The Boy from the Woods(48)
Wilde didn’t say anything.
Gavin put his hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you.”
“It was why I was asking him questions.”
“I think you went a little too far, don’t you? His mother is furious. She wants to report the art teacher.”
“It’s on me, not her.”
“Noble of you, but I’m not sure the school board will agree.”
“Threatening the schoolteacher’s job,” Wilde said with a small shake of the head. “That’s kind of beneath you, isn’t it?”
Gavin smiled. “It is, yes. I read up on you, Wilde. Most of your military record is classified, but, well, I’m not without means. Very impressive. Your whole life story is. But as I said before, I have the manpower and resources. So here is our new deal. I’ll question the kid for you. If Crash Maynard knows anything about this girl, I’ll tell you.”
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.”