The Match

Chapter Forty-Three

Oren worked the barbecue because that was the kind of guy he was. Laila was in the kitchen. Wilde sat on an Adirondack chair in the back with Hester. They looked out into the woods from the backyard of the house that Hester and Ira built over forty years ago.

Hester drank a white Chablis. Wilde had an Asbury Park Brewery ale.

“So now you know,” she said.

“Most of it.”

“What?”

“Some of what she said — there were holes.”

“Like?”

He and his mother had talked more, but suddenly George Kissell was there telling them time was up. The danger, he said, was still real. Wilde wasn’t sure how much he bought that, or if he bought that when that little boy was found in the woods, his parents didn’t hear about it or put it together.

“It doesn’t matter,” Wilde said. “We know the important stuff.”

“Your mother abandoned you to save you,” Hester said.

“Yes.”

“That’s all that really matters.”

Wilde nodded and handed her an old Polaroid. Hester took it, put on her reading glasses, studied it. The colors in the photo had saturated with age.

“Looks like a dance floor at an old wedding.”

Wilde nodded. “Silas found tons of old photos his mother had stored in the basement. A lot were water damaged, but I went through them all. This one is from the early seventies.”

“Okay.”

“See the girl in the back by the drums?”

Hester squinted. “There are three girls in the back by the drums.”

“The one with the green dress and ponytail.”

Hester found her. “Yes.” Then: “Wait, that’s...?”

“Mom, yep.”

“Did Silas know who she was?”

Wilde shook his head. “No recollection of her. The wedding would have happened before he was even born.”

Hester handed him the photograph. She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun.

“You’re spending more time here, aren’t you?” Hester asked.

Laila came out back with a large empty platter. Oren started moving a tremendous amount of food off the grill and onto it.

Oren shouted, “Hope you’re hungry.”

Hester looked back at both of them and waved. “We both did good.”

“Outkicked our coverage,” Wilde agreed. “I love her.”

“I know.” She put her hand on his arm. “It’s okay. He would be happy about it.”

They sat back now. Wilde closed his eyes and worked up his courage.

“I have something I want to ask you,” Wilde said.

But before he could go on, he heard Matthew from behind him. “Yo, Wilde, holy crap, you have to see this.”

Matthew ran toward him with Sutton at his side. Sutton was holding up her cell phone.

“What’s up?” Hester asked.

“It’s the Love Is a Battlefield fan page,” Matthew said. “It’s been insane lately. Marnie is like a big-time hero-martyr now. They made that storage place where they found her body into like a giant shrine. And Jenn, she’s still working on her excuses, but a lot of people are defending her. Some say she was just playing the game right. Others think she must have been abused or something so it’s not her fault.”

“But that’s not the big news,” Sutton said. She handed Wilde her phone. “Here, let me click this link.”

Sutton hit the link, and the screen loaded an Instagram page.

Peter Bennett’s Instagram page.

The last time Wilde had looked, the most recent post was the one of the suicide jump at Adiona Cliffs.

Now there was a video. It was dated twenty-two minutes ago. The location, listed in the upper right-hand corner, read simply FRENCH POLYNESIA.

Sutton hit the play button.

Peter Bennett appeared. He wore a long unkempt beard. He smiled for the camera.

“I’m alive, Battlers,” he announced, smiling big for the camera, “and now that you know the truth, I’m coming home.”

Sutton’s phone rang in her hand. The video disappeared. She took the phone back and moved away, holding the phone to her ear. “I just saw it,” she said excitedly to whoever was on the other end. “I know, incredible, right? He’s alive!”

Matthew looked down at Wilde. “What do you think?”

“About?”

“Were the fan boards right? Was Peter behind it all the time?”

Wilde told the truth. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Matthew looked over at Hester. Hester shrugged.

“But since you’re here,” Wilde said, his nerves returning, “I want to ask you both something.”

Matthew moved closer. Hester sat up.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Do I have your permission to ask Laila to marry me?”

Hester and Matthew both smiled. Hester said, “You need our permission?”

“And your blessing,” Wilde said. “I’m old-fashioned that way.”