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Garrison studied Aiden as he came into the kitchen late Sunday afternoon. He seemed better. After sleeping all day, again, the color had come back to his cheeks. Maybe the detox process was ending.
"How you feeling?"
Aiden shrugged, looked at their laptops on the kitchen table, and smiled. "You guys playing World of Warcraft or something?"
Garrison glanced at Sam, who looked perplexed. His chuckle felt good. "It's a computer game."
"Oh," she said. "I've heard of it. But I didn't know..."
Aiden shook his head, nearly smiled.
Garrison stretched. They'd been sitting too long. "Let's get out of here." He turned to Sam. "Isn't there a beach nearby?"
"It's about a five-minute walk."
"I don't remember packing my swim trunks," Aiden said.
Garrison had packed for him, but he doubted Aiden remembered any of that. "I got them. If we had a Frisbee—"
"I think there's one here." Sam brushed past Aiden and disappeared into the other room.
Aiden opened the fridge, grabbed a Pepsi, and stared at the shelves.
Garrison said, "You hungry?"
"Yeah, actually."
"That's good." He wanted to say it was a good sign, a sign his son was recovering from the drugs, a sign they could move on. But he kept his mouth shut.
"Steaks look good," Aiden said. "She got T-bones."
"Our favorite."
"How did she know?" Aiden turned and regarded his father.
Garrison wondered what information his son was searching for there. "Good guess, maybe."
"Hmm."
Like he didn't believe him.
"You know, she and I are just friends."
"That's what she said." Aiden opened the can and poured the soda into his mouth.
No need to argue the point. Either Aiden would believe him or not. He and Sam knew the truth. Just friends. Friends who wanted to be more. But between Aiden's addiction and Sam's issues, maybe more wasn't meant to be.
Maybe not right now. But maybe someday. He wouldn't give up.
Maybe she wouldn't either.
Aiden sat, and Garrison took his place at the fridge. Steaks, salad, ranch dressing. He looked in the cupboard where she'd stored food earlier and found two big baking potatoes. Apparently she'd not planned to stay. Well, they could share.
He turned on the oven, washed the potatoes, and wrapped them in foil he found in a drawer. He was popping them in the oven when Sam returned.
"Found it." She held up a faded red Frisbee. "I remembered some old beach stuff in the closet in the hall."
"Excellent." Garrison turned to Aiden. "Get changed. We're going to the beach."
The kid sighed, but his lips twitched like he wanted to smile. Garrison would take it.
He turned, regarded Sam's pretty sandals. "Those won't get ruined, will they?"
"Oh. I thought I'd just head home."
"No. You have to join us. We have a good hour and a half before the potatoes will be ready. We'll hang out down there, then come back here and grill."
Her gaze flicked to Aiden, back to him, then to the floor. "I don't want to intrude."
"It's fine," Aiden said. "We want you to join us."
Sam looked up, surprise in her eyes. "You're sure?"
Aiden shrugged. "You bought 'em. You ought to eat 'em."
Whatever Aiden's motivation, he was being awfully cooperative. More than he'd been in a long time.
Garrison probably should have sent Sam home. He needed to spend time alone with his son, but Sam's presence was calming, and with her there, Garrison and Aiden got along better than they had in a long time. Maybe it was the circumstances. But maybe it was Sam herself.
They changed, locked up the cabin, and walked along the road side by side, only moving to single file when a car drove by. Very little traffic at this hour on a Sunday. Most of the folks who were heading back to their homes had probably left already, and the rest were likely settled for the afternoon and evening. Tree limbs hung over the road, and sunlight filtered through and danced on the gravel as a breeze rustled the leaves. The cabins on their left were near the lake, like the one he and Aiden were staying in, so they were hardly visible through the trees.
"These are the oldest cabins on Clearwater Lake," Sam said. "A couple were built in the fifties, but most were built in the late sixties, early seventies."
"Have some been updated?" Garrison tried to imagine fifties-era cabins and what they would look like. He could almost hear the slamming of screen doors, see the huge ovens and vintage Frigidaires.
"Some have," she said. "Not yours, obviously. It's still vintage sixties. But I'll fix that this winter."
Aiden looked across his father to Sam. "What are you going to do to it?"
She smiled at him. "I'm not sure yet. You have any ideas?"
He looked forward, narrowed his eyes. "I think the wall between the kitchen and the living room should come down. And you should put an island there with barstools so it's all one big room."
Garrison looked for Sam's reaction and wasn't disappointed by her wide smile. "That's exactly what I was thinking."
His son's eyes lit. "Yeah?"
"But I'm trying to figure out what to do with the back wall. Those little windows don't cut it—"
"Not with that awesome view."
Garrison shifted so they could walk beside each other, and so he could watch them both without acting like a spectator at a tennis match.
Sam said, "Maybe a bay window in front of the kitchen table, sliding glass doors."
"Could you just make the whole wall windows?" Aiden looked forward, thought for a moment. "Obviously the fireplace is the focal point, but on either side, what if it were all windows? Or maybe doors on both sides, then windows going to the ceiling."
