whole body was shored up against something, and Harry knew it was shored up against him, against him finding something out.
She was looking at her watch, the travel agent. Harry was a bit surprised that she wasn’t younger. A rich old guy like his dad ought to be able to attract some gorgeous chick, mid-thirties, max.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, and picked up this big purse thing from the floor. Harry got up and scooted around to pull the chair out for her. She looked surprised but thanked him.
“Let me have one of your cards,” he said, smiling at her. “I might want to go on a trip myself, one day.”
“I don’t have business cards,” she said, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a little blush was spreading across those aging cheeks.
“I wonder why?” he said, delighted, with a smile so huge that it hurt his face. He listened busily to the exchange that took place then, his father half standing up, clutching his napkin, stammering something meaningless, and the travel agent assuring him airily that she’d be in touch. Which Harry thought odd. He would have expected the old man to say that. Maybe he’d been trying to but couldn’t get the words out. Harry looked at him swiftly, hopefully; maybe his father was finally starting to fail. But the travel agent left, and the old boy settled back onto his chair and started eating again; he seemed A-OK, unfortunately.
Harry’s mind kept going back to the woman. He couldn’t remember what name the old man had said when he’d introduced them, but it probably wasn’t her real name anyway. His father was going to make damn sure they never met again, he was pretty sure of that. Harry hadn’t worked out yet how this situation could benefit him, but he was damn sure that if his father didn’t want him to know something, there was going to be something in it for him, once he found out whatever it was that he wasn’t supposed to know. And then he suddenly had an idea.
“You’re not fit company today, Dad,” he said, and stood up to leave. “Take it easy,” he said, waving, and hurried across the restaurant, down the stairs, and through the health food store.
He looked frantically up and down the street, and there she was, a cherry red dress weaving and bobbing through the crowd. He couldn’t follow her—it was too late for that—but he’d try to catch up to her and get the number of her license plate. But shit, she was getting into a damn car now. He was running along the sidewalk—trying to run, but too many people were in the way. Finally he stood still, huffing and puffing, watching her car pull out into traffic. Damned eyesight, Harry fumed, squinting.
He’d have to follow the old man instead, he decided. He’d follow him everywhere he went, for a while. Find out what was going on here. What was up.