Generous Lies

by Robin Patchen

  He'd only tried to protect Aiden, yet here they were. And they'd been lucky. All those drugs...

  The thought of what could have happened had Garrison's eyes stinging again. He took Aiden's hand and waited for the boy to yank it away.

  But Aiden didn't.

  He met his son's eyes. "We're going to get you help."

  Aiden looked away, but the hand stayed put.

  "I love you more than you'll ever know," Garrison said.

  Aiden nodded but kept quiet.

  What else was there to say? They sat in silence until the nurse returned and said they could go.

  GARRISON GLANCED AT Aiden, who was asleep in the passenger seat. At least the kid hadn't protested when Garrison told him the plan. All he'd said was, "Why New Hampshire?"

  "I have a friend there, and she has an empty cabin she can loan us."

  He'd waited for the boy to question him further, especially about the she part of his statement, but apparently Aiden hadn't had it in him. Garrison had packed a bag for each of them and taken them to the trunk of the car. For some reason, his emergency supplies were all shoved to one side. Who knew what Aiden had been up to? He threw the suitcases in.

  They'd been driving more than four hours when Garrison pulled off the interstate toward Nutfield.

  Aiden didn't stir. Garrison was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. He could have used some conversation. Even silent tension would've worked. It was one thing to stay up all night, but all the emotions had taken their toll, too. His eyes felt like sandpaper, his arms like dead weights. He sipped his third cup of coffee and focused on the fact that they were almost there.

  He glanced at his phone's screen, at the map to the address Sam had texted to him.

  He turned off the main road and got his first glimpse of Clearwater Lake since March. Back then, he'd come here to help rescue a four-year-old girl from the greedy dirtbag who'd kidnapped her. Last he'd heard, Marisa and little Ana were doing well, living right here in Nutfield. Maybe Garrison would get to see them and Nate while he was here.

  But unlike last March, he was the one who needed help this time. He didn't much appreciate the new role his son had given him—pathetic, clueless father. He hated being the needy one, but no one knew better than he what a farce his heroics had been—the powerful former FBI agent, here to protect the world. What a joke. Maybe it was good to be honest with Sam, to be vulnerable. Maybe it would be okay for her, for all his friends in Nutfield, to see him like a normal person, not an agent, not a hero.

  He glanced at his sleeping son, thought again of all the drugs that had been in the boy's system.

  Yes, Garrison needed help to figure this out, and he'd take it wherever he could get it. If that meant ruining his chances with Sam, then so be it. Aiden came first, and getting him clean trumped everything else.

  Ten minutes later, he turned the car onto what looked like a path in the forest. The narrow dirt drive led to a little wood-sided cabin.

  A white Isuzu was parked out front.

  His heartbeat raced. It had been nearly five months since he'd laid eyes on Sam. How would she see him now?

  He wished circumstances were different so he could make a different impression on the woman who'd so captivated him. He'd probably planted himself forever in the just-friends garden.

  He parked beside Sam's car and nudged Aiden. "We're here."

  Aiden sat up, stretched, and looked around. "Geez, Dad, could you have found anyplace more secluded?"

  Garrison lightly punched him. "Keep it up, we'll be headed to Canada."

  Aiden opened his car door. He was about to step out when Samantha exited the cabin.

  Aiden froze, turned to him, eyebrows raised. "A friend?"

  "We met last spring. Remember I told you about the case I helped solve—"

  "She's the one with the kid?"

  "No. She was just helping them out."

  "Right," Aiden said. "A friend."

  "Just—"

  "Whatever."

  Garrison stepped out of the car and walked to the bottom of the front porch steps.

  Sam had on a Plymouth State T-shirt and blue jeans, and both had splotches where she'd splashed something on them. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore no makeup.

  She was so beautiful, his heart nearly stopped.

  She hiked her purse over her shoulder, walked down the steps, and stood a foot from him. He'd forgotten how tiny she was, slender with curves in all the right places. The top of her head reached almost to his shoulder. He longed to hug her, to touch her, but with Aiden behind him, he didn't dare.

