The Match

Chapter Seven

Fifteen minutes later, Wilde stood at the tree line separating the Ramapo Mountains from the Crimsteins’ backyard. He saw movement in the second-floor window on the right. Laila’s bedroom. Weird to think it, but the truth was the truth: Wilde had spent the best nights of his life there.

Wilde flashed back to the first time he had stood in this tree line, though the memory had faded. Six-year-old David had been playing in the yard with his two older brothers. There was a fairly elaborate cedarwood swing set in the yard with slides and a clubhouse and monkey bars. Wilde had been, he now realized after meeting his father, five years old. Up until that day, Wilde had never talked to another human being.

Or at least he had no memory of it.

Young Wilde did know how to speak. He’d spent most of that winter in a lake cabin near the New York — New Jersey border. Most people only used these homes in summer. Wilde remembered going from house to house, trying doors and windows, frustrated that they were all locked. He finally kicked in one small basement window, forming an opening barely big enough for the little boy to slide in. Luckily, the cabin had been winterized, and while that meant there was always the threat that someone could visit, it also meant that young Wilde had running water and electricity. The family that lived there either had children or grandchildren. There were toys to play with and, more important, VCR tapes from PBS television like Sesame Street and Reading Rainbow. Wilde spent hours watching them, talking out loud, so despite the comparisons to Tarzan and Mowgli, Wilde had educated himself enough to understand that there was a world out there, that the world was larger than him and the woods.

David’s older brothers were supposed to watch their young sibling, but they were busy playing some kind of game involving capturing the clubhouse. Wilde watched them. This wasn’t the first time he’d ventured near the tree line and watched his fellow man interact. He’d even been spotted a few times by various hikers, campers, and even homeowners, but Wilde just ran off. Some people probably reported him to the authorities, but really, what would they say? “I saw a boy in the woods.” So what? It wasn’t as though he ran around in a loincloth — he’d stolen clothes from the homes he’d broken into — so for all anyone knew, he was just a kid wandering on his own.

Stories had surfaced about the “feral boy,” but most people dismissed them as the product of sun, exhaustion, drugs, dehydration, alcohol, whatever. The older Crimstein boys were now roughhousing on the lawn, laughing and wrestling and rolling around. Wilde watched, transfixed. The back door opened and their mother shouted, “Dinner in fifteen minutes, and I’m not giving a second warning.”

That had been the first time Wilde heard Hester Crimstein’s voice.

Wilde was still watching the brothers roll on the ground when he heard a voice near to him say, “Hello.”

It was a boy around his own age.

Wilde was about to run. There was no way this kid, even if he tried, could keep up with him through the labyrinth of the forest. But the same instinct that normally commanded him to flee told him to stay. It was that simple.

“Hello,” he said back.

“I’m David. What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one,” Wilde said.

And so their friendship began.

Now David was dead. His widow and his son lived in this house.

The back door opened. Matthew stepped into the yard and said, “Hey, Wilde.”

The two men — yes, Wilde reluctantly admitted to himself, Matthew was more man than boy now — headed toward one another, meeting in the middle of the yard. When Matthew threw his arms around him, Wilde wondered how long it had been since he’d had physical contact with another person. Had he touched anyone since Vegas?

“I’m sorry,” Wilde said.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re right, it’s not. I worry about you, Wilde.”

Matthew was so much like his father that it hurt. Wilde decided to veer the conversation off this particular track. “How’s college?”

Matthew’s face lit up. “Beyond awesome.”

The back door opened again. It was Laila. When her eyes met his, Wilde felt his heart somersault. Laila wore a white blouse open at the throat and a black pencil skirt. She had, he imagined, just come home from her law office, shed the suit coat, slipped out of the work heels and into the white sneakers. For a second or two, he stared, just stared, and didn’t really care if anyone noticed.

Laila seemed to float down the steps and into the yard. She kissed Wilde’s cheek.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said.

“Same,” Wilde said.

She took his hand. Wilde felt his face flush. He had just left her. No call, no email, no text.

A few seconds later, Hester leaned out the door and shouted, “Pizza! Matthew, help me set up.”

Matthew slapped Wilde on the back and trotted back to the house. When he was gone, Laila turned back to Wilde.

“You don’t owe me any explanations,” Laila said. “You can ignore me all you want.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Let me finish. You don’t owe me — but you owe your godson.”

Wilde nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She blinked and turned away. “How long have you been back?”

“A few months.”

“So my guess is, you know about Darryl.”

“You don’t owe me any explanations,” Wilde said.

“Damn right.”

They headed back inside. The four of them — Wilde, Laila, Matthew, and Hester — sat around the kitchen table. There were two pizzas from Calabria’s. One was split amongst the three older adults — the other was pretty much for Matthew. Between bites, Hester peppered Wilde with questions about his stay in Costa Rica. Wilde mostly deflected. Laila stayed quiet.

Matthew nudged Wilde. “The Nets are playing the Knicks.”

“Are either of them any good this year?”

“Man, you really have been out of it.”