She laughed. "That's a great idea. Might be out of my budget, but if I were going to live in it—"
"You should. It could be an awesome house."
"I agree. Great bones. Sort of small, though, with only two bedrooms."
By the time they reached the beach, Aiden and Sam had mentally remodeled the entire cabin, and Garrison had gained a new appreciation for his son. He'd known Aiden was good at art, but he'd had no idea about his interest in remodeling. Maybe Aiden hadn't realized it, either.
It struck him, amazed him, really, how purely unique Aiden was from himself and Charlene. Somehow they'd created this beautiful, talented human being who looked a little like him and a little like her but was utterly himself, utterly different and apart from them. Aiden had gifts they didn't have, talents neither of them could comprehend. He was so... separate. And yet, still that same child Charlene had carried, the one Garrison had held and rocked and taught to throw a ball.
Aiden walked to the water, took off his flip-flops, and waded in. He turned and yelled, "Cold." He ran back to where they stood on the sandy beach. "Not like the ocean, though. We can handle it."
"I need to get good and hot first," Garrison readied the Frisbee. "Go long."
Aiden jogged to the far side of the beach, and Garrison let the Frisbee sail. Aiden dove to catch it, rolled, and stood. "Your aim's off," he called.
"You're just slow." Garrison ran to catch the Frisbee. It sailed past him. When he grabbed it, he looked for Sam, saw her sitting at the picnic table.
"You're not playing?"
"I catch as well as I throw. Which is to say, not well."
"Your loss." He sailed the Frisbee to his son, hyper-aware of Sam watching. Whenever he glanced over, he'd see her smiling as if she were having the best time in the world.
The beach was empty, but the sun was still hot, and soon Garrison dripped with sweat. He caught the Frisbee, bent at the waist, and tried to catch his breath.
"You done, old man?"
He stood to find his son just a few yards away. "Old man? I'll give you old man."
He dropped the Frisbee and launched himself toward Aiden, but of course the teen was quicker. They raced to the water, where Aiden slowed, probably thinking Garrison had given up the chase. Not a chance.
He tackled his son, sent them both sailing into the cold lake. They came up laughing. Aiden splashed him, and he splashed back, until they were both howling with laughter. They raced to a floating dock, then climbed up and jumped off a few times before racing back to the beach.
This was what it was supposed to be like. Laughter and games and play. Not drugs and hospitals and rehab.
The thought killed his fun.
He checked his watch. "You hungry?"
Aiden splashed him one last time for good measure. "Starving."
When they turned to the beach, Garrison realized Sam had left. His heart sank, but he didn't let on to Aiden. "We forgot towels."
"Brilliant, Dad."
"Hey, you forgot them, too."
"Whatever."
And just like that, they were back to their familiar pattern.
A breeze kicked up, felt cold on his wet skin. "By the time we reach the cabin, we'll be dry. Grab your shoes."
They'd almost made it to the road when Sam returned, towels under her arms as she rushed down the road. "Sorry. I didn't want to interrupt."
They took the towels and dried off. "Thanks," Garrison said.
"Yeah," Aiden added. "It's cold in the shade."
"Especially if you're wet," Garrison said, hoping to get back some of the camaraderie he and his son had shared.
Aiden ignored him and headed back to the cabin.
* * *
GARRISON WAS QUIET as he prepared the steaks for dinner. Sam glanced at him with raised brows, but at least she didn't ask what was wrong. What would he say? Their trip to the lake had been ruined because he'd forgotten towels? It sounded so stupid. It was stupid. How was this his life?
Life with a teenager. An angry teenager. An addicted teenager.
He stepped outside to start the grill. He'd hoped to do this with Aiden by his side, but the kid had disappeared into his bedroom as soon as they'd gotten home. Fine. Garrison would make dinner, and Aiden could do the dishes after. Time the kid started helping out. He'd learned to pull his weight at home, and he could darn well do the same here.
He got the grill to the right temperature and set the T-bones on it. He closed the lid, decided he'd set the table. When he opened the door, he found Aiden had already laid out placemats and dishes and was gathering silverware.
He must've looked dumbfounded because Sam said, "Aiden offered to help."
"Oh. That's... thanks, son."
Aiden shrugged and started laying the utensils on the table.
Garrison met Sam's eyes, and she smiled.
Well, something had happened. He wouldn't complain. He stepped back outside to check the steaks and give them more time together. Sam was definitely a good influence on Aiden.
By the time the steaks were finished, Aiden's dark mood had lifted. He spent the meal recounting funny tales from his childhood for Sam, who was laughing so hard by the end that tears ran down her cheeks.
"Sounds like you were a holy terror."
"Nah," Aiden said. "Just a normal kid."
"Normal?" she asked. "My brother was nuts, but he never climbed on the roof in a costume to scare little children on Halloween."
"It was hilarious when that one kid peed his pants."
Garrison shook his head. "Hilarious for you. I spent ten minutes apologizing to the kid's mother."
Aiden's laughter faded, slightly. "Yeah, I guess it wasn't funny for the kid."
