Generous Lies

by Robin Patchen

"Any idea where he would go?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "I hoped you might have one."

  She pulled out of the driveway and headed toward town because she didn't know what else to do. "Maybe you should call Brady. Or Eric. Didn't he say he had to work after the cookout?"

  Garrison kept his gaze on the ditch beside the narrow road. "I considered reporting the car stolen, but I'd rather look around for him first."

  "Okay. But you don't have to report it stolen to ask for Eric's help. He could just—"

  "I don't want to call yet. If we don't find him, then I'll think about it."

  "You mind if I ask why?"

  "God forbid he's gotten high. If I have the cops looking for him and he gets pulled over, they could arrest him. That would just complicate things."

  "Might. Might be the wakeup call he needs, though."

  Garrison didn't respond.

  "And you might be able to get them to drop the charges. I can't imagine Eric or Brady forcing the issue."

  A beat of silence passed before Garrison said, "You want me to take you home so you can go back to sleep?"

  Apparently he didn't want to discuss that any longer. "I know the town. I'll stay with you."

  Silence filled the car like an enemy force. They reached downtown Nutfield and snaked along a few roads past houses and businesses, the park and the school. A mile or so past Rae's house, Sam turned around and headed back.

  "Where we going?"

  "I don't know. Just driving."

  "Why'd you turn?"

  "That road leads nowhere."

  "But maybe he's on it, just a little country road, driving around."

  "Maybe." She wanted to add that country roads led into and out of town from every direction. If Aiden was driving aimlessly, they'd need a miracle to find him. She prayed for a miracle and said nothing.

  They returned downtown. Sam passed the bank, McNeal's, and the church.

  "What's that?" He pointed at the Nuthouse.

  The lights had been left on, like they were every night, to keep prowlers away. Through the storefront window, arcade games flashed. No cars were lined along the road, though. "It's a hangout for teenagers. But it's closed."

  "I can see that."

  "What time did you fall asleep?"

  In the dim light cast by the streetlamp, she saw Garrison shrug, his face tortured. "I don't know exactly. Maybe eleven. I was so tired."

  "There's no sin in sleeping."

  "But Aiden..." His words trailed off.

  "You can't control his every move."

  He didn't respond.

  She kept driving, followed every road surrounding the main drag, then wandered through neighborhoods and along more country roads. Time ticked by. Garrison remained silent.

  This was fruitless. Surely by now he realized that. "Have you tried calling him?"

  "Obviously." He dialed his phone anyway. Then hung up. He sat quietly for a few minutes, sighed, and dialed again. She only heard his end of the conversation.

  "Nice language, Matty. It's his dad. Have you heard from him?"

  Ah, Matty. The best friend.

  Garrison said, "He took off tonight. Thought he might've contacted you."

  He stared out the window as he listened. "No. We're still in Nutfield." A beat, then, "It doesn't matter where. Listen, he's in trouble. You know he's been using drugs?" Matty's answer was short. "It's bad, and he needs rehab. I'm afraid he's going to hurt himself or somebody else. If you're really a friend, you'll encourage him to get help." He paused to listen, then, "Thank you. And you'll call me if you hear from him. Okay?"

  Garrison ended the call and tossed the phone in her center console. "He hasn't heard from him."

  "That was a good idea. I'm surprised Aiden didn't call him."

  "I wonder if he knows the number. He's so dependent on his contact list he's lost without his phone. I'm not even sure he remembers my number. I've given him a hard time about it..." His words trailed off to nothing, and she kept driving.

  They'd only seen a few cars, none that looked like Garrison's.

  She circled toward the lake and turned onto the side street where his cabin was located.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Maybe he went back. Maybe he didn't go that far, and he's around here somewhere."

  Garrison didn't say a word, but his stony silence told her what he thought of that idea.

  They passed the cabin. No Camry.