They all grabbed a slice and moved into the family room with the big-screen television. Wilde and Matthew watched the game in comfortable silence. Wilde had never been a big fan of spectator sports. He liked to play sports. He didn’t really get the joy of watching them. Matthew’s father had been into all that stuff, into collecting cards and memorabilia, into going to the games with his older brothers, into keeping stats and watching games like this deep into the night.

Laila and Hester joined them, though both spent more time staring at their phones than the game. At halftime, Hester rose and said, “I better head back to the city.”

“You’re not staying out here with Oren?” Laila asked.

Oren Carmichael was the retiring police chief of Westville. He too had raised his family out here, been friends with Hester and Ira, even coached two of Hester’s kids, including David. Now Hester was a widow and Oren was divorced and so they’d started dating.

“Not tonight. The Levine jury may come back in the morning.”

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Wilde said.

Hester frowned. When Wilde and Hester stepped onto the front pavement and fully out of earshot, Hester asked, “What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“You never walk me out.”

“True,” Wilde said.

“So?”

“So how hard was it to get my father’s address from DNAYourStory?”

“Very. Why?”

“I need to find the details about another profile from that site.”

“Another relative?”

“Yes. A second cousin.”

“Can’t you just answer them and meet up the regular way?”

“It’s more complicated,” Wilde said.

Hester sighed. “It always is with you.”

Wilde waited.

“Fine, text me the details.”

“You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the balls,” Hester said. She turned back to the house. “How are you holding up?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I see the way you look at Laila. I see the way she looks at you.”

“There’s nothing there.”

“She’s been seeing a guy.”

“I know.”

“I figured as much.”

“I won’t interfere.”

Tim opened the car door for Hester. She hugged Wilde fiercely and whispered, “Don’t disappear again, okay? You can live in the woods or whatever, but you need to stay in touch every once in a while.” She pushed back and looked up into his face. “Do you understand?”

He nodded. Hester slipped into the backseat. Wilde watched the car pull down the cul-de-sac. He reached for his phone and dialed his foster sister. When she answered, he could hear the normal family cacophony. Rola Naser had five children.

“Hello?”

He knew that his name wouldn’t pop up because he was calling from a disposable phone. “Can we skip the part where you give me shit for not staying in touch?”

“Hell no,” she said.

“Rola—”

“What the eff — and I say ‘eff’ only because there are children present but I really really want to say the whole word — what the eff is wrong with you, Wilde? Wait. Don’t answer. Who knows better than me?”

“No one.”

“Exactly. No one. And you promised last time you wouldn’t do this again.”

“I know.”

“It’s like Lucy kicking the football with Charlie Brown.”

“Lucy doesn’t kick the football.”

“What?”

“Lucy holds the football and then pulls it away when Charlie Brown is about to kick it.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s where you’re going with this, Wilde?”

“You’re smiling, Rola. I can hear it in your voice.”

“I’m angry.”

“Angry but smiling.”

“It’s been more than a year.”

“I know. Are you pregnant again?”

“No.”

“Did I miss anything big?”

“In the past year?” Rola sighed. “What do you want, Wilde?”

“I need you to trace a mobile number for me.”

“Read it off to me.”

“Now?”

“No, wait another year and then do it.”

Wilde read her the number that PB had given to him. Ten seconds later, Rola said, “Interesting.”

“What?”

“It’s billed to a shell corporation called PB&J.”

“Owners? Address?”

“No owners. Address is the Cayman Islands. Whose phone number is this?”

“My cousin’s, I think.”

“Say what?”

After young Wilde was found in the woods, he was taken in as a foster child by the kind and generous Brewer family. More than thirty foster kids had lived with the Brewers, and all had been made better by the experience. Most kids stayed only a few months. Some, like Wilde and Rola, had stayed for years.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

“You’re looking for your birth parents?”

“No. I mean, I was.”

“But you put your DNA into one of those genealogy sites?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“What part of ‘a long story’ is confusing you?”

“You’ve never told a long story. I don’t think you can. Just give me the broad strokes.”

He told her about the communication with PB. He didn’t tell her about his father.

“Read me the note,” Rola said when he finished.

Wilde did.

“So this PB guy is famous?”

“Or thinks he is,” Wilde said.

“I hope he’s being melodramatic.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that almost sounds like a suicide note,” Rola said.

Wilde had certainly taken notice of the message’s desperation and despair. “Can you see if you can get any information on the shell corporation?”

“Will you come by and see me and the kids?”

“Yes.”

“This isn’t a quid pro quo. I’ll get you the info anyway.”

“I know,” Wilde said. “I love you, Rola.”

“Yeah, I know. Are you back from Costa Rica?”

“Yes.”

“By yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Damn. I’m sorry to hear that. You back in the woods?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.”

“It’s all good.”

“I know,” Rola said. “That’s the problem. I’ll see what I can dig up on PB&J, but I doubt it’ll lead anywhere.”

He hung up and headed back inside. Laila was gone from the room. Matthew was half watching the second half, half surfing or whatever on his laptop. Wilde collapsed onto the couch next to him.

“Where’s your mother?” he asked.

“She’s upstairs working. You know she’s got a boyfriend?”

