Generous Lies

by Robin Patchen

  But this was different. Matty hadn't been bragging. He'd sounded scared. If he wasn't careful, he was going to end up in prison. Like Caro's father.

  "It sucks your parents are so messed up," Aiden said.

  Her frown softened a little. "Yeah. Your dad seems cool."

  "He's okay."

  Aiden considered telling her about his mother but decided against it. Mom used drugs sometimes, but she wasn't a druggie. She could still take care of him, hold down a job. She'd totally screwed up their family, but that probably wasn't all the drugs. Mom wasn't a real addict. Aiden was like his mother. He liked the drugs, needed them, but he could manage his life. If he'd stayed off the LSD Friday night, none of this would be happening. He'd tried it before, but he'd never had that kind of reaction. So now he knew—acid wasn't for him. He could just stick to oxy, and everything would go back to normal.

  How to convince his father of that, though.

  The craving had settled back to a dull ache. Good, because he needed to think straight. He needed to take the edge off these cravings. Then, he had to figure out what was going on with Matty. Aiden had been as cooperative as he could be these last couple of days, even trying to make nice with Sam. He'd agreed to visit the stupid rehab place. He didn't want to go. Couldn't imagine himself there. Wasn't willing to try. He'd back out somehow. But not yet. He had to figure out how to earn back his father's trust and convince him he didn't need rehab.

  No idea how he was going to do that. He couldn't even get his father to take him home for a day to get clothes.

  When he'd suggested it, Dad had said they weren't going back. Like, at all. Aiden could still feel his father's huge hand on his shoulder, a weight as heavy as his words. They'd been anchored in the middle of the lake, taking turns jumping off and swimming. It was fun, hanging with his dad like that. Maybe if they'd done more of that over the years, Aiden might have made different choices.

  Right. Blame Dad. What a freaking cop-out.

  After they'd tired of swimming, they'd just floated on the boat, getting sun. Everything had been going well until Aiden had suggested a trip back home.

  And Dad had refused.

  He shouldn't have gotten mad. He probably shouldn't have called his father those names, but he wanted to go home. Needed to get away from here, back to his friends.

  He needed an oxy.

  The afternoon had been ruined, and Aiden figured his father would be mad at him the rest of the night. But no. Dad was nice as ever, understanding even. Wouldn't let him use his phone—and no matter how hard Aiden tried, he couldn't figure out where his father had hidden the stupid thing. Wouldn't agree to take him home. But he was nice about the whole thing.

  It made Aiden feel so much worse about what he had to do.

  Chapter 21

  Garrison couldn't get Sam's response—or lack thereof—out of his mind. Maybe he hadn't bared his soul to her. Her response was to cut him out? He'd invited her to give him a hint about what she was feeling, and she'd avoided the question like a criminal in an interrogation room.

  He tried to enjoy dinner with this group of friends. Sam was acting like everything was fine. Normal. Well, maybe it was. Maybe all these feelings were only on his side. Maybe he was only seeing what he wanted to see. Maybe he was realizing the truth too late. That's what he got for letting his guard down, believing he could count on her. He didn't have time to figure all that out right now. She was right about that. He did need to focus on Aiden. Didn't mean he couldn't get to know Sam better, as long as he was here. Once Aiden was settled in rehab, they'd have more time together, assuming Garrison actually relocated.

  Was he crazy to consider it?

  Not that the move would have to be permanent. But if Aiden went to the rehab place in Dover, Garrison could be closer to him, closer to Sam. And he could work from here, head back to Long Island once every couple weeks to check in at the office. The plan was perfect. Assuming Sam wanted him here.

  How could he know for sure?

  Nate asked a question, and he rejoined the conversation at the dinner table.

  After the meal, he stood to help with the dishes, but Rae shooed him back to his seat. He talked with the guys and played with Johnny, who happily bounced on Garrison's lap. He remembered when Aiden was this age, little, giggly, all smiles. Back then, Aiden had thought his dad could do no wrong. Thought him a superhero.

