But most of it, Hester knew, stemmed from Wilde’s childhood trauma. Somehow, as a small boy, going back as far as he could remember, Wilde had been alone, in these same woods, fending for himself. Think about that. According to the young boy himself, the only person he had spoken directly to in all those years was another about his age, a little boy Wilde had spotted playing alone in his backyard and so little Wilde approached and the two struck up a strange and clandestine friendship. When the little boy’s mom overheard her son talking out loud, the boy would claim it was his imaginary friend, and the mother, na?ve in so many ways, would believe him. It was not until Wilde was found that the truth came out.
The little boy—spoiler alert—was Hester’s youngest son, David.
The perimeter was indeed overgrown and neglected, but the clearing inside of it—where Tim had parked the car last time—was still there. Hester wasn’t sure what to do. She looked for motion detectors or cameras, but of course, Wilde was too good to let any of them be visible. She debated calling out, but that wouldn’t be how Wilde would set it up. Either he was okay and would appear soon, or he was in trouble. She would know one way or another.
After about fifteen minutes, Tim fought his way into the clearing and stood with her. Hester checked for messages on her phone. The Levine jury had finished for the day. No verdict, which was no surprise. Deliberations would resume in the morning. Matthew texted twice asking for updates and to reassure her that it would be good to stop by the house.
Another fifteen minutes passed.
Hester swung between worry （suppose Wilde wasn’t okay?） and anger （if he was okay, why had he abandoned his godson?）。 On the one hand, she got it. The textbook diagnosis: Wilde had never gotten over his abandonment as a child and so he still couldn’t form true attachments. That made sense, she guessed, except she also knew that Wilde would lay down his life in a moment for Matthew or Laila. Wilde loved those he cared about fiercely and protectively—and yet he couldn’t live with them or be with them on a steady basis. It is a paradox, a contradiction, and yet that is what most of us are, when we think about it. We want to make people consistent and predictable and simple, but they never are.
Hester looked over at Tim. Tim shrugged and said, “Long enough?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
They headed back through the thicket. When they turned to the car, a bearded man with long hair was casually leaning against the hood with his arms crossed.
“So what’s wrong?” Wilde asked.
*
Hester and Wilde stared for a few seconds. Tim broke the silence.
“I’ll wait in the car,” he said.
Seeing Wilde again opened the floodgates. The memories rushed at Hester, pouring toward her in unceasing waves, the kind of waves that hit you at the beach when you aren’t looking and every time you manage to get up, another pulls you back under. She saw Wilde as the little boy found in the woods, as the teen in her kitchen with David, the high school sports star, the West Point cadet, the groomsman looking so out of place in his tux at David and Laila’s wedding （Wilde probably would have served as best man, but Hester more or less insisted that David choose his brothers for that role）， the godfather holding baby Matthew after the birth, the man who kept his eyes down as he told her that David’s death was his fault.
“You grew a beard,” Hester said.
“You like it?”
“No.”
He was still gorgeous, of course. When the little boy was found in the woods, the newspapers had called him a modern-day Tarzan, and physically it was almost as if he grew into that role. Wilde was all coiled muscles and stony angles. He had light brown hair, eyes with gold flecks, a sun-kissed complexion. He stood very still, panther-like, as though preternaturally ready to pounce, which, in his case, might be accurate.
“Has someone else gone missing?” Wilde asked.
That had been the case last time she’d come to him like this.
“Yes,” Hester said. “You.”
Wilde didn’t reply.
“Guess who reported you missing,” she continued. “Guess who was so worried about you that he asked me to find you.”
Wilde nodded slowly. “Matthew.”
“What the hell, Wilde?”
He said nothing.
“Why are you ignoring your own godson?”
“I’m not ignoring him.”
“He loves you. You’re the closest thing he has…” Hester just let the words peter out. She changed subjects for a moment. “I did everything you asked, right?”