Харлан Кобен - The Boy from the Woods

They kept walking.

“I have a question,” Wilde said.

“I’m listening.”

“Last time we talked you said there was much more at stake here than a teenage brawl.”

“Is that a question?”

“What’s at stake?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Seriously?”

Gavin Chambers smiled. “It has nothing to do with Naomi Pine.”

“Does it have something to do with Rusty Eggers?”

Another black Cadillac Escalade pulled in front of them. Gavin slapped him on the back and moved toward it.

“Stay in touch,” he said to Wilde, “but stay away.”

When Wilde entered the woods on his way back to the Ecocapsule, Matthew was waiting for him, pacing, his hands in tight fists. “What the hell was that all about?”

“You seem upset,” Wilde said.

Wilde headed up the path. Matthew fell in behind him.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What were you doing at my school?”

“I asked Crash Maynard about Naomi.”

“At my school? Are you kidding me?”

“That a problem, Matthew?”

“I have to go to school here. You get that, right?”

Wilde stopped.

“What?” Matthew asked.

“Did you already forget what you did to her?”

That shut the boy up. Wilde watched the blood drain from Matthew’s face. The woods stood silent, solemn. Matthew’s voice, when he found it, was soft. “No.”

His chin was down — and ah damn, just like David. The echo of the father was so strong on the son’s face right now that Wilde almost took a step back. A few seconds later, Matthew’s chin rose. He saw the expression on Wilde’s face and snapped, “Cut that out.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Yeah, you are,” Matthew said. “You know I hate when you give me that ‘oh my God, he looks like his dad’ face.”

Wilde couldn’t help but smile. “Fair enough.”

“Just stop it.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Wilde mimed wiping away the expression on his face with his hand. “See?”

Matthew sighed. “You can be so lame.”

Wilde smiled.

“What?”

“That’s the kind of thing your father would have said.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “Will you stop?”

He often warned Matthew that he would bring up his father, like it or not. He didn’t do it to appease David’s ghost or any of that — dead was dead in Wilde’s worldview — but for Matthew. He had been robbed of his father. It doesn’t mean he should be robbed of the memory or influence.

“So what would Saint Dad say about this?” Matthew asked in the most grudging tone he could muster.

“About what?”

“About what I did to Naomi?”

“He’d be pissed.”

“Would he ground me?”

“Oh yeah. He’d also make you apologize.”

“I tried to.” Then: “I will.”

“Cool. And your dad wasn’t a saint. He messed up plenty. But he also made amends.”

They were heading across the ravine, not far from the Ecocapsule, when Matthew said, “Always?”

“Always what?”

“Did he always make amends?”

Wilde felt something flutter inside his chest. “He tried.”

“Mom thinks you’re hiding something about the night of the accident.”

Wilde didn’t break stride, but the words stung. “She told you that?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

Matthew eyed him. Forget David — the kid was more like Laila when he gave him the skeptical eye. Then Matthew blinked and said, “Doesn’t matter, does it? He’s dead either way.”

Wilde thought about it and decided that his comment didn’t require a response.

Matthew asked, “So what did Crash tell you?”

The subject change plus the alternate definition of the word — “Crash” the name as opposed to “crash” as in the accident — threw him for a moment. “Not much. But he seemed nervous.”

“So you think, what, that Crash did something to Naomi?”

“All signs still indicate she ran off on her own.”

“But?”

“But something isn’t adding up for me.”

Matthew smiled at that. “Didn’t you teach me that there is always chaos?”

“Anomalies are to be expected, but there is still a certain pattern to the chaos.”

“A pattern to the chaos,” Matthew repeated. “That doesn’t make much sense.”

True enough , Wilde thought.

“I think...” Matthew stammered. “I think what I did to Naomi that night. Not showing up. I feel guilty, I guess. This is all my fault in some ways, right?”

Matthew waited. Wilde waited.

Then Wilde said, “You want me to say something comforting here?”

“Only if you feel it.”

“I don’t.”

They arrived at the Ecocapsule. Matthew, the only guest he ever had out here, liked to do homework in the tighter confines. “Fewer distractions,” he told Wilde. Matthew wanted to study for a physics test. The kid was good in the sciences. Wilde stayed outside and read his book.

Two hours later, Matthew emerged.

“Good study sesh?” Wilde asked.

“Yes, thank you. And never say ‘sesh’ again.”

They made the trek back toward Matthew’s house. When they arrived, Wilde said he wanted some water. Normally he’d leave once he made sure Matthew was inside, but what with the strangeness around Naomi and even Crash, it might pay to hang around until his mother got home.

He also wanted to see Laila for two reasons. The first was what Matthew had just told him — that Laila still questioned the official account of what happened on that treacherous mountain road all those years ago.

“Matthew?”

“Yeah?”

Wilde thought back to Ava’s conversation with Crash. “Anything you’re keeping from me?”

“Huh?”

“About Naomi.”

“No.”

Matthew handed him the glass of water. Then he headed up to his bedroom and closed the door. He didn’t tell Wilde what he was up to and Wilde didn’t ask. Wilde sat in the den and waited. At seven p.m., Laila’s car glided into the driveway. He stood when she opened the door.

“Hey,” Laila said when she saw him.

“Hey.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Laila said.

This was the second — and more important — reason Wilde had stayed.

“Yeah, I know,” Wilde said.

Laila stopped. “You know?”

“I was here the other night with Matthew when you pulled up. I ducked out the back.”

“Oh,” Laila said.

“Yeah.”

“Early days,” Laila said. “I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere—”

“You don’t need to explain—”

“—but it might.”

Laila just looked at him. He got the message. She was ready to take the relationship with Designer Threads to the next level. The physical level, for those slow on the take.

“No worries,” Wilde said.

“Plenty of worries,” Laila countered.

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean, Wilde.”

He nodded and stood. “I better go.”

“It won’t be weird, right?”

“It never is, is it?”

“Sometimes it is, yeah,” Laila said. “And sometimes you stay away too much.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t intrude. But Matthew still needs you. I still need you.”

He crossed the room and kissed her cheek with almost too much tenderness. “I’ll be here when you need me.”

“I love you, Wilde.”

“I love you too, Laila.”

He smiled. She smiled. Wilde felt something in his chest crack a little. Laila... well, he didn’t know what she felt.

“Good night,” he said, and left by the back door.

Hester chose the restaurant — RedFarm, a modern dim sum joint that mixes delicious with casual and a touch of food humor. Her favorite dumplings, for example, were called “Pac Man” and looked like the ghostly creatures from the old video game. RedFarm didn’t take reservations, but Hester came often and so she knew a guy who could get her a corner table when she needed it. The vibe here was creative and cool rather than romantic and quiet, but hey, first date.