The Match (Wilde, #2)(89)

“When your father first died, yeah, I think what you’re saying was true. You and I would go out. We’d go to a movie or a ball game, and when I dropped you back home, I’d start walking back into the woods and it was like…” Wilde swallowed. “I’d start thinking, ‘I can’t wait to tell David about this.’ Does that make sense?”

Matthew nodded. “I think so.”

“I would talk to your dad as I hiked back. I would tell him what we’d done and how much fun we had. I know that sounds weird—”

“It doesn’t.”

“So yeah, that’s how it was—at first.”

“But not now?”

“Not now, no. Now I just like hanging out with you. It may be because you’re like your father. That could be it. But it’s not because of your father. I don’t talk to him when I leave you anymore. There is zero sense of obligation. I want to spend time with you. And I’m sorry if I keep talking about him. When I don’t, that makes him feel more…gone.”

“He won’t ever be gone, Wilde. But he wouldn’t want us to wallow, would he?”

“He would not,” Wilde agreed.

Matthew grinned. “Wow.”

“What?”

“That’s the most you’ve ever opened up on that.”

Wilde kicked back in the couch. “Yeah, well, I’m not myself lately.”

They both settled back as the Knicks mounted a fourth quarter comeback. During a time-out, Matthew rolled over onto his stomach and looked at Wilde.

“What are you going to do about my mother?” Matthew asked.

“You’re pushing your luck, kid.”

“Hey, I’m not myself lately either. So what are you going to do?”

Wilde shrugged. “It’s not up to me.”

“You can’t keep using that as an excuse.”

“What?”

“Your whole bit, Wilde. We get it—you can’t settle down, you have trust issues, you have difficulty with commitment, you can’t attach, you need to be alone in the woods. But a relationship is a two-way street. You can’t just keep saying it’s up to her. She can’t be working this all on her own.”

Wilde shook his head. “Man, one year in college and you have all the answers.”

“Do you know where Mom is tonight?”

“No.”

“Right now, Mom is out with Darryl. You act like it doesn’t matter. If it doesn’t, you should let her know. If it does, you should let her know. Your ‘silent man in the woods’ thing? It’s not fair to her.”

“My relationship with your mother,” Wilde said, “doesn’t concern you.”

“Like hell it doesn’t. She’s my mom. Her husband is dead. I’m all she has. Don’t tell me it doesn’t concern me. And stop hiding behind the ‘it’s up to her’ bullshit. That’s just a convenient out.”

They stopped talking then. The Knicks called a time-out down by two with twelve seconds left. Wilde’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Yes, uh, sorry. You asked me to call you. You said it was urgent.”

The voice was male, gruff, sounded like someone a little older.

Wilde sat up. “Is this RJ?”

There was a small hesitation. Then: “Yeah. I got your message.”

“So,” Wilde said, “we’re related. Closely related.”

“Looks like,” the voice said. “What’s your name?”

Wilde remembered that they’d written to RJ using the initials PB. “Paul,” Wilde said.

“Paul what?”

“Baker. Paul Baker.”

Wilde knew that Paul and Baker were always on the list of most common first and last names in the United States. It would make it harder to track down.

“Where do you live, Paul?”

“New York City. How about you?”

“I’m in that area too,” the male voice said.

“Could we meet?” Wilde said.

“I’d like that, Paul. You said it was urgent, right?”

Something in his tone and readiness…Wilde didn’t like this. “Right.”

“Do you know Washington Square Park?”

“Yes.”

“How about under the arch tomorrow morning at nine?”

“Sounds good,” Wilde said. “Can I ask your name?”

“I’m Robert. Robert Johnson.”

Another top-ten name. Wilde felt played.

“Robert, do you have any idea how we are related?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “I’m your father.”

He hung up before Wilde could say more. Wilde tried to hit the call back button, but the call didn’t go through. He tried Chris next.

“You still have some kind of trace on my phone?”

“Yes.”

“Who just called me?”

“Hold on. Hmm.”

“What?”

“Burner number. Like yours. Hard to trace an owner. Give me a second.” Wilde heard the clacking of fingers on a keyboard. “I don’t know if this helps, but the call came from somewhere in Tennessee. Looks like Memphis.”