  "Hey," she said.

  "Thanks for all this."

  "It's my pleasure." Her gaze darted to Aiden's door. The kid still hadn't stepped out. "I hope it's not a problem I'm here. I thought I'd be finished before you got here. You made really good time."

  "I'm glad you're here."

  She smiled, and a little pink tinged her cheeks. Wow, he was in trouble.

  The car door slammed, and Garrison snapped out of it.

  Sam blinked twice. "I was just finishing up. The place is clean, the linens are washed."

  "You didn't have to do all that."

  Aiden stopped beside Garrison.

  "This is my son. Aiden, this is Samantha Messenger."

  Aiden stood there, half awake, and stared.

  Garrison nudged him, and the kid remembered his manners. He reached forward and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

  At least in that way, Garrison had trained his son well. Shake hands, make eye contact, speak clearly.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, too. Your father's told me a lot about you."

  "Right. I'd hate to hear what he said."

  "All good stuff. He's very proud of you."

  Aiden frowned, gave his dad a side look.

  Garrison clasped the boy on the shoulder. "I am, of course." He turned to Sam.

  She held his gaze a moment, then dug in her purse and pulled out her car keys. "I grabbed a few groceries, just enough to get you through breakfast tomorrow."

  "You didn't need to do that."

  A shadow crossed her features. A moment passed, then, "That's what friends are for."

  Friends. Of course.

  "The cabin key is on the kitchen table. Let me know if you need anything."

  "Will do." He wanted to follow her to the SUV, talk with her privately, thank her again for all she'd done. Instead, he watched as she backed out and drove away.

  "Right," Aiden said. "Just a friend."

  Garrison ignored him and climbed the steps.

  Chapter 5

  Matty tossed his cell on the bed, then snatched it back up. Why wasn't Aiden answering?

  Matty had scoured the web to make sure there wasn't some article about a kid dying of an overdose the night before. There had been a write-up on the bust—Teen Rushed to ER after Police Break Up House Party—but all they'd said about Aiden was that there was no more information available.

  So he'd thrown on his jeans and walked the couple of blocks to the house where the party'd taken place the night before. No Camry.

  Matty dialed again, got voicemail again, and paced the tiny room he shared with his little brother. Jimmy was already gone to his soccer game. He'd asked Matty to come, but Matty would go nuts if he had to watch a bunch of ten-year-olds falling all over the stupid field. Sometimes he liked to go and support his little brother. He knew well enough what it was like to score on the field and then realize nobody you loved cared enough to be there. Mom tried to make the Saturday games, but when Matty'd been a kid, she'd hardly ever made his. So he tried to be there for Jimmy. God knew their father wouldn't bother.

  He should have gone back to get the package out of Aiden's car last night. But he'd been scared there'd still be cops around. He'd planned to wait a while, sneak out of the house around four, and get the package then. But he'd fallen asleep.

  And what kind of friend was he th
at he cared more about the package than about Aiden? His friend hadn't looked good when they'd put him in the ambulance the night before, but from what he'd heard from the other guys at the party, Aiden had dropped a couple hits of acid. Probably just a bad trip. The acid would have worn off by now. He'd be fine.

  At least Matty hadn't supplied the acid. Then he'd really feel like a jerk, sending his best friend to the ER.

  Aiden’s dad had probably flipped his lid, grounded him for the rest of his life, but whatever. Aiden would be eighteen in a few months, and then he could do whatever he wanted.

  Matty, on the other hand... If he didn't get that package delivered the next day, what would happen? To him? To his dad? He'd thought about calling his father, but he'd decided against it. No sense telling Dad he'd lost the package. Not ever. He'd get it back, and everything would be fine. His father would be proud of him.

  Matty tried to imagine what that would look like, but he couldn't conjure the image. He'd never seen pride on his dad's face.

  But what if he didn't recover the package and get it delivered? What would his father say? That image, the anger, the disappointment—that was easy to imagine.

  He couldn't sit here any longer.

