The Second Son

by Martin Jay Weiss

  “I really started to believe he ran off with her…” Ethan grabbed the priest’s phone as if it were part of his exuberance. “But it was this guy, huh?”

  Ethan expanded the photo so he could get a better look at the bride and groom. Their arms were all pointing straight at the ground, stiff—body language that told Ethan they weren’t really together, definitely not in the way he and Brooke had been. He and Brooke would be touching, connected somehow. This picture showed no affection. No connection. Brooke looked stunning, as always, but she was wearing a simple white dress that Ethan had seen her wear at least twice before. And she wouldn’t have worn an old dress for a new marriage. Ethan concluded that she rushed to marry this guy like her life depended on it.

  “I hope this settles your mind, son,” Father Oliver said as he held out his hand so Ethan would give his phone back.

  Ethan dipped the phone under the desk, as if he were taking one last look, and swiftly texted the picture to himself, without the priest noticing. Then he rendered a hollow smile and handed the phone back. “Thank you for showing me. I’m truly relieved.”

  “But not completely,” the priest said.

  “It shows, huh?”

  ”You loved her.”

  “I still do,” Ethan admitted. “And since you’ve known her since she was a child, you could understand why.”

  There was an awkward silence. Ethan knew the priest was his best window into her past. He also knew that the man wasn’t going to betray Brooke’s trust.

  “I know that her family came up here for many years,” Ethan said, hoping to get him talking. “She told me she hoped to get married here one day.”

  The priest just nodded.

  “She never told me, though, why she had changed her name to Brooke Shaw—”

  The priest looked away, and his ruddy skin glowed as red as it did when he first mentioned her name.

  “Please, for her sake,” Ethan pleaded, “tell me who she was.”

  The priest’s voice dipped. “I can tell you this: She’s had a lot of loss in her life. She deserves this chance to start over. To be happy.”

  “I know that she lost both of her parents in a short time. She told me that she wanted a fresh start, but that couldn’t be the reason she changed her name.”

  “I’m sure she had good reason and we do need to respect her decision.”

  “The way she left makes me think that she’s running from something, or someone…that maybe she’s in some kind of trouble.”

  Ethan could see that Father Oliver didn’t like being in this position. He was hiding something. He likely knew that Brooke was in some kind of danger, too, but he wasn’t going to breach her trust.

  Ethan tried one more angle. “Can you tell me anything about the guy she married?”

  “I just met him yesterday.”

  Ethan shook his head, showing his concern. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “He seemed like a nice fellow.”

  “They always do,” Ethan said as he stood up and started to walk out. “Thank you for your time.” Ethan stopped in the doorway and turned back. “Who was the man with tattoos, in the sanctuary?”

  The priest didn’t answer.

  Ethan tried again. “There was a big guy with a shaved head and tattoos running down his arms standing in the doorway watching us. When he looked at us, you suggested that we talk in private.”

  “I don’t know…” the priest hesitated, and then continued, “He approached me before the service and also asked questions about her—”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “He wanted to know where she went after the wedding, where he could find her.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that I didn’t know, because I don’t.”

  Ethan thanked him and walked out of the church, now more certain that she was running from something terrible, something she couldn’t tell anyone about, even her priest.

  Ethan needed to find her.

  He walked into the blaring late-morning sunshine and headed back to his car. On one level, he was relieved that Jack had not run off with Brooke. But he also felt more ashamed for even considering such a betrayal. He needed to apologize, and more than ever, he really wanted his brother’s help. He got into his Tesla, drove out of the parking lot, and grabbed his phone to call Jack again.

  In his rearview mirror, he noticed the tattooed man with the shaved head climbing into a banged-up Dodge Grand Caravan and possibly following after him.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jack sat up in bed feeling like he’d descended into hell; disheveled, disoriented, surrounded by scattered clothes, two empty bottles of Far Niente Oakville Napa (a vibrant Cabernet), leftovers from a romantic La Fusion dinner (a Latin American restaurant in the Financial District he’d had delivered via GrubHub app), and a few indiscretions carelessly left behind in the throes of passion.

  He took it all in with a smile. His new life had promise. Then his iPhone lit up and his brother’s cheerful photo popped up with caller ID. Jack was in no mood and considered letting his voicemail pick up. Then he heard his shower go on. His lovely houseguest would be awhile. A perfect time to tell Ethan that he needed space. He picked up and sounded annoyed, “Kind of early for a Sunday morning—”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Ethan started.

  “Are you my parole officer?” Jack hissed. “I’m in bed and I’m hung way over. Where are you?”

  “Church.”

  Jack laughed. The ice had been broken. He missed his brother, too, and he was tired of feeling angry.

  “I tried calling you last night,” Ethan said. “I left a detailed message.”

  Jack glanced his unheard messages count. “I shut my phone off.”

  “I figured. Want to know why I’m at a church?”

  “You converted?”