Sam wiped her cheeks. "Makes a good story, though."
The boy's smile was wider than Garrison had seen it in years.
"Oh, we're full of stories. Dad, tell her about the time you decided to bake me a birthday cake."
Garrison remembered the lopsided cake, the batter he'd somehow managed to get on the ceiling. "Let's save some stories for another time."
Aiden agreed, started clearing the table without being asked.
Wow. Garrison looked at his son, looked at Sam's smiling face. This fresh attitude his son was wearing—that was Sam's doing. And he thought Aiden knew it, too.
"So, kiddo," Garrison said.
Aiden set the plates in the sink and started the water. "Yeah."
"Why don't you leave the dishes for a minute? I'd like to talk to you."
Sam pushed back in her chair. "It's time for me to go."
Garrison grabbed her hand, needed her presence. She was like the soft center of a Nutter Butter, keeping the cookies from crushing each other. "Please stay."
She looked at Aiden, who said, "I don't mind," as he returned to his seat.
She seemed uncertain.
Aiden said, "It's not like you don't know everything, anyway, right?"
"Um." She looked at Garrison for help.
"It's fine. Dad's allowed to have friends."
Wow. Every once in a while, the kid surprised him. He focused on Aiden. "We need to talk about rehab."
The boy sat back, crossed his arms.
Sam started to leave again. "Really, I should—"
"You don't have to," Aiden said. "It seems... It's better when you're here."
Yup, Aiden saw it, too.
"Okay." She pulled her chair toward the table again, folded her hands.
"What do you think?" Garrison asked him.
"Does it matter?"
"It matters what you want, of course," Garrison said. "Not that you'll be able to make the final decision by yourself. But together, I think we can do this."
"Mom wouldn't make me go to rehab."
"It's not your mom's decision, Aiden."
"She has rights, too."
Garrison thought about his response, felt like every word might be weighed on some big scale someday—words that helped versus words that harmed. If there were more of the second, would his son be lost forever?
Nope. Wouldn't think about that. "I'd prefer you go voluntarily."
Aiden slumped in his chair, the posture of defeat. Maybe defeat was good. Maybe defeat was the first step—because his son had been defeated, not by Garrison, but by drugs.
When Aiden said nothing, Garrison tried a new tactic. "Would you say you've felt good these last two days?"
"I don't know. I guess not."
"You've been sick. And you know why?"
Aiden didn't answer, but of course he knew.
Garrison said it anyway. "You've been sick because your body is detoxing from painkillers. Right?"
"I guess."
"Which means you've been taking a lot of them. Enough to cause you to need them, right?"
No answer.
"Have you been craving them?"
Another shrug.
"Has it been hard?"
"What do you want me to say?"
Garrison resisted the urge to sigh. "If we take all that information—the fact that you've been in withdrawal, the fact that you're craving drugs, the fact that you've used enough to cause you to feel sick—we have to come to the conclusion that you have a problem. Do you agree?"
"I just... I can quit on my own. I don't want to go to rehab. Like, how would that even work? School starts in a month. Would I be done in time?"
Garrison met Sam's eyes. Based on everything they'd read that day, Aiden wouldn't be home in time for the first day of his senior year. But getting him healthy was more important than getting him through school. First things first.
"We'll have to see what the experts recommend," Garrison said.
"Isn't that what you two were doing all day?"
"Only so much we can find out online. Tomorrow, we're going to see one of the places we found. We'll go early, maybe be back in time to hit the lake in the afternoon." He looked at Sam. "If that's okay with you."
"You're welcome to the boat whenever you want it."
He looked at his son. "What do you say? We can do it together."
Aiden looked at his father, then at Sam. "Are you coming?"
"Um..."
"If you want her to," Garrison said.
"But you should know..." Sam's voice shook. She was obviously uncomfortable sharing her secret, and here she was telling a second person in one day. "I have an anxiety disorder so sometimes I get these panic attacks."
Aiden sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"
"The first time, I thought I was having a heart attack. I tend to stay close to home, to avoid certain situations, to keep from having them."
"Weird. It happens a lot?"
"It's been a while."
Aiden said, "So do you want to come with us?"
"Only if you think I can help."
He looked at Garrison. "Okay, fine. I'll go. Sam can come. But on one condition."
Here it came, the reason for Aiden's good attitude, for his kindness toward Sam, for his willingness to go. Garrison braced himself.
"Can I please have my phone back?"
He blew out a breath. Thought a minute. Nodded. "Tomorrow, when we're in the car, you can use your phone for a little while. But I'll be reading your texts and listening to your phone calls. I don't think you need to have unfettered access to your friends."
"So like, I can't have any privacy?"
"You've had enough to get yourself into serious trouble. I've given you a lot of freedom, and you've used it poorly. Now, we have to back off, start fresh. I know it doesn't seem fair."
"It's not fair."
"Life isn't fair, kiddo. Get used to it."
Aiden looked like he might argue, then glanced at Sam, who held his gaze. He looked back at Garrison. "Okay, fine. Deal."