  Little Johnny would grow up to idolize Brady. Would he reach his teen years and turn away, realize his dad wasn't the superhero he'd once thought, reject everything Brady had taught him?

  How could this innocent little child make those choices? How had Aiden become the angry teen in the other room? And what could Garrison do to fix it?

  He watched Sam wipe down the kitchen counters while she chatted with Rae and Marisa. Ana had gone into the living room and turned on the TV.

  Garrison peered in there, saw Aiden and Caro talking, one eye on the cartoon on the screen.

  Finally, Sam dried her hands and looked around the clean kitchen for something else to do.

  Marisa set the pan of brownies in the middle of the table and settled in her chair beside Nate. "In case anybody wants seconds."

  Brady and Nate both reached for one. Garrison wanted a second brownie, too, but he wanted to talk to Sam more.

  "Thanks for your help," Rae said to her. "You don't have to run off, right? Come back and sit."

  Sam smiled at her friend. "I'm just going to the restroom."

  After she walked out of the room, Garrison stood, handed Johnny to Brady, and headed toward the living room to check on Aiden. He stopped at the door.

  "Dad used to be an FBI agent," Aiden told the girl. "Now he's just an accountant."

  Garrison hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He wished he hadn't. Not that Aiden had lied. Garrison was an accountant. A six-foot-four gym rat who used to have a reason beyond vanity to stay in shape. Who used to carry a gun to work, not a calculator. Who used to investigate suspects, not numbers. His world had turned into a long list of used-to's. But he'd given up his dream job to save his marriage and build a better relationship with his son. Fat lot of good that had done. His marriage had crashed like an antique computer. His son had to snort, smoke, or swallow whatever he could find to make life with dear old Dad tolerable.

  Crap, he missed his old life. Missed the badge, missed the authority and respect that came with it. Missed the other agents. He even missed the criminals with all their lies and excuses and stories that had made life interesting. Now, the only one who lied to him was Aiden—generously, expertly, shamelessly. And when Garrison wasn't trying to save his son, he got to study numbers until he wanted to light all the spreadsheets on fire and throw himself into the flames.

  "Hey, Dad."

  Garrison forced himself off that train of thought. "You guys doing okay?"

  Aiden looked at the TV. "Fine."

  Caro giggled. "We're watching my favorite show."

  "Mine, too!" Ana jumped up and sat next to Caro on the sofa. "Can I sit with you?"

  "Sure, squirt."

  Sam returned from the restroom, and Garrison met her in the kitchen, on the far side, away from the table. Just five minutes alone with her. That was all he needed.

  Her smile was natural, her pretty dimples pronounced. She acted like everything was normal between them. As if she hadn't rejected him an hour earlier. "Sounds like you guys enjoyed the lake today."

  The lake. Aiden. Of course that's what she wanted to talk about. He'd mentioned it at dinner, but he hadn't told everybody about their conversation, about his son's outburst. And until he talked it out with Sam, he wouldn't know how to process it.

  That's what she'd become to him. His sounding board, his wisdom. For months, every difficulty, every funny story, every argument with Aiden had become fodder for their evening phone conversations, as if those things didn't make sense until he'd shared them with Sam.

  What had he become to her in those months? Was he just a burden, a
guy who needed her help? Maybe she felt like helping Garrison was her Christian duty.

  Maybe he was an idiot. He'd thought Charlene cared for him, too. But she'd tossed away their marriage faster than an empty pill bottle. And here he'd confided in Sam, shared more with her on those phone conversations and in the last few days than he had with anyone in a long time. He'd done it again, given away too much information. Too much of himself.

  Sam tilted her head to the side. "Did something happen?"

  He was being melodramatic. Sam already knew about Aiden and the problems they'd had. He should tell her about their day on the lake. But he didn't need Sam taking what was left of his broken heart and crumbling it to pieces.

  Broken heart? Sheesh. Aiden would tell him to grow a pair.

  "He wants to go back." Garrison blurted the statement, relieved at having said it. "To pack." He smirked with that last word. Aiden couldn't care less about what clothes he wore, not these days. He used to dress sort of nice, stylish even. Now, his hair was shaggy, his clothes ratty. Seemed all Aiden cared about was drugs.

