Page 26 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
“He’s not his brother,” Anders says.
“Carson’s having a rough go of it, but yes, if he was missing, I’d be looking in the forest. He doesn’t seem to like it much, but if we told him he can’t go there, that’d be a reason to do it.”
“He’s being a little shit.” Anders catches my look and sighs. “Fine. He’s being a teenage boy who witnessed something traumatic and is bound and determined to prove it didn’t bother him. But I didn’t fail to notice your use of ‘deliberate’ earlier. Max wouldn’t deliberately go in the forest. He might under the right circumstances. Like—”
The storage-room door flies open, and Dana lurches in, leaning heavily on her cane.
“All right,” she says. “I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Now I’m done.”
“Gave Max the benefit of the doubt?” I say.
“Gunnar. He did something to my son.”
* * *
Earlier, Anders had said there’d been some drama about Max being with Gunnar. I hadn’t had a chance to ask what he meant, though I had an idea. I’d seen the way Dana flinched when she found out about the hike, that Max had been lagging behind the hiking group with Gunnar. I’d waited to see whether she had a problem with that. If she did, I’d respect her wishes and speak to Gunnar. Otherwise, while Gunnar certainly has his shadows and secrets, I don’t get any twitchy vibes when I see him interacting with either of the boys. I’ve noticed he takes an interest in Max, but it’s been nothing concerning.
When Dana didn’t complain about Max walking with Gunnar, I took that to mean that she’d gotten past any initial concerns. Now I realize she’d just set that aside temporarily. It bothered her that Max had been on the perch with Gunnar, but she didn’t want to point a finger only to discover that Max was holed up somewhere.
“He’s not here,” she says. “That means someone took him, and it’s obvious who that someone is.”
I wave her fully into the storage building. Anders motions that he’ll leave us alone. Then he slips out.
I settle onto a box. Dana stays standing. She’s in her late thirties, Latinx, with spiky dark hair and a slight figure. She wears a brace on one leg, from a shot to the knee.
I could pretend her attackers fired while she was in motion and happened to catch her in the knee, but I know better. That was torture. Torturing her for something her attackers wanted? Or shooting her to torture her husband? It’s not part of the bare-bones story I’ve been given, so it can’t matter. It just means that she wears a brace and has chronic pain.
“I heard that Gunnar was with Max before he disappeared,” I say.
“Yes.” She fairly spits the word. “I have made my feelings about that very clear.”
“To Gunnar?”
A flash of discomfort and her voice drops a few notches. “To Max.”
“He’d been forbidden to be with Gunnar?”
More discomfort as she leans against a box, finally taking some weight off that injured leg. “No. But he knew how I felt. I didn’t want to forbid it. I should have. My gut told me to, and I should have.”
“What has Gunnar done to make you nervous?”
“I don’t like him.” Her anger surges. “There’s something very wrong with that man.”
“And that something suggests he shouldn’t be around your sons.”
“He’s…” She glances toward the door, though there’s no sound of anyone there. Then she lowers her voice. “I saw one of the women coming out of the building where Gunnar has his little perch. He was up there, and she snuck out like she didn’t want to be seen. Then I heard Kendra teasing him about…” Her cheeks flush. “It left no illusions about what the woman had been doing in there with him, which is none of my business, except … What Kendra said … It made him seem … like he does that a lot.”
He does. Yolanda’s construction crew had been mostly women, and Gunnar had made it clear he was available for anyone feeling lonely. Straight-up sex, no strings attached. He’d had plenty of takers, which meant he must have kept up his end of the bargain, providing exactly what he advertised. Erica Jong’s “zipless fuck”—pure pleasure seeking for both parties. I sure as hell won’t judge him or them for that.
I wasn’t aware that Gunnar was doing that again—there are only a handful of single women here. But if he is? Well, it might require a conversation, to be clear he understands that the dynamics could be different. These aren’t construction workers and tradespeople on a job; they’re potentially vulnerable people seeking refuge.
I don’t say any of that. I just say, “Ah.”
“There’s more,” she says. “I once saw Lynn sneak in that door when he was up there.”
Shit. Lynn is married, and while I get the sense there’s tension there, we cannot afford to have extramarital-affair drama in a place as small as Haven’s Rock. I can hope it’s an open marriage, and Grant is fine with Lynn hooking up, but I doubt that. Which means I definitely need to speak to Gunnar. I know he has no problem with married women, having casually propositioned me.
“So Gunnar seems to be…” I stop before giving any of my usual jokey euphemisms and say the loaded word I’d rather not use. But anything else will seem as if I’m making light of it. “Promiscuous.”
