The Unwilling(122)

“He has to be here.” French tried to scrape the sleeplessness from his eyes. “And where the hell is Jason?”

“Oh, man.”

“What? Ken? What?”

“Something Jason said. Bill, I’m sorry. With all that’s happened, I forgot. It made so little sense when he said it. I had no context. Had no idea we’d find this.”

He dipped his chin toward the house, and French squared up on his best friend of thirty years. Anger. Need. He could hide none of it. “Said what, exactly?”

Burklow lowered his voice. “He asked me to tell you that if things went sideways, he’d be at the quarry. You can see why I’d blank on that. It was four in the morning. I had no idea any of this was coming. The quarry? Seriously.”

French raised a finger, too tired to conjure any real force. “You deal with this.” He meant the house, all of it. “And please don’t talk to my wife.”



* * *



At the quarry, French parked beside the only car there. Jason stood alone at the water’s edge, the morning light thin on his face. In spite of all that had transpired, the sun was still low, not a hand’s breadth above the trees. French wasted no time; couldn’t hide the distress. “Is he okay?”

“Gibby is fine. He was in shock for a while, but he’s better. No physical harm.” Jason kept his eyes on the water, but lifted his chin toward the cliff. “He’s up there with Chance. Processing, I think. I told him I’d stay down here and wait for you. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

French let his eyes move up the cliff’s face. He saw them there, and almost broke. Now that he knew. Now that he could breathe. “He was at the house?”

“He was.”

“Son, I don’t understand any of this. Why was he there? How did you know he was there? How did you get him out?”

“Me? I was never there.”

“Son, please.”

Jason sighed, and it came from a deep place. “It’s a long story, and I’m tired. As far as the cops are concerned, Gibby can tell you everything you need to know.”

“The cops, yeah.” French said it reluctantly. “Why did you call us? Burklow said you needed help.”

“All I needed was the distraction.”

French felt that one in his chest. “You knew I’d call it in.”

“I believed you when you told me that Gibby was young and needed protection. I don’t take it personally.”

“What if you’d gotten him killed?”

“What if you had?” That bought a moment between them. Father. Son. Nothing quiet between them. “Like I said, I don’t want to talk about it. He’s alive. You’re here.”

“Just like that?”

“Pretty much.”

“Do you really hate me so much?”

“Hate?” Jason looked his way for the first time. “Dad, I’ll never hate you.”

“But the rest of it?”

He meant family, the future. Jason raised his shoulders, and let them settle. “Too much water, I guess. Besides, it looks like I’m rocking this outlaw thing now. And, well…” He made a motion with his hand, like he was shaving down a piece of wood. “The open road is calling.”

French wanted to say something to get his son back, to make up for the mistakes he’d made. “Would an apology help?”

“Not now, no.” Jason’s head moved. “In time, maybe.”

French lifted his eyes to the cliff’s edge. They were so small, the boys. “I know what you did at B?n H?i. How you saved that village. And I know what General Laughtner did to you, afterward, the way he tried to cover it up, the drugs and the dishonorable discharge. I wish I’d known sooner. I wish I could go back.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, but showed no emotion at all.

French took that one in the chest, too. “Will you say goodbye to your mother?”

“She doesn’t want to see me. You know that.”

“Where will you go?”

“Are you asking as an officer of the law or as my father?”

“Enough, Jason. Please. As your father. Always, your father.”

Jason took a deep breath, as if to fill himself up, then stooped for a rock, and skimmed it. “You feel like a walk?”

The trail was a quarter mile long, but felt longer. French still had things to say; and still had no idea how to say them. Each step was a moment lost, a steady dwindle. As they neared the top, Jason broke the silence. “He was only trying to help me, you know. Whatever he did to make you angry or make Mom worry … He’s a good kid, and a lot like Robert.”

French shook his head. “Once upon a time, maybe. The older he gets, the more I see of you.”

Jason stopped for a moment. Birds were calling. Light slanted through the trees. “Do you really believe that?”

“Like you could be twins.”

“Is that right?”

There was a note of surprise in Jason’s voice. A smile came, too, and the sight of it broke French in half.

At the cliff’s edge, he gave Gibby a hug, but not the fierce one he felt in his heart. It might have crushed the boy to death. He held him at arm’s length, and studied his face. “Jason tells me you’re okay.”