Fractured Eden by Steven Gossington Page B

chandelier hovered over the room. Brad gestured toward a collection of chairs and couches. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”
    “No, thanks.” Aaron sat in a plush chair. He noticed a faint sweet scent in the room. Apples?
    Brad wore boots, a plaid shirt, and jeans secured by a large silver belt buckle. He stopped near Aaron’s chair. “I’m sorry about the incident in your office. As you can tell, my son has a problem.”
    “How’s he doing?”
    “He’s in rehab, in a hospital a few hours from here. We want to avoid recognition.”
    “He’s had a drug problem before?”
    Brad sighed and put his hands in his pockets. “He’s been in rehab twice over the last five years, for alcohol or drugs.”
    Brad turned as a tall redheaded woman walked into the living room. “Myra, this is Dr. Rovsing.”
    She put her hands to her temples. “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry you had to see our son that way.”
    “At least he’s in a good place now,” Aaron said.
    Myra sat in a chair near Aaron. She shook her head. “I don’t know if anything will work with Preston. We’ve been down this road before.” She looked at Aaron. “Maybe it’s bad genes?”
    Aaron nodded. “Genetics could be involved.”
    “Or maybe we weren’t good parents.”
    “Now, don’t start with that,” Brad said as he glared at Myra. “When he gets back, he’d better get a job or I’m kicking him out of here, and I’m not keeping him out of jail anymore.”
    “But he says there aren’t any jobs,” Myra said.
    “He doesn’t try to find one. He doesn’t want to work.”
    She put her face in her hands. “Will this nightmare ever end?”
    Brad left the room. Aaron stood and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll help in any way I can. This has got to be tough for you.”
    Myra groaned, her head down. “You can’t imagine.”
    Aaron walked toward the front door and stopped when he heard the clunking of boots behind him.
    “Doc, let me buy you a drink,” Brad said. He put his hand on Aaron’s back. “I’ll take you to my favorite bar. How about it?”
    “Sure.”
    Brad led Aaron outside to his truck. “They have great appetizers there, too. We can make a meal of it.”
    In the still night air, an owl hooted in the distance as they shut the truck doors.
    “Sometimes I just need to get away for a drink. Know what I mean?” Brad said.
    Aaron nodded. “Yes, I do.”
    Brad drove away from his home. “Our son is a real problem.”
    “Drug addiction is a problem everywhere. A lot of families suffer.”
    Brad turned up the volume on his truck radio. Along the way, he pointed out businesses and homes of people he knew. He drove for almost twenty minutes to a lounge with a packed parking lot in front.
    As they entered the lounge, two men walked away from a small table in a corner. Brad and Aaron sat down at the table and ordered drinks and sausage-and-tomato flatbread.
    “This drug addiction is tearing Myra and me apart. She thinks I was an absent father and should have been more involved with Preston when he was young.”
    “It’s not that easy.”
    “I’ve protected Preston,” Brad said. “I’ve kept him out of jail, so far.”
    “Out of jail, for what?”
    “He robbed some houses, to pay for his drugs.”
    Aaron’s stomach tightened. An image of a drugged robber and the bloody bodies of his parents floated into his mind. His head began to swirl.
    “What’s wrong?” Brad said.
    Aaron took several deep breaths and a few sips of water. “It’ll pass.” After a few seconds, he nodded. “I’m all right.”
    A tall mug of foamy beer appeared for Brad and a glass of red wine for Aaron.
    “By the way, how do you keep someone out of jail?” Aaron said.
    Brad snorted. “Let me put it this way. I have an understanding with the law around here.”
    Aaron studied Brad’s face. Does that mean he bribes them?
    Brad had four beers over the next hour, while Aaron nursed his glass of cabernet. Brad talked about his son