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Sam dressed quickly and yanked her hair into a ponytail. It was not quite two a.m. How long had Aiden been gone?
The despair in Garrison's voice had broken her heart. She knew how it felt to fail the one you loved, and she knew that was exactly how Garrison saw this. Never mind that he'd brought Aiden hundreds of miles away from his friends and the drugs. Never mind that he planned to send him to rehab, at a cost that had taken her breath away. Never mind that he'd done all he could to connect with Aiden, to make this trip not just helpful but enjoyable for both of them. Aiden had rejected his father and snubbed his nose at all his efforts.
The boy was practically an adult, and, whether Garrison wanted to face it or not, Aiden was the one making these choices.
But Garrison couldn't see that. And Sam understood how he felt.
She closed her eyes, prayed for guidance, prayed for Aiden, and prayed they'd find him.
Her heart broke for that boy. She was angry at him, but how lost and troubled must he have felt? And how did he feel now that he was gone? Did he feel free? Because running back to drugs was going to bring a lot of things, but it wouldn't bring freedom.
She slipped on her shoes, grabbed her stuff, and bounded out the door.
When she reached the cabin, Garrison was in the driveway, pacing. He yanked open her passenger door and folded his frame inside.
"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.
"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."