The Woods by Harlan Coben
Authors: Harlan Coben
Tags: Fiction, General, thriller, Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Family secrets, Teenagers, Missing Children, Public Prosecutors, Single Fathers, Dead, widower, Public prosecutors - New Jersey
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and stress free as possible, even if that means living something of a lie. In short, Ira wanted it to be 1968. That was where he was happiest. So why fight it?
"Hey, Ira." Ira-he had never wanted her to call him "Dad"-did the slow "meds" turn toward her voice. He raised his hand, as though under water, and waved. "Hey, Luce."
She blinked away the tears. He always recognized her, always knew who she was. If the fact that he was living in 1968 and his daughter hadn't even been born then seemed like a contradiction, well, it was. But that never shattered Ira’s illusion.
He smiled at her. Ira had always been too big-hearted, too generous, too childlike and naive, for a world this cruel. She would refer to him as an "ex-hippie" but that implied that at some point Ira gave up being a hippie. Long after everyone else had turned in their tie-dyes and flower power and peace beads, after the others had gotten haircuts and shaved off their beards, Ira stayed true to the cause.
During Lucy’s wonderful childhood, Ira had never raised his voice to her. He had almost no filter, no boundaries, wanting his daughter to see and experience everything, even what was probably inappropriate. Weirdly enough, that lack of censorship had made his only child, Lucy Silverstein, somewhat prudish by the days standards.
"I'm so happy you're here…," Ira said, half stumbling toward her.
She took a step in and embraced him. Her father smelled of age and body odor. The hemp needed to be cleaned. "Hoare you feeling, Ira?" "Great. Never better." He opened a bottle and took a vitamin. Ira did that a lot. Despite his non-capitalist ways, her father had made a small fortune in vitamins during the early seventies. He cashed out and bought that property on the Pennsylvania/New Jersey border. For a while he ran it as a commune. But that didn't last. So he turned it into a summer camp.
"So how are you?" she asked.
"Never better, Luce."
And then he started crying. Lucy sat with him and held his hand.
He cried, then he laughed, then he cried again. He kept telling her over and over how much he loved her. "You're the world, Luce," he said. "I see you… I see everything that should be. You know what I mean?"
"I love you too, Ira."
"See? That's what I mean. I'm the richest man in the world."
Then he cried again.
She couldn't stay long. She needed to get back to her office and see what Lonnie had learned. Ira's head was on her shoulder. The dandruff and odor were getting to her. When a nurse came in, Lucy used the interruption to extricate herself from him. She hated herself for it.
"I'll be back next week, okay?"
Ira nodded. He was smiling when she left.
In the corridor the nurse-Lucy forgot her name-was waiting for her. "How has he been?" Lucy asked.
This was normally a rhetorical question. These patients were all bad, but their families didn't want to hear that. So the nurse would normally say, "Oh, he's doing just fine," but this time, she said, "Your father has been more agitated lately."
"How so?" "Ira is normally the sweetest, most gentle man in the universe. But his mood swings-"
"He's always had mood swings."
"Not like these."
"Has he been nasty?"
"No. It's not that…"
"Then what?"
She shrugged. "He's been talking about the past a lot."
"He always talks about the sixties."
"No, not that far in the past."
"What then?"
"He talks about a summer camp."
Lucy felt a slow thud in her chest. "What does he say?"
"He says he owned a summer camp. And then he loses it. He starts ranting about blood and the woods and the dark, stuff like that. Then he clams up. It's creepy. And before last week, I never even heard him say a word about a camp, let alone that he owned one. Unless, of course, well, Ira’s mind does wander. Maybe he's just imagining he did?"
It was said as a question, but Lucy didn't answer it. From down the hall another nurse called, "Rebecca?" The nurse, whom she now realized was named Rebecca, said, "I have to run."
When
"Hey, Ira." Ira-he had never wanted her to call him "Dad"-did the slow "meds" turn toward her voice. He raised his hand, as though under water, and waved. "Hey, Luce."
She blinked away the tears. He always recognized her, always knew who she was. If the fact that he was living in 1968 and his daughter hadn't even been born then seemed like a contradiction, well, it was. But that never shattered Ira’s illusion.
He smiled at her. Ira had always been too big-hearted, too generous, too childlike and naive, for a world this cruel. She would refer to him as an "ex-hippie" but that implied that at some point Ira gave up being a hippie. Long after everyone else had turned in their tie-dyes and flower power and peace beads, after the others had gotten haircuts and shaved off their beards, Ira stayed true to the cause.
During Lucy’s wonderful childhood, Ira had never raised his voice to her. He had almost no filter, no boundaries, wanting his daughter to see and experience everything, even what was probably inappropriate. Weirdly enough, that lack of censorship had made his only child, Lucy Silverstein, somewhat prudish by the days standards.
"I'm so happy you're here…," Ira said, half stumbling toward her.
She took a step in and embraced him. Her father smelled of age and body odor. The hemp needed to be cleaned. "Hoare you feeling, Ira?" "Great. Never better." He opened a bottle and took a vitamin. Ira did that a lot. Despite his non-capitalist ways, her father had made a small fortune in vitamins during the early seventies. He cashed out and bought that property on the Pennsylvania/New Jersey border. For a while he ran it as a commune. But that didn't last. So he turned it into a summer camp.
"So how are you?" she asked.
"Never better, Luce."
And then he started crying. Lucy sat with him and held his hand.
He cried, then he laughed, then he cried again. He kept telling her over and over how much he loved her. "You're the world, Luce," he said. "I see you… I see everything that should be. You know what I mean?"
"I love you too, Ira."
"See? That's what I mean. I'm the richest man in the world."
Then he cried again.
She couldn't stay long. She needed to get back to her office and see what Lonnie had learned. Ira's head was on her shoulder. The dandruff and odor were getting to her. When a nurse came in, Lucy used the interruption to extricate herself from him. She hated herself for it.
"I'll be back next week, okay?"
Ira nodded. He was smiling when she left.
In the corridor the nurse-Lucy forgot her name-was waiting for her. "How has he been?" Lucy asked.
This was normally a rhetorical question. These patients were all bad, but their families didn't want to hear that. So the nurse would normally say, "Oh, he's doing just fine," but this time, she said, "Your father has been more agitated lately."
"How so?" "Ira is normally the sweetest, most gentle man in the universe. But his mood swings-"
"He's always had mood swings."
"Not like these."
"Has he been nasty?"
"No. It's not that…"
"Then what?"
She shrugged. "He's been talking about the past a lot."
"He always talks about the sixties."
"No, not that far in the past."
"What then?"
"He talks about a summer camp."
Lucy felt a slow thud in her chest. "What does he say?"
"He says he owned a summer camp. And then he loses it. He starts ranting about blood and the woods and the dark, stuff like that. Then he clams up. It's creepy. And before last week, I never even heard him say a word about a camp, let alone that he owned one. Unless, of course, well, Ira’s mind does wander. Maybe he's just imagining he did?"
It was said as a question, but Lucy didn't answer it. From down the hall another nurse called, "Rebecca?" The nurse, whom she now realized was named Rebecca, said, "I have to run."
When
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