  She took a deep breath and considered pulling into the driveway. She peered at the little beach down the street, thinking maybe he'd pulled in there, then continued around the lake until the road dead-ended. She turned around and headed back to the main road, where she headed toward another of the little roads around the lake. The chances of them finding him were getting slimmer every minute. Aiden could be halfway to New York by now.

  Sam took Garrison's hand. "I think it's time to call the police."

  "It hasn't been that long. We just need to keep looking."

  She looked at the dashboard clock. They'd been driving for an hour. "We need help."

  "I don't need help." He pulled his hand away. "I can do this myself. In fact, why don't you let me take you home? I'll just borrow your car. That way you don't have to waste your night."

  Irritation rolled over her. "You don't want my help?"

  "I can find him myself."

  "Really? How exactly can you do that?"

  "I'm just saying..." Garrison blew out a loud breath. "You don't seem to have any insight into where he'd be. There's no need for you to lose sleep."

  "You think I'd sleep if I went home?"

  "He's not your problem."

  Not her problem. Like she was just some bystander. Like she had no stake in this. And she didn't, did she? She was just the landlady. Never mind that she'd given them a cabin for the week, gone to tour the rehab facility with them, gone grocery shopping for them. Never mind that she'd prayed for them constantly since the call Saturday morning. Apparently none of that mattered because it wasn't her problem. She pulled over, put the car in park. "Fine. Do it yourself."

  He turned toward her, blinked.

  "You don't need my help, so get out."

  "I didn't mean anything by that. I was just trying to let you get some rest."

  "I get it."

  He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

  "Samantha—"

  "It's fine." She spat the word like a curse, then took a deep breath. "What I don't get is why you don't call the police. I don't have any special insight, as you pointed out, but they actually do. If Aiden hasn't headed back to New York—"

  "He wouldn't dare, not in my car."

  "Then he's likely in Nutfield, and the police could probably find him in minutes. Which means you lied to him."

  He crossed his arms. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You told him you weren't ashamed of him or embarrassed about what he's going through. But you obviously are. Otherwise, why not ask for help?"

  He turned, looked out at the black of forest. His voice was quiet when he answered. "I'm not embarrassed. This has nothing to do with that." A beat passed, and he turned back to her. "I just don't want to waste their time—"

  "Because the police are so busy on a Tuesday morning at"—she glanced at the clock—"three-thirty a.m. This is their job, Garrison."

  "Aiden is my job." His tone was cold. "My responsibility. Not yours, not theirs. And I can find him."

  "Great." She nodded to the far door. "Good luck with that."

  "You won't let me borrow your car?"

  "You don't need my help."

  His shoulders hunched forward like a weight had fallen on them. "What do you want from me?"

  What did she want? She had no idea, and she was definitely going to regret this little outburst later. The last thing Garrison needed was her giving him a hard time. She should just back off, drive around, keep her mouth shut. And she would, except she was right.<
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  "I want you to stop pretending you don't need help."

  He turned toward the window. "I don't. I can handle this. I only called you because he took my car."

  "Great. Thanks for that."

  He turned to her. "I didn't mean it that way."

  "This isn't about me, okay? I'm fine. I just want you to quit wasting time. Either call the police or get out."

  Chapter 25

  Matty sat up straight in Aiden's bed and opened the web browser on his phone. He'd used the code on the garage door opener to get into the Kopps' house the night before. He'd had it since Mr. Kopp and Aiden moved in, had used it a couple times when he'd gotten here before Aiden after school. Matty figured Mr. Kopp would be ticked if he knew Aiden had given him the code. Like that mattered now.

  Matty hadn't known where else to go. He'd texted that Robert guy, told him he was going to get the package and would be back soon. The guy had texted back with, "I'll keep an eye on your house while you're gone."

  A threat. A definite threat directed at Mom and Jimmy. A threat that kept him from going home. When he'd fallen asleep in Aiden's bed the night before, he'd been filled with fear, but now he had a plan.