  He stuffed his phone in his pocket, grabbed his backpack, and left the house. When Aiden's parents divorced, Mr. Kopp had rented a house nearby so Aiden could stay near his friends. His dad's place was a little further than his mom's, but Matty could walk it in fifteen minutes. He'd just have to ask to see Aiden, get the keys to the car somehow, and get the package.

  Little house after little house after little house. To a stranger, the streets probably all looked the same, but not to Matty. You could blindfold him, stick him on just about any street within a mile of his house, and he'd know where he was right away. He'd walked and biked and skateboarded every road since he was old enough to leave the house, and he knew Hempstead like he knew the route to his bathroom.

  The streets were busier than he'd have thought, but then, when was the last time he'd been out and on foot this early on a Saturday morning? Who leaves the house voluntarily before eleven on the weekend? Stupid people or poor saps who have to work. Matty preferred to do his work at night, a deal here, a deal there, a couple hundred in his pocket.

  He walked faster and finally turned down Aiden's street. Houses were smaller here than where Aiden's mom lived, even smaller than Matty's house. Matty figured Mr. Kopp had made good money with the FBI and now as a forensic accountant. Forensics sounded cool, but add accountant and suddenly it sounded like the most boring job ever. Why would somebody quit the FBI to do something like that? Maybe Mr. Kopp was sorry he'd done it now.

  Matty slowed as he neared the house. There was a one-car garage, but it was full of sports equipment, old bicycles, and boxes they'd never unpacked. Which meant the car should have been parked in the driveway.

  It wasn't.

  Matty swore under his breath and ran to the front door. Maybe Mr. Kopp had just gone to the grocery store.

  He rang the bell, waited, then rang it again. He pounded on the door.

  No answer.

  He sat on the stoop and pulled out his phone. He couldn't stand it any longer. If Aiden wouldn't answer the phone, maybe Mr. Kopp would.

  He dialed, and a moment later, Aiden's father answered. "Hello?" The single word sounded weary, broken.

  "Hey, Mr. K. I heard about what happened last night. I was wondering how Aiden is." There. Sounded concerned, a perfectly normal reaction for a best friend.

  "He's doing all right."

  Matty waited, but the man said nothing else.

  "Anything I can do for you guys?" Matty asked.

  "No, thank you. We're good."

  Matty swallowed, closed his eyes. "I just wondered if I could come over and see Aiden later, maybe."

  "We're not at home."

  "Oh." He crossed his fingers. "When will you be back?"

  "Not sure right now, kiddo. I'll tell Aiden you called."

  And just like that, Mr. Kopp hung up.

  That had been about as helpful as a paper cut.

  Matty's phone rang. Maybe it was Mr. Kopp calling back. He looked at the screen, and his hope crashed like dead bird.

  Dad.

  Chapter 6

  After Sam left Garrison and Aiden, she drove around the lake and surveyed her cabins, which were all full this weekend. The lake buzzed with the sounds of speedboat motors, rang with the laughter of skiers and spotters and swimmers. It was late afternoon, and somebody'd fired up a charcoal grill. The scent of hamburgers and hot dogs filtered through her open window and made her mouth water.

  She drove to the small beach, grabbed her bag, and found an empty picnic table beneath the trees. The vacationers had congregated near the water and in the sun, so they were far enough away to be background noise. The table was rough but relatively clean. She set up her laptop and connected to the Wi-Fi in her nearest cabin. She'd bought a Wi-Fi booster for that cabin specifically so she could sit out here and work, a perk of ownership.

  She'd been thinking about this ever since Garrison's call that morning. She didn't know much about addiction recovery, but she knew there were a lot of options—many of them bad. Maybe she could help narrow Garrison's choices.

  She opened her browser, started to type, and stopped.

  Was she overstepping? She and Garrison were friends, nothing else, and although she was always willing to help friends with research, with whatever they needed, her friends would ask. Garrison hadn't asked, but he had to be overwhelmed. And hadn't he confided in her, wanted her help to find a place to stay? Would he think her too forward if she dug into rehab places? Would he suspect her motives?

  What were her motives?

