“Money. She always wanted money.”
Mark frowned. “Why did she think you’d give it to her?” His son was dead. It’d been two decades. What could she threaten him with?
“To make a life for her and the boy,” he said. “She’d burned through the money I’d given her originally, and
whatever money she might have made from the adoption, and had caved to her addiction again. She’d come back to town before, asked for money, but wouldn’t give me any information about the child then except that he’d been adopted. Two weeks ago she told me how he’d been raised—if you can call it that—in the woods like some goddamned animal. But not by whom.” The words had emerged through gritted teeth, the final one sounding choked. Halston Fairbanks dropped his head, taking several deep breaths, his shoulders quaking with the movement. “She said she’d caught a ride from a friend, and only had enough money to pay for a week’s stay in town, but not a dime more. It was my fault, she said, that things had turned out the way they had. It was because of me she’d been forced to make the choices she’d made. I’d backed her into a corner and now lives were ruined. She said she was back to right the wrongs, and I could do the same if I gave her and the boy enough to start a new life.” Mr. Fairbanks’s last word emerged on a broken whisper and Mark gave him a moment to compose himself.
After a minute, Mark asked, “Lucas is in his early twenties, if I’m doing the math correctly. Do you know why Emily wanted to set up a life for them now? Why she’d waited so long? He’s an adult.”
Halston shrugged. “Because in the past the girl couldn’t get clean. This time, she told me that she’d been clean for a year, though I didn’t believe her. Or if she was, it wouldn’t stick. As far as Lucas, he’s an adult, yes, but what prospects does he have to make a life for himself? The boy must be completely uncivilized.” He looked defeated, not like a man who’d built an empire.
“He’s not. I’ve met him. He’s . . . lived an unusual life, yes, but he’s no animal.”
Halston regarded Mark, something that looked like the bare glint of hope coming into his eyes.
“What’s the likelihood he’ll ever live a normal life?”
“Normal? I’d say it depends on your definition. I’m not a psychologist, Halston, and I can’t begin to guess what type of psychological harm came to him after the severe isolation he’s experienced. But he’s intelligent. He’s obviously a survivor. I’d hazard a guess that he could adapt to society if he chose to do so.”
Halston sighed, looking off to the side again, seeming to be deep in thought.
Mark leaned forward. “You regret rejecting your grandson? Letting Emily give him up for adoption?”
Halston Fairbanks pressed his lips together. “I acted hastily, with selfish motives in mind. I . . . don’t suppose he’ll ever really be one of us, but the least I can give him is his name. Whether he chooses to accept it is up to him. What does he go by now? Barton or Driscoll?”
“Neither. Only Lucas. He’s never had a last name. He’s been alone for a long time.”
Halston steepled his fingers and mumbled a curse under his breath.
“Along with a name, you think you might find it in you to give him a home too?”
Halston Fairbanks looked up, appearing surprised. “A home? Why? I was of the understanding that he has a home.”
“The cabin where he’s lived most of his life belonged to Isaac Driscoll and now belongs to a sister who is uncompromising about allowing Lucas to stay there.”
“I see.” He pressed his lips together, looking Mark in the eye. For several beats he said nothing and then, “If the boy will accept it, he has a home here at Thornland.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The white car he’d seen parked next to Driscoll’s house was gone, which meant Driscoll was too. Jak watched the house from the low light of the forest for a few minutes, making sure he didn’t see movement through one of the dusty windows. His gaze moved to the trees, squinting into the light as he looked close at those too, looking for that tiny flash of something that didn’t belong. He didn’t see it, but the day was overcast and cloudy and he wasn’t sure if he’d see a camera, even if one was there.
He’d have to take his chances.
He’d spent the last few days going over the things the redheaded woman had told him, the way she had made him feel, the questions she’d brought to his mind. He’d felt like she was lying to him, and he didn’t have enough understanding of the world to make sense of it. But he felt in his gut that it led to Isaac Driscoll.
Isaac Driscoll was the only one who gave information to Jak. Isaac Driscoll was the only one who explained what happened in the world outside the forest—what was safe, what was not, and who and what to stay away from. He’d given Jak shelter, fire, so he had no need to leave.
But what if Isaac Driscoll was crazy?
What if he was lying?
But why would he? Jak couldn’t figure out a reason, so he wondered if asking the question made him the crazy one. He didn’t think so.
He’d thought about trying to walk into town, into the faraway, however many days or weeks that might take. His old fear about the enemy killing children could be behind him now. He wasn’t a child anymore. He was a man. His body was hard and muscled. He knew how to use a weapon. He could fight. He could kill if he had to.
Whenever he’d had the thought before, he’d always talked himself away from it. Even though he was lonely, he’d found some peace in his life, and there didn’t seem like there was a good reason to walk away from everything he knew into a war. He still fought and struggled because there was nothing you could always count on about nature, but he’d learned to get ready for the winters as best as he could, and he was the master of his small world. Why risk it?
But now . . .