Wilde chose to answer the question with a question. “You okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”

“Just asking.”

“Not up to me.”

“True,” Wilde said.

The game came out of commercial. Matthew folded his arms and focused on the screen. “Darryl’s a little too polished.”

Wilde gave a noncommittal “Oh.”

“Like he never uses contractions. It’s always ‘I am’ never ‘I’m.’ ‘Do not’ instead of ‘don’t.’ Annoys the shit out of me.”

Wilde said nothing.

“He’s got matching silk pajamas. Black. Looks like a suit. Even his workout clothes match.”

Wilde continued to say nothing.

“No thoughts?”

“He sounds like an ogre,” Wilde said.

“Right?”

“Not right. We let your mom do what makes her happy.”

“If you say so.”

They fell into a comfortable silence the same way Wilde used to with Matthew’s father.

A few minutes later, Matthew said, “Observation.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re distracted, Wilde. Or if I was Darryl, I would say, ‘You are distracted, Wilde.’”

Wilde couldn’t help but smile. “I could see how that would be annoying.”

“Right?”

“I met my biological father.”

“Wait, what?”

Wilde nodded. Matthew sat up and turned all his attention to Wilde. His father used to do this too — one of those people who had the ability to make you feel like you’re the most important person in the world. Spilling his guts was hardly Wilde’s forte, but perhaps he owed Matthew at least that much after his stupid vanishing act.

“He lives in Las Vegas.”

“Cool. Like in a casino?”

“No. He’s in construction.”

“How did you find him?”

“One of those ancestry DNA sites.”

“Wow. So you went to Vegas?”

“Yep.”

Matthew spread his hands. “And?”

“And he didn’t know I existed and doesn’t know who the mother is.”

Matthew stayed quiet while Wilde elaborated. When he finished, Matthew frowned and said, “Odd.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t remember her name.”

“Why is that odd?”

Matthew frowned again. “Okay, you, well, you sleep with a lot of women, so maybe you don’t remember all their names. I get that. It’s gross, Wilde. But I get it.”

“Thanks.”

“But your father? This Daniel Carter? He’d only slept with one girl before this. He only slept with one girl — the same girl — after this. You’d think that he’d remember the names of the girls in between.”

“You think he lied to me?”

Matthew shrugged. “I just find it odd, that’s all.”

“You’re young.”

“So was your father at the time you were conceived.”

Wilde nodded. “Good point.”

“You should call and push him a little.”

Wilde didn’t reply.

“Don’t just call it quits, Wilde.”

“I haven’t. Kind of the opposite, in fact.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s why I raised this with you. I wanted your input on something.”

A smile broke out on Matthew’s face. “Sure.”

“I heard from another relative on the site. He calls himself PB.”

Wilde showed Matthew the most recent message from PB. Matthew read it twice and said, “Wait, this message came in when?”

“Four months ago.”

“Is there an exact date?”

“It’s right there. Why?”

Matthew kept staring at the message. “Why didn’t you reply before now?”

“I didn’t see it.”

Matthew stared at the screen some more. “So that’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“Why you are so distracted.”

“I’m not following.”

“You feel guilty.” Matthew kept his eyes on the screen. “This blood relative cried out to you for help. You didn’t even let yourself hear the cry.”

Wilde looked at him. “Harsh.”

“But?”

“But fair. He makes himself sound famous, don’t you think?”

“Could be an exaggeration,” Matthew said.

“Could be,” Wilde agreed.

“I mean, that’s the thing with social media. A kid in my class put out a song and got fifty thousand views on his YouTube channel. Now he thinks he’s Drake or something.”

Wilde didn’t know who Drake was, so he kept silent.

“But something about this...” Matthew said.

“What?”

“Maybe Sutton would know.”

“Sutton, the girl you’ve had a crush on since eighth grade?”

A smile toyed with Matthew’s lips. “Seventh, actually.”

“The one who’s going out with Crash Maynard?”

“Was going out with.” Matthew couldn’t hold the smile back any longer. “You’ve been gone a long time, Wilde.”

“Have I now?”

“Sutton and I have been dating for almost a year now.”

Wilde smiled too. “Nice.”

“Yeah.” Matthew blushed. “Yeah, it’s pretty great.”

“Uh, we don’t need to have that talk, do we?”

Matthew chuckled at that one. “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, that ship has sailed, Wilde.”

“Sorry.”

“Mom handled it. It’s all good.”

When the game went to commercial break, Matthew said, “Speaking of which.”

“What?”

“I’m going to grab a shower,” Matthew said, standing. “Hate to eat and run, but I’m spending the night at Sutton’s.”

“Oh,” Wilde said. Then he added, “Your mom’s okay with that?”

Matthew made a face. “Really?”

“You’re right. None of my business.” Wilde rose. “I better get going too.”

Matthew ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and vanished into his bedroom. Wilde was about to go up and say goodbye to Laila when his phone rang. It was Rola.

“What’s up?”

“Pay dirt,” Rola said.

“I’m listening.”

“I got an address for PB&J. But it doesn’t make much sense.”