  "What did you tell him?" Sam asked.

  "I called the place and talked to Luke before we came over here. He confirmed a bed would be available on Friday, and they'll reserve it for him. It looks like we're staying until he moves into rehab. That is, assuming your cabin is still available. I brought a check to pay—"

  "You're welcome to stay as long as you want, and you're not paying for it. The house doesn't have a renter for the rest of the summer."

  "I can't stay without paying."

  "Tell me about Aiden."

  He wasn't going to take advantage of her kindness. He'd fight that battle later. "I suggested we go see another rehab place tomorrow, that one up north. I think he'd like to live in the mountains, but he didn't seem interested. Said the one today was fine, and I agree. I like that they cater to people his age, not younger kids, not old men. Maybe that'll be good for him."

  "It has an excellent reputation," Sam said. "Expensive though."

  "I talked to that guy you hooked me up with. Reed. He knows a lot of guys who've gone there and gotten sober. And he's going to help me get the best price. I guess you can negotiate with these places."

  "Like you're buying a car?"

  "Ridiculous, right?"

  "Completely. Will insurance help?"

  "Probably not, but I'll call tomorrow."

  "Good," Sam said. "So that's the plan? Aiden will stay close by?"

  Was that hope he saw on her features? Did she want him here? Or was he just reading into this to make himself feel better? "It's my plan."

  "What does Aiden think?"

  Garrison glanced toward the door that led to the living room, though he couldn't see his son from where he stood. "He says he's considering it. That it might be a good idea. That's what makes me nervous. Why is he being so cooperative?"

  "Maybe he really wants to go."

  If only Garrison could believe that. "It's possible."

  At the table, this group of people who'd invited him into friendship chatted and laughed. Garrison felt more at home with this crowd than he'd felt in a long time, since he'd retired from the FBI. This camaraderie was what his life had been missing. This...and Sam.

  The memory of her rejection had him backing up a step.

  She tilted her head to the side, her brown eyes wide with concern. "You okay?"

  He should return to the table, let their earlier conversation slide. Maybe she had no feelings for him whatsoever, and if that was the case, did he really need to know tonight?

  Yes, he did.

  "So." That was all he could come up with? Good start.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  He kept his mouth shut, hoped she'd go on.

  "I haven't been in a...a relationship in a long time, and I have no idea what I'm doing."

  "But you... I got the impression that maybe you don't want that. Maybe you're happy with us just being friends. And if that's the case, then whatever." Quoting his teenage son. "It's fine. I just want to know. Because..." What? How was he supposed to finish that statement?

  "I don't know what I want," Sam said. "I feel like..." Laughter at the table had her gaze darting to the crowd.

  "Like what?"

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. "I'm damaged."

  Damaged? This beautiful, tenderhearted woman? Was she nuts?

  "I can't leave my hometown without medication, Garrison. And that's... I'm not what you think I am. Here, with these people"—she nodded to her friends at the table—"I look so normal. But I'm not."

  He took her hand, wanted to pull her close. Would she let him? Would she run? Now, in this setting, wasn't the time to find out. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed the soft skin. "You are a lot of things, Samantha Messenger, but you are not damaged."

  She pulled her hand away. "There are things you don't know." She swallowed, stepped back. "I just don't think...I don't know how to do this."

  "I haven't dated in a long time myself. We'll figure it out together."

  "It's not just dating. It's..."

  "What?"

  She looked at the floor. Her hair fell over her shoulder, hung beside her face. He wanted to touch it, to feel if it was as silky as it looked. To push it back so he could see what she was thinking.

  "Sam?"

  She looked up. Her expression looked frightened, tortured. "I just don't know if I can."

  "Are you married? Hiding a husband I don't know about?"

  She nearly smiled. "Never married."

  "Have you taken some kind of vow? No dating guys from New York?"

  Her lips twitched. "I considered it."

  "Can't blame you for that. Trouble, that's what I am."

