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Garrison followed Aiden and Sam out of the building and onto the grounds, where Luke pointed out the various buildings. Houses where the young men lived, a building for meetings and classes, another that held a workout room. They peeked through the windows, saw the equipment. Aiden seemed impressed with that.
There was an outdoor area covered with a roof but open on all sides. An empty fireplace sat on the far side, but a few logs lay beside it, as if the summer might turn chilly any minute. And in New Hampshire, it just might. A handful of guys were perched on lawn chairs and at the picnic table smoking cigarettes. Someone said something, and they all laughed.
"They're allowed to smoke?" Garrison asked.
"The adults are, not the kids. If they get caught smoking, they're disciplined. But they manage to do it anyway. Most addicts are addicted to nicotine." Luke stopped at the corner of the next building and turned to face him. "A lot of them vape, but we don't allow vapes on campus. It's impossible to police the vape juice."
Sam must've looked confused, because Luke addressed her. "Vapor cigarettes, like e-cigarettes," he explained.
"Oh," she said.
"They give up one addiction for another?" Garrison asked.
Luke's smile was kind. "The thing is, both will kill you, but nicotine takes a lot longer. And people won't come if they can't smoke."
Garrison wanted to argue, but what did he know about this? What did he know about any of it?
He turned to Aiden, whose gaze was on the guys in the smoking pit. "Do you smoke?"
Aiden turned. "No. I mean, I've tried it, but I don't like it."
"Don't start."
"Don't worry. I won't."
Sure. Why would he worry? The kid had apparently tried everything else, but Garrison was supposed to believe he'd draw the line at cigarettes. He was tempted to look for a mirror, see if he had idiot stamped across his forehead.
He glanced at Sam. The smile she offered was tight. He shouldn't have asked her to come. This was no kindness to her. Yet, she seemed to be handling it. If they accomplished nothing else today, maybe the trip would give her the confidence to take the next steps in fighting her personal demons. He wanted to hold her hand, but maybe Aiden's generosity wouldn't go quite that far.
Luke led the way to another of the larger buildings and stopped at the doors. This time, he pushed the door open and gestured them inside.
It was an oversize living room. Three long couches were arranged in a U and faced a giant flat screen TV. Bookshelves filled with books, magazines, and DVDs covered two walls. Chairs had been pushed along the back wall. A game table was surrounded by four chairs, and a deck of cards, a pad of paper, and a pen lay on top.
"This is the rec room," Luke said. "It's empty now 'cause the guys are in class."
"What about those guys smoking?" Aiden asked.
"Probably took a break, but they'll be in class or group counseling until afternoon." He turned to include Garrison and Sam. "The guys hang out here when they have downtime. We're open for visitors on Saturdays and Sundays, and this is one of the few places where they're allowed to come. Follow me." Luke led the way around the corner and into a large dining room. "When the guys first get here, they move into the Phase One housing. Those are like dorms. They have little fridges for water and soda—if they want to bring soda. They can have snacks in their rooms, too, but there are no kitchens. There are two guys to a room, and eight guys share a house and two full baths." He indicated the dining area. "They eat all their meals here." He looked at Aiden. "We have some great cooks. You'll love the food."
“If you say so,” Aiden said.
Luke turned to Garrison and Sam. "You two can come on the weekends and join us for lunch anytime you want."
"Sounds great." Garrison glanced at Sam with a smile. She didn't say anything.
Luke led them through another door, where they saw a giant room with another TV and a ping pong table. Luke turned to Aiden. "You play?"
"My dad and I used to."
Before the divorce. Charlene had kept the table because it didn't fit in Garrison's house. He wondered if Aiden ever played anymore.
"You'll have lots of opportunity to play. We have some really good players, too. In the summer, we spend more time on the volleyball court, but once it cools off, the competition moves to this."
"Great," Aiden said with forced enthusiasm.
Garrison couldn't blame him. The thought of sending his son to a place like this made him sick to his stomach.
Luke led them back outside to a little patio area. "Have a seat."
They did. Aiden's arms crossed, then uncrossed. Garrison was proud of his son for trying to exude confidence when he could have been all mopey and childish. Instead, he'd chosen a mature route. The question was, why?
"How old are you?" Luke asked.
Aiden sat up straighter. "Seventeen."
"Turning eighteen...?"
"January."
"Okay. Good." Luke kept his focus on Aiden, but he was careful to glance at Garrison and Sam as he spoke. "What makes this place perfect for you is that we're for young men ages fourteen to twenty-four. We don't often get them that young. We have two fifteen-year olds right now, the rest are sixteen and up. If you were to go to a facility for teens only, you'd be just about the oldest person there. I don't know if you know this, but younger teen boys can be really annoying."
Aiden laughed.
"But you're not old enough for an adult facility, and those have guys all ages. My second rehab, I roomed with a guy who was seventy-two. He always complained because I needed an alarm to wake up. Apparently he'd trained his"—he made air quotes with his fingers—"internal clock, and I could too if I just tried hard enough."