  Mr. Kopp hadn't meant to, but he'd given away the name of the town where they were staying. It wasn't an exact address, but the town name was a good start.

  Matty typed Nutfield into the browser. Only one town option came up, and it was in New Hampshire. Not close, but totally drivable.

  Now...how to get there?

  Matty'd told his mother he was going camping with Aiden and his dad. Mom had agreed immediately—she'd always liked Mr. Kopp. Matty did, too. He hated to think about what Aiden's father would say if he knew Matty had been the one to introduce Aiden to drugs. The thought settled in his stomach like lead.

  He had bigger worries right now.

  His car was still parked where it had broken down. Even if he could get it running, he doubted the clunker would make it all the way to New Hampshire. Which left just one choice.

  He'd have to take his mother's car. And he'd have to leave her a note telling her he took it so she wouldn't report it stolen. He hated to do it, but what choice did he have? He had to get the package, and he needed a car to do it, or else she and Jimmy would be in danger.

  If Matty ever got his hands on his father, he'd punch him in the face.

  He imagined confronting his father while he threw on his jeans, turned off all the lights, and stepped into the darkness. He grabbed his bike and rode to his neighborhood, then hid the bike in a huge bush in front of Mrs. Caldwell's house around the corner from his. She wouldn't see it from her windows—she was probably half blind, and anyway, who cared if he lost his bike?

  All of this was Dad's fault. Rage he could barely contain had his heart pounding, his breath short. He clenched his fists and wished he could punch him right now. Would he have the courage? Would his dad hate him for it, or respect him more?

  Matty didn't want to admit it, but he hoped for the second.

  He had to quit caring. Obviously his old man didn't give a crap about him.

  Focus. How could he get the car away from the house without Robert and his driver seeing? Matty could easily climb over the fences behind the houses, but there was no way to pull out of the driveway without being seen. Maybe they weren't there. Would they be watching in the middle of the night?

  He crept to the end of his street. A few cars lined the road, as usual, but none that looked out of place. None that looked like the SUV Robert had forced Matty into the other day. Would they be driving the same car? Why not, when Robert had told him they'd be watching?

  He had no idea. He bent to a crouch and looked through the windows of the truck that belonged to the house down the street. He studied the rest of the cars on the street, the ones he could see from there, anyway. They were all familiar, the same cars that were parked on his street every single night.

  Maybe Robert and his buddy had decided to get some sleep.

  He crept closer to the house, peered through his neighbor's car windows. No silver SUV.

  Still he waited, watched, as minutes ticked by. No movement. No glow of a cell phone or flash of a lighter. The street was completely still.

  Matty took a deep breath and jogged toward his house. He was passing the bushes that marked the border between his house and the one next door when he felt movement. He twisted his gaze to the right. Something grabbed his left hand.

  He started to call out, but another hand covered his mouth.

  "Shh. Stop."

  The whispered voice seemed to scream in his ear. He yanked, tried to get away, but the arms were too strong.

  "Shh. Matty, it's me."

  The voice sounded familiar. He quit fighting.

  "You going to scream?"

  He shook his head.

  The arm pulled him toward the bushes. Finally, the hand lifted from his face

  Matty whirled around, fists up ready to strike.

  The man backed up a step. "Hey, it's okay." The voice, which he'd kept just above a whisper, sounded like his father, but this man looked nothing like the person Matty'd seen at the airport Friday night. He hadn't shaved in days. He'd lost the high-priced suit and loafers and now wore shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and flip-flops. A pair of sunglasses were perched on his head.

  Matty looked closer. The face looked so different from the Frank O'Brien he knew, but those hazel eyes hadn't changed. "Dad?"

  "I didn't mean to scare you. I just didn't want you to wake the whole neighborhood."

  He stepped closer to his father, seething. "Where have you been?"

  "Keep it down." He looked over his shoulder, then over the other. "What are you doing?"

  "Trying to fix this mess you got me into."