  She pushed the laptop away and stood. She didn't want to ask herself that question because she knew, deep down, what the answer was. She had feelings for Garrison that went beyond friendship. Ridiculous as it was, she was falling for the guy and had been since the first time she'd seen him, back when she still feared he'd throw Marisa, her new friend and a woman whose daughter had been kidnapped, in jail. But wow, how he'd come through for them, helped Marisa and Nate get to the bottom of the mystery that had had Marisa running for her life. If not for Garrison, would Marisa have ever gotten her daughter back?

  Sweet little Ana. Who knew what would have become of her if not for Garrison?

  He'd swooped in like a hero, then disappeared abruptly, and she'd feared she'd never hear from him again. It wasn't as if they'd even had time to develop a friendship in the one day they'd spent together. Then out of the blue, he'd called a few weeks later. He'd dropped out of the investigation looking for Marisa's daughter because his son had been getting in trouble more and more, sneaking out, taking off. Sam had little experience with teenage boys, but she knew how to listen.

  Their friendship had developed over the next months during those phone calls. They'd laughed together, shared secrets, even worried together as Garrison had told her his fears for his son. But until this morning, they hadn't seen each other again. Garrison was too afraid to leave Long Island, even when Aiden was at his mother's house, because of her addiction issues and Aiden's drug use. He'd invited Sam to visit, but she couldn't do that.

  Thank heavens she'd had a good excuse. Summer was her busy season, and she needed to be close by. It was true—mostly. Sure, her management company could handle just about everything, but the cabins were her responsibility, the guests her guests, and she felt she needed to be close, just in case.

  Nothing had happened, of course, except for the leaky roof that had proved to be advantageous for her and Garrison, and the management company could have handled that. But even if she'd known the summer would go smoothly, she wouldn't have driven to Long Island. How could she have?

  She wouldn't have made it as far Manchester.

  As soon as Garrison figured out her issues, he'd shake her off like an insect.

  Fine, there was no future for them. The
y were just friends, they'd always be just friends, and friends did stuff for each other. And if it bothered him that she'd started investigating rehab centers without his blessing, so be it. The sooner their friendship ended, the sooner that little flame of hope would be snuffed out, and she could go back to her life the way she'd planned it.

  She stared at the families in the water and on the beach. Two beautiful little children sat on the shore and splashed in the gentle lap of the waves. The little girl was maybe three, the boy still crawling. Their parents watched from a few feet away.

  Sam sat alone in front of her computer and opened her search engine.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Garrison grabbed his laptop and a cup of coffee and eased into a chair at the table on the back porch. The sun shone brightly through the tall pines, and the air was already warm, but the roof over the patio kept its harsh rays off him. Did nothing for the humidity, but it was too early for that to matter much.

  The lake had teemed with activity yesterday, and people were already out this morning, even though it was barely nine o'clock on a Sunday. Seemed folks wanted to get a few hours of play in before heading back to their homes and lives.

  Down to earth, homey. A great place to vacation, and so different from Long Island. Not that he didn't like his home, but this life was more his speed. He'd done the big city thing. When he'd been with the FBI, he'd been required to work in one of the larger cities for at least a short time, and since Charlene had grown up in New York, the choice to move there had been a no-brainer. He'd spent eleven years at the NYC office before retiring and taking a job as a forensic accountant, and he would have stayed longer—he'd loved being an agent with the FBI—but his family needed him. Not that being around more had helped anyone. Apparently Garrison was such a great husband and father that his ex-wife and his son both needed drugs to survive living with him.

  He stood and leaned against the railing, gazing at the lake beyond. The temptation to blame himself for their drug use was strong. He'd done enough self-evaluation after Charlene left him to know the root of that. If he believed he'd caused Charlene's addiction, then he could make himself responsible for fixing it. Believing he could fix Charlene had only made things worse, though. He'd eventually come to realize that though their marriage hadn't been perfect, Charlene's turning to drugs hadn't been his fault. She could have tried to save their marriage instead of popping pills and downing liquor to make herself feel better.