"No kidding?"
"You meet all kinds in rehab, but mostly nice guys, like you. And that guy was a good roommate. But here, the guys are all around your age, dealing with the same stuff you are. There's something to be said for that."
Aiden shrugged, the first teenager movement he'd shown since they'd arrived.
"It's a ninety-day program?" Garrison asked.
"It's a very intense program, and it begins with ninety days." He focused on Aiden. "After two months, you'll move to one of the Phase Two houses. There are six guys in each, one of whom is the manager—I manage one of the houses here. Each has two full bathrooms, a full kitchen, and a living room. They're small, but there you'll have a little more freedom."
"That's cool," Aiden said.
Garrison tried to imagine his son with his own house to take care of. A kitchen, a bathroom.
"Who cleans the houses?" Garrison asked.
"Chores are assigned every week. All the residents pitch in, clean, work in the kitchen, serve the meals. They're also responsible for keeping their own spaces clean."
That'd be a nice benefit for Aiden—not that he'd appreciate it.
"Sounds like a blast," Aiden said.
Luke chuckled. "It could be worse. Trust me, this place is awesome. It's like camp with the twelve-step program."
"I hated camp."
"Oh." Luke seemed unsure what to say to that. "Any questions I can answer for you?"
"How much does it cost?" Garrison asked.
Luke gave them a number, and Garrison whistled. His savings account had enough, but there'd be no early retirement for him.
"Dad, that's ridiculous. You can't spend that on me."
The number, the money worries crumbled like dust. He reached out, grasped his son's shoulder. "I can't imagine a more important way to spend my money."
Aiden blinked twice, lowered his gaze.
Sam cleared her throat.
Garrison realized she hadn't spoken a word since they'd started the tour. Her color was good, though. She seemed to be managing the anxiety.
"Can you give them any indication what the success rate is?" she asked.
A good question. Garrison turned to see Luke sigh.
"It's not easy to get hard numbers on that. If we quit hearing from a person or about a person, we figure they've relapsed. I'd say about half our guys relapse within a year."
Half? Within a year? What were they doing, wasting their time at this place?
Luke must've read his expression. "The relapse rate for addicts nationwide is really high—much higher than that. Definite numbers are impossible to collect, but experts will tell you that somewhere between fifty and ninety percent of addicts will relapse eventually."
The numbers tore into his chest like bullets. Almost everybody relapsed? What was the point?
"I know how hard that is to hear." The kindness in Luke's eyes said he did. For such a young man, he seemed to overflow with compassion. "I'm a recovering addict. My drug of choice was heroin. How about you?"
"Uh..." Aiden glanced at his father. "Oxy, I guess."
"Yeah, that's bad stuff. It's all bad." Luke turned his attention to include Garrison and Sam. "I've been clean for four years and three months. My parents forced me to go to two rehabs. The first time, I talked them into taking me out after thirty days. I promised them on my grandmother's grave I'd never use again. I was clean for five days after I got home. I thought, I'll just smoke a little pot. I'll never use the hard stuff again." He held Aiden's gaze. "Within two weeks, I was shooting heroin."
Aiden swallowed.
"I hid it, and maybe they didn't want to see it, until I turned eighteen. Then they did this whole intervention thing, and I agreed to go to another place. That's where I roomed with the old guy. I stayed about a month, then took off. Called a friend who picked me up in the middle of the night. I was high before we got out of town.
"I didn't call my parents, not even to check in, for months. I lived on people's couches, sold drugs to feed my addiction. I'd get a job, try to work. But I'm not one of those guys who can be high functioning. I never could hold down a job. I ended up getting arrested for dealing. The judge gave me a choice—rehab or prison. I chose rehab. And that time, I got clean." He turned back to Garrison. "So those statistics I told you—it includes people like me. I went to rehab three times and relapsed twice, so sixty-six percent of the time, but now I'm clean. Will I always be sober? I have no idea. But I'll be sober today."
Had Luke told him that story to give him hope? Because he felt more hopeless than ever.
"People who want to stay sober can. The program works if you work it. The people who relapse don't want to stay clean, not enough." He turned to Aiden. "Do you want to quit using drugs?"
Aiden opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Garrison waited, forced himself not to speak.
Sam slid her hand in his and squeezed. A quick grasp, then she slid it away before Aiden could see. But the slight touch infused him with strength. He could do this. He wasn't alone.
Aiden sighed, swallowed. "I don't want to want to use drugs, if that makes sense."
"Perfect sense," Luke said. "We can work with that."
Garrison's eyes prickled. He blinked back the sudden emotion.
"So after the ninety days, we have another phase of rehab, where the over-eighteens move into yet another house on the edge of campus. They're allowed to have cars, and they're expected to hold down jobs. Once they do that for a few weeks, they're released. Even then, we highly recommend sober living."
"What's that, exactly?" Aiden asked.