  "Me? You had one job, kid. Take the package and drop it off. Seems you're the one who got us in this mess." Matty's father pulled on his arm, practically dragging him between Matty's house and the neighbor's.

  When they were hidden from the street, his dad whirled to face him. "Where have you been? I've been waiting for you for hours."

  "Why didn't you call?"

  "Had to lose the phone. Somehow they figured out where I was."

  "You mean the Bahamas?"

  Matty's father's eyes widened, then narrowed. "How did you know that?"

  He wanted to whack himself upside the head. He shouldn't have said that. Could he trust his father with the truth? Or should he just get away, follow his original plan—get the package, contact Robert, be done with it? If he told his father what was going on, what would happen? Could his father help him?

  Not that it mattered now, the way his dad was looking at him. He'd let the truth slip, and there was no going back.

  He was terrible at all this cloak-and-dagger crap.

  "Some dude named Robert—"

  His words were cut off by his father's whispered curse. "When?"

  "Sunday. He told me you stole whatever's in that package and that it's his job to get it back. Told me he works for the government."

  "Not our government," his father said. "He works for the DRC."

  "It's true? You did steal...whatever that was?"

  "I was asked to get it out of the country and to a buyer."

  "But if their government is after you, then it was illegal, right?"

  "The Congo isn't like America. Their government isn't perfect. The people I'm working with are trying to fight them."

  "What does that mean? They're like freedom fighters or something?"

  "Something like that."

  He knew it. His father was a good guy. "You're trying to help fund a revolution?"

  Dad opened his mouth, then closed it again. "It's not that clear cut. This side needs money, and I'm helping them get it."

  Matty nodded, happy to finally have his theories confirmed. "Right. So they can overthrow an evil..."

  "Life isn't a Marvel comic, kid." Dad ran his hands through his hair. They snagged on the sung
lasses, and he grabbed them and shoved them in his pocket. "There's no good versus evil. Just one side versus the other."

  In other words, Dad didn't care what side he was on, as long as he got paid.

  Matty stared at his father, at the beach-bum clothes. Apparently he was good at disguises. Good at stealing, good at breaking the law. He just sucked at being a dad.

  "This is about money," Matty said.

  Dad's expression shifted fast from arrogant to excited to pleading. "A lot of money, which I'm planning to share with you, as soon as we get that package delivered. Whatever Robert offered you, I'll double it."

  Of course Dad assumed Robert had tried to buy him. And of course he figured Matty would betray him for a few bucks. Like father, like son. Because, of course, his dad wouldn't hesitate.

  Anyway, if this was the kind of stuff his father was into, Matty had been way underpaid. His dad was just a greedy jerk. And no matter how much money was involved, it wasn't enough to make Matty put his family in danger.

  Maybe the apple had fallen a little further from the tree than Dad realized.

  Dad's eyes narrowed. "How much did Robert offer you?"

  He had to think. Dad was greedy, yeah, but he wouldn't want his family harmed. Would he work with Matty to protect them all? Matty tried to imagine that, but another image took its place. His father, the suits, the way he'd yanked Matty into all this crap.

  He couldn't trust his father.

  The words formed on his mouth and felt like sawdust. "Ten thousand. But I only agreed because I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't going to betray you."

  "Good. Good. Okay, twenty grand. I can handle that."

  Unbelievable that his old man believed him. Now what? Escape his dad? Or use him. He was finally close to finding the package and ending this thing.

  "Do you have a car?"

  "Yeah, yeah," Dad said. "Rental. I parked on the next block."

  "Is it safe? Do you think they know about it?"

  He affected a Southern accent. "This ain't my first rodeo, kid."

  Like it was a big joke.

  "My car broke down," Matty said. "I was about to take Mom's. I know where the package is."

  "Great! Let's go!"

  As he followed his dad to the car, Matty tried to figure out how he was going to find the Kopps, get the package, and hand it over to Robert without his father knowing. He had no clue. He'd have to solve that problem when they reached Nutfield.