  “Brooke got married—”

  “What?” Jack rubbed his throbbing head, realizing his brother was serious, and seriously distraught. He softened. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Ethan explained everything that had transpired since Jack left Stalker: how he came home to Brooke’s Dear John letter, how Bailey and Emily found out that she had been using a fake name, how the Face Match Mode feature found out that she was marrying a man named Benjamin Carver—who was also using a false identity—and about the conversation he’d just had with Father Oliver at the church in Napa Valley.

  Jack interrupted as he rubbed his aching temples and sat up. “I need to process all of this.”

  Ethan waited a beat and then asked, “So you had no idea she was thinking about this…leaving me?”

  “Of course not,” Jack snapped back. “I called her to say goodbye when my movers came last week. I left her a message but she never called me back.”

  Ethan merged onto the highway and glanced back at the van in his rearview. The banged-up Dodge Grand Caravan was behind him. The big tattooed guy was driving, and there were at least two others with him. Ethan told Jack, “I think I’m being followed.”

  “You think you’re being followed?”

  “I noticed this guy at the church watching me,” Ethan explained. “He was wearing a wifebeater and his arms were completely covered in tattoos. Not the churchgoing type. The priest told me that this guy had approached him earlier, asking questions about Brooke. Now I’m on the freeway—”

  “Slow down,” Jack told him. “See if he passes.”

  Ethan moved over to the right lane. The van followed. “He’s still there.”

  Jack asked, “How’s the charge on your Tesla?”

  Ethan checked the dashboard. “Low. Maybe I can squeeze fifty miles.”

  Jack thought his brother was crazy to get a car that needed to be charged, as well as one that he couldn’t really afford until Stalker w
as in the black. “I told you that you were being ridiculous when you got that overpriced toy.”

  “I wanted to express my commitment to the environment.”

  “And to Brooke,” Jack said.

  “I also wanted to show my commitment to Stalker, that I had faith in its success,” Ethan said, as if that were the most noble excuse.

  “Overly optimistic as always,” Jack said, realizing he had a smile on his face. They had been through this rigamarole many times and he’d missed their banter.

  “I don’t see the van anymore,” Ethan said as he checked all his mirrors. “Maybe they took the last exit.”

  “Okay good.”

  Ethan said, “Wouldn’t it be cool to make an app that would combine GPS tracking with sensors that calculated cars keeping a similar distance for consistent times that would warn you that you’re being followed?”

  Jack laughed. “The only customers for that feature would be criminals.”

  “Good point.”

  Jack could tell that his brother was rattled. He loved to brainstorm new ideas whenever he was on edge, his way of funneling nervous energy. “Tell me about this guy Brooke ran off with,” Jack said. “You think he’s an old boyfriend?”

  “I have no idea…I thought she ran off with you at first—”

  “That she ran off with me?” Jack laughed harder. “You’re an idiot.”

  “I know, I know, and I owe you a big apology. I used the Likability Mode, and when I saw that the last time you used your credit card was almost a week ago near Big Sur, I thought you were hiding with her in Dancing Rabbit.”

  “I haven’t used that credit card since then because Hounddog gave me a new one.”

  “Of course they did,” Ethan said. “That’s how the Wizard of Silicon lured you—”

  “You thought I would betray you like that?”

  “I did,” Ethan confessed. “I’m sorry. I know you would never—”

  “I would,” Jack teased. “She’s just not my type.”

  “I’m starting to think you don’t have a type.”

  “What you don’t know is a lot.” Jack looked around the room at the scattered clothes and remnants of the night. “Still no sign of the van?”

  Ethan glanced in his mirrors again. “I don’t see them.”

  “Okay, I’m leaving my phone on. When we hang up, use the Stalker Phone Tracker to get to my new pad. My next-door neighbor has a Tesla. I’ll ask him if you could plug into his charger. We’ll sort this all out when you get here.”

  Stalker’s Phone Tracker took the GPS signal from the most recent phone call and Siri navigated directions. The feature, however, didn’t have the ability to know whether or not you’re still being followed by a dark van with three tattooed, contracted thugs.

  And neither did Ethan.

  After they hung up, a blow dryer went on in Jack’s bathroom, which reminded him that he didn’t have much time. Ethan would be there in less than an hour. So Jack jumped out of bed and shouted through the bathroom door, “My brother’s on his way over. You’ll have to get going.”

  The blow dryer shut off and his houseguest asked, half joking, “You want me to leave through the back door or something?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Jack said, dead serious. “We can’t risk anyone seeing us together yet.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Jack got dressed, straightened up, and prepared for his brother’s arrival. He could only imagine what Ethan had been going through that past week with him leaving their business, moving away to work for Stalker’s biggest competitor, and the love of his life running off and getting married—all without warning.

  Jack now felt worse about the way he left. Releasing all his pent up anger toward Ethan was his way to minimize his own guilt; something he was aware of, but not proud of.

