Vicky and Silas had concluded that their father was Peter’s, Wilde remembered. That would make the odds pretty strong that RJ would be Peter Bennett’s mother.
“Something else,” Wilde said.
“What?”
“I’m in DNAYourStory data banks,” he said.
“So?”
“So this RJ didn’t match me at all. PB does. So if it’s PB’s mother, I’m related on the father’s side.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I’m not sure,” Wilde said, leaning back and trying to sort through it. “Let’s say this RJ is Peter Bennett’s mother. Then the most likely scenario is that I’m related to the Bennett family—Vicky, Silas, Peter—on their father’s side.”
Matthew shook his head. “This stuff gets confusing.”
“That’s because we need more answers,” Wilde said. “Let’s message RJ.”
Matthew nodded. “What do you want to say?”
They composed a message to RJ from PB, where PB noted that they were very closely related and that he—PB—had been searching for his parents, and it was urgent that they contact him. They stressed the urgent part, hinting that there could be a medical emergency, in the hopes that it would prompt a faster reply.
“Let’s give RJ my phone number,” Wilde said. “Tell them to call day or night, as soon as possible.”
Matthew nodded, typing. “Got it.”
When they both thought the message said everything that it needed to say, Matthew hit the send button. It was late now. Laila was still out. Wilde didn’t want to ask where. It wasn’t his business. He was going to head back into the woods, but Matthew asked him if he wanted to watch the Knicks game. He did, mostly because he wanted to spend more time with Matthew.
They both sprawled out and got lost in the back-and-forth of the game.
“I love basketball,” Matthew said at one point.
“Me too.”
“You were a great athlete, weren’t you?”
Wilde arched an eyebrow. “Were?”
“I mean, like, when you were young.”
“Were?”
Matthew smiled. “You still hold a bunch of our high school records.”
“Your dad was pretty good too. He had a heck of a left hand.”
Matthew shook his head. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Bring my father into it.”
“He was the best man I ever knew.”
“I know you think that.”
“I don’t think that. I know it. I want you to know it.”
“Yeah, I get that. You kind of hammer it home without much subtlety.” Matthew sat up a little. “Why is that so important to you?”
“To talk about your dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Because I want you to know him. I want you to know what kind of man he was. I talk about your dad because I still want him to be alive for you.”
“May I make an observation?” Matthew asked.
Wilde gestured for him to go ahead.
“I’m not casting aspersions here…”
“Uh-oh,” Wilde said.
“…but I think you talk about him so much because you miss him.”
“Of course I miss him.”
“No, I mean, I think you talk about him so much not so he can still be alive for me—but so he can still be alive for you.”
Wilde said nothing.
“I was just a kid when he died,” Matthew said. “And don’t get me wrong, Wilde. You were a good godfather before that. I know you love me. But I think after Dad died, you started hanging more, not just out of guilt or even responsibility. I think you were afraid to let go of him, and so when you’re with me, it’s the closest thing you have to still being with him.”
Wilde thought about that. “You may have a point.”
“Really?”
“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.”