“I know, Max. I won’t lose my cool in Mexico.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, you know that this isn’t your fault, right? Your brother.”
He looked away. “I know.”
“Are you going to be alright?”
Trent held up his beer. “Nothing a few of these can’t fix.”
“Well, make that the last one. I know your parents, and they’ll kill me if I bring you back to the house drunk.”
“I fear my mother too much to come back drunk.” Joking. A good sign. “So what’s with Renee? How is she involved in this?”
Max looked at her as she walked back into the room. “She’s got a superpower, and it should come in very handy. Also, she told me that I’m not allowed to keep secrets from her anymore, which apparently includes international espionage.”
Trent said, “What’s the secret power?”
“Superpower,” Max corrected.
Renee reddened. Max knew she disliked praise. “I’m good with computers. I believe that’s what he was referring to.”
The look on Trent’s face told Max that this was still insufficient, so Max said, “Renee’s background was with the Canadian version of the NSA, the Communications Security Establishment. She’s also done cyber security for a variety of firms, including US intelligence agencies. I’ve worked with her on high-level assignments that were vital to national security, and I vouch for her.”
Renee kissed his cheek. “You say the sweetest things.”
Max had taken some liberty in his use of the word “assignments,” but this information seemed to have the intended effect. Trent looked impressed.
Renee said, “So, Trent, what exactly should we expect down in Mexico?”
“Based on where Max said we’re going, we’ll need to be very careful. Assume that every set of eyes and ears is working for the narcos, or at least reporting to them. I’d like to check with DEA on—”
Max held up a hand. “Sorry. We’re on our own on this. No one but us and my handler at CIA.”
“Okay, then. Well, I would say that rule number one is don’t trust anyone down there. The Mexican government and their law enforcement agencies are filled with people on the cartel payroll. Those who can’t be bought are often killed. Brutally. If there’s one thing the narcos understand, it’s how to send a message. That’s rule number two. Don’t get caught.”
The next morning, Max and Renee were once again at the Carpenter parents’ home. They had agreed to stop by for breakfast before flying Trent down south.
Max couldn’t help but flash back to the funeral he’d attended a week earlier. The town police had led the funeral procession. A column of cars had followed with their headlights on. More than two dozen had shown up from Josh’s old Army unit. They’d worn crisp uniforms and drawn proud stares from the locals.
The funeral had been nice, as funerals go. Four of the soldiers had formed an honor guard and performed a flag-folding ceremony. They’d handed the flag to Tina Carpenter, who was a wreck.
The tears had flowed, especially when Mr. Carpenter had given the eulogy. He’d recalled the best of times. He’d highlighted Josh’s generous and spirited personality, and the love Josh had held for his wife and son. It had been painful to hear, knowing that he was gone.
Now Max sat at a plastic table on the screened-in porch. Josh’s five-year-old son was eating cereal across from him. Puddles of milk surrounded the bowl. There was an iPad on the table. Someone had put on a cartoon. But the boy wasn’t watching it. He was looking at Max, chewing his food.
“My mommy said that you were friends with my dad.”
“I was. Very good friends.”
“Do you like Penn State football?”
Max smiled. “Your dad sure did.”
“He used to watch all the games with me.”
Max didn’t reply.
The boy took another bite of the cereal and began watching his cartoon.
The weather was already getting hot and humid by midmorning when they had finished breakfast. Cicadas made a racket in the forest behind the home. Max wandered to the backyard, sitting in a lawn chair under the shade of an old oak tree.
Renee was playing with little Josh. They were feeding two rabbits in a homemade wooden cage propped up on cinderblocks. A thousand little pellets of food and droppings lay in the grass nearby. Renee’s pretty smile and good nature had coaxed several giggles out of Josh Junior.
Tina approached. Josh’s widow had lines of fatigue beneath her eyes. Her voice was weak, like she didn’t have any more energy to be sad.
“Josh would have been glad that you were here.”
Max just nodded, feeling numb and guilty. They hadn’t spoken much last week at the funeral. He hadn’t known what to say.
They both just stood there in the morning heat, watching her son pet the rabbits at the far end of the yard. Finally, Tina said, “I don’t think he could bring himself to tell you. About the drugs, I mean. He was ashamed of what he’d become, I think.”
“He had no reason to be.”
She nodded. “He tried to hide it from everyone. At first, he thought he could keep it from me. He tried to convince me that it was just him adjusting to civilian life. There were a lot of changes. He lost a lot of weight. Slept more. Mood swings — crazy ones. When they took away his prescription, someone in town said they could help him get some black-market stuff. It started off with him getting the same thing he’d gotten at the drugstore, except now he had to pay for it out of pocket. But then he couldn’t get the pills anymore, and another guy said he could get Josh some sort of patch. Like a nicotine patch, but with fentanyl. Same thing as the pills, different method. But then that stuff dried up too. And eventually he started using the really bad stuff, because that’s all he could get. All he could afford. It was awful on our marriage. I didn’t know what going on at first. He didn’t want to shower when I was around, which I thought was weird. I found out it was because he didn’t want me to see the needle marks in his arms. Imagine trying to keep something like that from your wife, who sleeps in your bed. I found his box one day while he was sleeping.”
“His box?”
“He had a little tin box that he kept under the seat of his pickup truck. Needles inside, carefully stacked. He was always neat.”
“I’m so sorry, Tina.”
“It’s nobody’s fault.” Her voice cracked, and she wiped away a tear. “I feel like we all keep saying that to each other. That it’s not our fault. I don’t know if any of us truly believes it. Things weren’t like this when Josh and I grew up in this town. Drugs were an inner-city problem. Not here. I smoked a little weed when I was younger. Josh did too. But never the hard stuff. People like us are from good families, with good parents. Good values. This kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen here. Or to men like him. Josh was one of the best men I know. And I’m not just saying that because I’m his wife. Ask any of the men from his old Army units. He was one of the good ones. But those drugs changed him. And they have ruined my life. They’ve killed my husband. He wanted to quit, Max. He tried. But the pull was too strong. Even for someone like him.”
Max didn’t know what to say. So they just stood there in silence for a few minutes. Sometimes that was the best thing to do.
Tina was looking at her son. Trent was over there now. He had gotten little Josh away from the rabbits and they were playing Wiffle ball.
Tina said, “I’m not sure what we’ll do now. I guess I’ll have to go back to work. We were living off his disability pay, for the most part… but now I guess that will stop.”
Max said, “Are you sure that they won’t keep paying you?”