Chapter
Two
Daniel Carter didn’t say much.
He listened quietly while Wilde explained about his past, about the DNA genealogy site, about reaching the conclusion that they were most likely father and son. Carter kept his expression neutral throughout, nodding every once in a while, wringing his hands maybe, losing a little color in his face. Carter’s stoicism impressed Wilde, reminded him, oddly enough, of himself.
They were still in the front yard. Carter kept sneaking glances back at his house. Finally, he said, “Let’s take a drive.”
They got in the pickup truck and drove in silence, neither feeling the need to talk. Wilde assumed that his words had stunned Carter, that Carter was using the drive like a boxer uses the standing eight count. But maybe not. Hard to read people. He could be stunned. He could be cunning.
Ten minutes later, they slid into a booth at Mustang Sally’s, a sixties-themed diner located inside a Ford car dealership. The booth had red vinyl seating and tried very hard to bring on nostalgia, but when you come from New Jersey, faux diners just don’t cut it.
“You after money?” Carter asked him.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He let loose a long breath. “I guess I could start off by doubting your claim.”
“You could,” Wilde agreed.
“We could do a paternity test.”
“We could.”
“But I don’t really see the need. There is a resemblance between us.”
Wilde said nothing.
Carter ran his hand through his white mane of hair. “Man, this is weird. I have three daughters. Did you know that?”
Wilde nodded.
“Greatest blessings of my life, those girls.” He shook his head. “You’re going to have to give me a few minutes with this, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I know you have a ton of questions. So do I.”
A young waitress came over and said, “Hey, Mr. C.”
Daniel Carter gave her a warm smile. “Hey, Nancy.”
“How’s Rosa?”
“She’s doing great.”
“Tell her I say hey.”
“I sure will.”
“What can I get you fellas?”
Daniel Carter ordered a club sandwich with fries. He gestured toward Wilde, who ordered the same. Nancy asked if they wanted anything to drink. Both men shook their heads at the same time. Nancy picked up the menus and left.
“Nancy Urban went to high school with my youngest,” Carter said when she was out of earshot. “Great kid.”
“Uh-huh.”
“They both played on the same volleyball team.”
“Uh-huh,” Wilde said again.
Carter leaned in a little. “I really don’t get this.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I can’t believe what you’re telling me. You’re really that little boy they found in the woods all those years ago?”
“I am,” Wilde said.
“I remember the news stories. They called you Little Tarzan or something. Hikers spotted you, right?”
“Yes.”
“In the Appalachians?”
Wilde nodded. “The Ramapo Mountains.”
“Where are those?”
“New Jersey.”
“Seriously? The Appalachians reach New Jersey?”
“They do.”
“I didn’t realize that.” Carter shook his head again. “I’ve never been to New Jersey.”
So there you had it. His birth father had never been to the state Wilde had called home his whole life. Wilde wasn’t sure what, if anything, to make of that.
“You don’t think of New Jersey as having mountains,” Carter said, trying to grasp at anything. “I think more about overcrowding and pollution and Springsteen and The Sopranos.”
“It’s a complicated state,” Wilde said.
“So’s Nevada. You can’t believe the changes I’ve seen.”
“How long has Nevada been home for you?” Wilde asked, trying to gently steer the conversation.
“I was born near here, in a town called Searchlight. Ever heard of it?”
“No.”
“It’s about forty minutes south of here.” He pointed with his finger, as though that was helpful, then he looked at the finger, shook his head, put his hand down. “I’m making small talk for no good reason. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Wilde said.
“It’s just…a son.” His eyes may have been welling up. “I’m having trouble wrapping my head around that.”