"It's a place where people who're recovering from addiction live together and learn to live in society again without drugs and alcohol. It's not rehab, but a lot of places—the best ones, anyway—require therapy. The residents have jobs and cars, if they can afford them. They have a level of freedom they haven't had since before rehab, but they also have rules. Curfews, group meetings, drug tests, stuff like that."
Aiden glanced at Garrison before focusing again on Luke. "You think I'd need that?"
"We recommend it for everyone. The recovery rate is so much higher for guys who lived in sober living than it is for people who go straight back to their old environments. You can get clean in rehab, but you can't learn to live a normal life, because life isn't regimented in the world like it is here. It's good to practice, surrounded by people who understand what you're going through, before you go out there on your own."
"Oh," Aiden said. "I guess that makes sense."
"It's not something you have to worry about right now. Just keep it in mind. While you're here, you'll learn more about it." He turned his attention to Garrison. "While Aiden's getting help, you can look into it. Where you guys from?"
"We live on Long Island," Garrison said.
"Oh. What brings you to New Hampshire?"
Aiden looked at Sam, who blushed and looked away.
Garrison spoke. "Sam is letting us stay in her rental property on Clearwater Lake."
"Been there. Beautiful place."
"I like it," Sam said.
Garrison said, "We just thought, as long as we're up here, we'd see what you have to offer. Do you think there's a benefit in him not being near home?"
"Absolutely. Especially for young people, because teens are generally more dependent on friends than adults are. And those friends are often not the best influences." He met Aiden's eyes. "Would you agree?"
Aiden actually chuckled. "Yeah, probably."
"So the farther you are from home, the less likely some yahoo will show up to rescue you."
Aiden didn't say anything.
"The downside, of course," Luke said, turning his attention to Garrison, "is that you don't get to visit as often."
"I could work around that," Garrison said.
Sam leaned forward a little. "What about school? Aiden's a senior this year."
"We allow the students to enroll in online school, and we have counselors on staff to work with them. They need to be self-motivated, though." He turned to Aiden. "You want to graduate with your class?"
"That's the plan."
"Then you need to get your work done. But it's on you."
"I could do that." Aiden's confidence—or bravado—was back. He was being far too cooperative. What was the kid up to? There had to be a catch to all this good attitude. Did it have something to do with Matty, with their call this morning?
But maybe Aiden really did want help. Maybe this wasn't an act, and he would come here and try and actually quit using drugs.
Or maybe Garrison had made a mistake letting Aiden use his phone. He had no idea. He should have consulted his what to do when your kid's an addict handbook.
Someone should really write that.
Luke led them back to where they'd parked.
Garrison studied the buildings and tried to hold onto Luke's words. Like camp, he'd said. One of the better ones. And it didn't seem bad, not really. The guys they'd seen earlier had been laughing, seemed well fed and happy enough. Still, was Garrison really considering leaving his son at a place like this? A place with locked gates, a place filled with addicts, most much worse than Aiden? And did every parent think that—that their kid wasn't as bad as the rest? He tried to tell himself they were all the same, that Aiden was just like all the guys here, those guys smoking and laughing. But Aiden wasn't like those kids. Aiden was Garrison's son, his responsibility. There was no comparison. Maybe someday, but right now, he had to believe that a life of addiction was not his son's destiny.
Addiction. Rehab. How had they gotten here?
Maybe this was more than Aiden needed. Maybe Aiden could quit. He'd admitted he wanted to, and wasn't that the most important thing, the desire? They could go to Narcotics Anonymous meetings together. They could do some kind of outpatient thing, couldn't they?
He'd almost convinced himself, and then he remembered the amount of oxycodone they'd found in Aiden's blood, the way he'd gone through withdrawal all weekend. His son was an addict. There was no point trying to pretend otherwise.
He thought of Charlene's words. Rehab facilities were like prisons, she'd said. She'd never send her son to one. Did that mean Charlene loved Aiden more than he did? Was it love to shelter his son from consequences? Or was it love to send him anyway, even when it hurt?
How could those be the only two choices?
"Do you have any more questions?"
He had plenty of questions, but he doubted Luke could comprehend the conflicting thoughts going on in this father's mind. Garrison looked at Aiden, who said nothing. "Not right now."
Luke handed each of them a business card. "Call anytime." He held onto the card when Aiden tried to take his. "When you feel yourself slipping, when you just need to talk, I answer the phone at all hours of the day and night. I mean it, man, call if you need to."
"Yeah, okay." Aiden took the card and shoved it in his back pocket. "I'll do that."
He wouldn't, though. Garrison could tell by the look in his son's eyes, a flash of honesty. Aiden was just going through the motions. Well, who could blame him? Garrison wouldn't want to come here, either.
Sam slid the business card into her purse. "You have openings?"
"Oh, right. I meant to say, we don't have any beds available right now, but we have one person graduating this week for sure—so we should have a bed available late this week or early next. But I'd need to get you on a waiting list."
"So we should decide soon," Garrison said.
"The sooner, the better."