  Jack hadn’t made his decision to leave lightly, and he wished that he could explain all the real reasons he ultimately decided to go, but he also feared that Ethan wasn’t ready to hear the truth, nor was he ready to tell him. Ethan always had the same expectations for Jack as he had for himself, as if they were the same person. Jack assumed it was a twin thing, and maybe it was, but it was also wrong.

  Stalker was really Ethan’s vision—his concept, his baby. Brooke was Ethan’s girl—his affection, his love. Santa Monica was Ethan’s style—his refuge, his culture. Even the home they lived in—their bungalow—and the office they worked in—the Third Street playhouse—was oozing Ethan.

  Jack wasn’t jealous of Ethan. He wanted his brother’s dreams to be realized. But living under the shadow of an ambitious, charismatic optimist meant that his own dreams were always suppressed.

  Jack was primarily a programmer—tech oriented, introverted, and antisocial—and everyone assumed that he was all function and no form. But that wasn’t the case. He had another side that cared deeply about design and aesthetics. He wanted to live an honest expression of who he really was and this desire was growing stronger. He felt that he needed to separate from his brother on all levels so he could be seen, so he could be real. If Ethan was Silicon Beach, Jack needed to become Silicon Valley. If Ethan were a Stalker, Jack would become a Hounddog.

  Fire and rain; black and white; chalk and cheese.

  And the Wizard of Silicon Valley made all that possible. Sean McQueen was so successful in part because he knew how to listen to the needs of the people he brought into his fold. When Jack met McQueen, he was able to be who he wanted to be; he felt heard; he felt known.

  The Hounddog Human Resources team used technology to make Jack’s transition easy and his home a true expression of who he was. They accumulated information from his search engines and purchase history. An algorithm assessed the data and linked to hundreds of items from around the globe, everything from types of neighborhoods to homes, furniture to clothes, restaurants to types of entertainment. They asked Jack to rate the pictures on a scale from one to ten, and then they analyzed all his preferences and made an environment that would best suit him.

  And then they got busy.

  They leased a Gothic-style Victorian in The Haight—an iconic eclectic community on a great walking street with exclusive boutiques, high-end vintage shops, hip cafés and restaurants—and decorated the home to Jack’s style. There was nothing they put inside that Jack didn’t love. They placed every knickknack, based on his Taste app; filled his refrigerator, based on his Table app; set up playlists, based on his iTunes app; filled his bookshelves, based on his Kindle app; lined his closet, based on his BuyVia app; stocked his wet bar with top-shelf vodka, based on him telling them that he loved vodka.

  Jack was immediately transported into his new life, just the way he wanted it, and he didn’t have to share it with his twin brother like he had with almost everything else in their interdependent lives. Ethan was about to see a different side of him and he hoped his brother would appreciate it. That would be a good start. Jack was the brother who never cared what other people thought of him. But for some reason, he cared very much about his twin brother’s opinion.

  The irony didn’t escape Jack. That’s what Brooke would call a “twin paradox.”

  Brooke taught Jack a lot about being a twin.

  Jack wanted his brother to walk into a delicious aromatic feast and truly appreciate the full effect of his new home, and the new him, so he began to prepare a delicious breakfast. He went all out and whipped up his hangover special: broccoli, tomato, and cheddar omelet, hash browns, turkey bacon, fresh-squeezed juice, and fresh-brewed coffee. Cooking had always relaxed Jack, especially when he was hungry or anxious or drifting into his default setting of self-doubt.

  As he navigated his new kitchen, his mind wondered back to the recent confrontation he’d had with Ethan, just a few weeks back. He and his brother were enjoying a couple of bottles of Eagle Rock, a local beer, on their small grass-patch backya
rd. Brooke was in the kitchen and the twins could see her pass back and forth across the window, radiant and graceful even in her domestic duties.

  —

  Ethan said, “I really love her, you know.”

  Jack grunted, “Uh-huh.”

  “She’s amazing.”

  “She is that.”

  “And you two spend a lot of time together.”

  “We do,” Jack agreed, knowing his brother was prodding him. “What’s your point?”

  “You know she and I are getting serious, so I want to know your opinion. You have an opinion on everything else, so I’m asking—”

  Jack had spent so much time with Brooke and he trusted her implicitly. He told her things he couldn’t tell his brother. And Ethan didn’t like it. “I think she’s a huge improvement from the girls you’ve dated,” Jack snapped, “probably better than you deserve. If you’re trying to make a point, make it.”

  Ethan stayed calm. “You’ve been telling her a lot of things lately that aren’t really appropriate.”

  Jack felt the blood rise to his face. Ethan was staring at him, as if he were waiting for a confession. “Like what?” Jack asked, hoping, praying that she didn’t tell him anything he wasn’t prepared for him to know.

  Ethan’s chest puffed out like he did when he had been holding something in and was about to explode. “She said that you told her about Barry.”

  Jack was relieved it was just that.

  He could trust her. Of course he could.

  “I did tell her about Barry,” Jack admitted.

  “Don’t you think that’s something I should have told her about?”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “We just hadn’t gotten to it yet.”

  “If it was so important to you, then you would have said something.”