“A meme?”
“I think that’s what they call it. People would post pictures of Silas and call him Silent Silas or Sulking Silas, and then they’d add some comment about being grumpy, like ‘Me before coffee.’ Silas was upset about it. He wanted to sue the show.”
“Where is Silas now?”
“I’m not sure. He drives a truck so he’s on the road most of the year. I can give you his mobile number?”
“That would be great.”
“I don’t think Silas will be much help though.”
“How about Jenn?”
“What about her?”
“Was Peter still in touch with her?”
Vicky shook her head. “Not toward the end, no.”
“Do you and Jenn talk much?”
“We used to. I mean, before all this, we were all very close. She was devastated by the betrayal.”
“So you believe Peter did it?”
Vicky hesitated. “He said he didn’t.”
Wilde waited.
“Does it matter anymore?”
“I’m not judging,” Wilde said. “I just…”
“You just what?” Vicky said, and there was a little edge in her tone now. “This doesn’t concern you. I told you I’d work on the family tree for you. That’s why you’re here, right? To find out why you were abandoned in the woods?”
It suddenly dawned on Wilde that for the second time in his conscious life—the first time was just a few months ago with his father—Wilde was conversing with a blood relative. He expected that it would mean nothing to him. He had spent his life convinced that the answers would provide no meaningful closure or change in his life, especially after his encounter with a father who clearly wanted nothing to do with him, and yet now, as he faced someone who shared his blood, there was an undeniable pull.
“Vicky?”
“What?”
“You talk about chakra and feelings and all that.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not. But something about this whole thing isn’t adding up.”
“I still don’t see how that concerns you.”
“Maybe it doesn’t. But I’m going to dig into this, with your blessing or not. At best, you’ll get some answers. At worst, I’ve wasted some of your time.”
“You’re not wasting my time,” Vicky Chiba said. Then she added, “You’re our cousin. And you have my blessing.”
Chapter
Twelve
Rola said, “Peter Bennett is most likely dead.”
“I know.”
“I don’t get why you’re looking for him.”
Rola Naser, Wilde’s foster sister, and her family lived in a classic 1970s split-level with a bloated addition on the back. A muddled mishmash of children’s play equipment—bicycles, tricycles, pogo sticks, bright orange plastic baseball bats, a lacrosse goal, dolls, trucks—was scattered across the front yard as though someone had strewn them from a great height.
They sat at the kitchen table. One of Rola’s kids was on Wilde’s knee. Another was eating a jelly donut, wearing a lot of it on her face. The two oldest were in the corner working on a TikTok dance, which involved repeatedly playing a song that asked the musical question, “Why you so obsessed with me?”
Wilde bounced the kid on his knee to prevent him from crying. “You spent years pushing me to find out about my biological family.”
“Truth.”
“Nagged me ad nauseam about it.”
“Truth.”
“So?”
“So Peter Bennett’s sister—what was her name again?”
“Vicky Chiba.”
“Right. She said she would make up a family tree for you, right?”
“Yes.”
Rola turned her palms toward the sky. “She’s older than her brother, probably knows more about the family than he does. So that’s all you need, right? I read about Peter Bennett online, and he sounds like a major-league douchenozzle. Why do we need to help him?”
Explaining would take too long and probably not make sense, even to him. “Can we just skip my motivations for now?”
“If you want. Can I fix you something to eat? And by ‘fix’ I mean, should I order more pizza?”
“I’m okay.”
“Doesn’t matter. I already ordered an extra pie. What can I do to help?”
Wilde gestured with his chin toward the laptop. “Mind if I use that?”