  "Right. Trouble." She smiled, and those dimples made an appearance. "We've never even been on a date."

  "I look forward to changing that."

  "But right now, Aiden's your priority."

  Aiden. Right. He wanted to stay in this little fantasy a little longer. But until Aiden was settled, he couldn't focus on Sam. Couldn't consider what might happen between them.

  If anything could. Because if Garrison didn't get his son healthy, nothing else would matter.

  IT WAS DARK BY THE time Garrison parked in front of the cabin that night. He hadn't left any lights on, so he and Aiden groped to the front door, where Garrison managed to fit the key in the lock. He flipped on a couple of lights inside and sat on the sofa that had been his bed the previous two nights. It would be tonight, too. He needed to be able to hear if Aiden sneaked out.

  He set his keys and phone on the coffee table. He would have brushed his teeth and changed his clothes for bed, but Aiden seemed in the mood to talk. He'd told Garrison about Caro, Johnny, and their walk on the way home. Garrison got the feeling the kid was talking just for the sake of it, or to impress him or something. But whatever the reason, at least Aiden was trying.

  Aiden headed to the kitchen, and Garrison heard the refrigerator door open.

  "You can't be hungry," Garrison called. He didn't mind his son eating. When he'd seen Aiden in his swim trunks today, Garrison had been shocked at how much weight he'd dropped. How had he not noticed? Aiden had lost ten pounds, maybe fifteen, this summer, but he'd kept wearing the same clothes.

  Just excuses. A better father would have noticed, would have known long before now how bad the addiction had become.

  Aiden came into the living room with a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a Pepsi. He sat on the love seat adjacent to Garrison.

  "That drink'll keep you up tonight."

  "Trust me, Dad, it won't. Caffeine doesn't affect me at all."

  Caffeine was a mild drug compared to what Aiden was used to.

  Garrison longed to lay his head down. "You want to watch a movie or something?"

  "Maybe. In a minute. But I gotta tell you something first."

  "Okay." Garrison went to the kitchen and grabbed himself a Pepsi. He needed
to be awake. He sat, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. "What's up?"

  Aiden set his plate on the table. Blew out a long breath. Turned toward his dad. "I just wanted to say that you're right. I do need to quit. I've been fighting this...this craving, since Saturday. I keep thinking it'll go away, but it doesn't." He looked away, looked at the plate, looked at his hands. "I'm sorry. I thought...I thought I could be strong like you, but I guess I'm not."

  A wave of annoyance had Garrison's voice rising. "You think I wouldn't get addicted to the drugs you've been using?"

  "Probably not."

  "That's baloney." Not the first word that popped into his mind. "Anybody abuses drugs like that, they're going to get hooked. You know why I'm not a drug addict? I've never abused them."

  "But some people are more prone to it than others. I think I'm one of them."

  He stifled the words cop-out and excuses. "That may be true, but you don't have to be prone to it to get addicted to narcotics. What you've been taking? That's one of the most addictive substances on earth. If I abused it, I'd get addicted too."

  Aiden's eyes narrowed. "You really think so?"

  "Remember when you were a kid and I injured my knee?"

  Aiden leaned forward, nodded. "I always figured you were chasing a bad guy through a dark alley or something."

  Garrison's chuckle felt good. "I was jogging and accidentally stepped in a hole."

  Aiden laughed out loud. "Wow. Good job, Dad."

  "So much for your cool old man."

  "Aw, you're still cool. For an old man."

  Garrison shot him a watch-it look tempered with a smile. "Anyway, they prescribed painkillers for that. I took two, then flushed the rest down the toilet."

  "Are you joking? You didn't like them?"

  "I liked them too much. I wasn't about to flirt with addiction. I'd seen too many people..." Nope. He wasn't going to let this turn into a lecture. He'd done enough of that in the last few days. "I managed the pain without the pills."

  Aiden's smile faded. He grabbed his sandwich, took a huge bite, set it back on the table.

  Garrison kept his mouth shut.

  Finally, Aiden spoke again. "You're smarter than me, I guess."