I look up expectantly at Luke, but he’s gazing out of the window again.
“It says in this book, we must think about what sort of couple we are,” I press on. “Are we Young Lovers or Autumn Companions?”
Luke isn’t even listening. Perhaps I should find a few specific examples. My eye falls on a page marked Summertime Wedding, which would be quite appropriate.
“‘As the roses bloom in summertime, so did my love bloom for you. As the white clouds soar above, so does my love soar,’” I read aloud.
I pull a face. Maybe not. I flick through a few more pages, glancing down as I go.
You helped me through the pain of rehab…
Though you are incarcerated for murder, our love will
shine like a beacon…
“Ooh, look,” I say suddenly. “This is for high school sweethearts. ‘Our eyes met in a math class. How were we to know that trigonometry would lead to matrimony?’ ”
“Our eyes met across a crowded press conference,” says Luke. “How were we to know love would blossom as I announced an exciting new range of unit trusts investing in European growth companies with tracking facility, fixed-rate costs, and discounted premiums throughout the first accounting period?”
“Luke—”
Well, OK. Maybe this isn’t the time for vows. I shut the book and look anxiously at Luke. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you worried about Michael?” I reach for his hand. “Because honestly, I’m sure he’s going to be fine. You heard what he said. It was just a wake-up call.”
There’s silence for a while — then Luke turns his head.
“While you were going to the rest room,” he says slowly, “I met the parents of the guy in the room next to Michael’s. He had a heart attack last week. Do you know how old he is?”
“How old?” I say apprehensively.
“Thirty-three.”
“God, really? That’s awful!”
Luke’s only a year older than that.
“He’s a bond trader, apparently. Very successful.” He exhales slowly. “It makes you think, doesn’t it? Think about what you’re doing with your life. And wonder.”
“Er… yes,” I say, feeling as though I’m walking across eggshells. “Yes, it does.”
Luke’s never spoken like this before. Usually if I start conversations about life and what it all means — which, OK, I don’t do very often — he either brushes me off or turns it into a joke. He certainly never confesses to doubting what he’s doing with his life. I really want to encourage him — but I’m worried I might say the wrong thing and put him off.
Now he’s staring silently out of the window again.
“What exactly were you thinking?” I prompt gently.
“I don’t know,” says Luke after a pause. “I suppose it just makes you see things differently for a moment.”
He looks at me — and just for an instant I think I can see deep inside him, to a part of him I rarely have access to. Softer and quieter and full of doubts like everyone else.
Then he blinks — and it’s as though he’s closed the camera shutter. Back into normal mode. Businesslike. Sure of himself.
“Anyway. I’m glad Michael and I were able to make up,” he says, taking a sip from the water bottle he’s carrying.
“Me too.”
“He saw my point of view in the end. The publicity that we’ll get through the foundation will benefit the company enormously. The fact that it’s my mother’s charity is largely irrelevant.”
“Yes,” I say reluctantly. “I suppose so.”
I really don’t want to get into a conversation about Luke’s mother right now, so I open the vows book again.
“Hey, here’s one in rhyme…”
As we arrive back at Penn Station, it’s crowded with people. Luke heads off to a rest room, and I head to a kiosk to buy a candy bar. I walk straight past a stand of newspapers — then stop. Hang on a minute. What was that?
I retrace my steps and stare at the New York Post. Right at the top, flagging an inside feature, is a little picture of Elinor.
I grab the paper and turn quickly to the inside page.
There’s a headline, “How to Fight Charity Fatigue.” Then there’s a picture of Elinor with a frosty smile, standing on the steps of some big building and handing over a check to some man in a suit. My eyes run puzzledly over the caption. Elinor Sherman has battled against apathy to raise money for a cause she believes in.
Wasn’t the photo opportunity supposed to be for Luke?
I scan the piece quickly, searching for any mention of Brandon Communications. For any mention of Luke. But I get to the end of the page — and his name hasn’t appeared once. It’s as though he doesn’t figure at all.
I stare down at the page in disbelief.
After everything he’s done for her. How can she treat him like this?
“What’s that?”
I give a startled jump at Luke’s voice. For an instant I consider hiding the paper under my coat. But then, there’s no point, is there? He’ll see it sooner or later.
“Luke…” I hesitate — then swivel the page so he can see it.
“Is that my mother?” Luke looks astounded. “She never told me anything was set up. Let me have a look.”
“Luke…” I take a deep breath. “It doesn’t mention you anywhere. Or the company.”
I wince as I see him scanning the page; as I watch the sheer disbelief growing on his face. It’s been a hard enough day already, without discovering that his mother has completely screwed him.