Page 32 of Fool’s Gold

“Maybe we can get one.” Jack regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but he couldn’t exactly stuff them back in.

Matt’s eyes went far away for a second, but his tone was mild. “It’s a thought. Anyway, you don’t have to come with. It’s just sitting around at the doctor’s office. Dr. Congdon specializes in geriatrics, so unless you think someone’s hiding a blowgun in their walker, it should be relatively safe.”

“I saw that happen once.” Jack reached for more casual clothes, following Matt’s lead.

“Did you really?”

“I did. It was in Canada, and it was a conflict over oil sands ownership in Alberta. The enemy agent was actually a Russian woman disguised as an elderly Canadian man, and she’d hidden a blowgun in her walker. It was amazingly clever. It took us days to figure out how she’d done it. Unfortunately, she was in no condition to tell us how she’d done it.” He grimaced at the memory. “Officially, she fell out a window. I mean she fell five or six times, but whatever. Never let it be said that they’re not consistent.”

Matt scrunched his face up for a moment. “That sounds like a comic book.”

Jack shrugged. “I guess life imitates art? Or maybe art imitates life?” He’d never had much time for comic books. “Anyway, I’m definitely coming along.” He hadn’t forgotten that there were other killers out there, even if Matt apparently had. “Even if the corporate bigwigs aren’t going to come for you at your grandmother’s doctor’s office, someone who recognizes you there just might. All Besse needs right now is someone’s granddad taking a swing because you’re a convenient face to put with the disaster. Or a nurse taking her rage out on you and overdosing you with morphine or something.”

Matt shivered. “What a way to go. Like mother, like son, I suppose.”

Jack hesitated. “Is that why your grandmother raised you?”

Matt looked away. “Indirectly. My mama was a junkie. She was in and out of prison—I was born at the Helms Facility right here in Atlanta, where pregnant inmates are housed. She cycled in between finding Jesus and finding heroin or meth. When I was about six she got brought in because—well, that’s not important. The State called Gram, and the social workers drove me up to the farm near Athens. The rest is history. I barely remember her. We got notification that she’d been found in an alley, but by the time we got down to Atlanta to confirm her identity, the remains were already cremated.” He snorted. “Assuming it was her, she died the day I graduated high school. I hadn’t heard from her since Gram took me in. I mostly feel bad for her. She tried to kick the habit, but it takes a lot more than willpower.”

Jack swallowed. “My mom was the same way.”

Matt pulled him in for a hug. “We’re both here. We’re doing pretty well, all things considered. Maybe it wasn’t the greatest start, but we’re here and we’re doing some good. Right?”

Jack hugged back. “I used to resent the hell out of my mom. I used to think,Why can’t she just get her shit together?Then I saw one of my buddies at the Agency get hurt. He went from prescription painkillers for an awful injury to street heroin in less than a year. And the injury never did get fixed right.” He fought back tears. “It was too late to apologize to my mom though.”

“It’s okay.” Matt kissed the top of his head. “Apologize to yourself.”

It wasn’t that easy. Jack knew it, and he was pretty sure Matt knew it too. Still, it was the only option. It wasn’t like he could bring his mom back or like things would be different if he could.

He pulled himself together and finished getting dressed. “Let’s head on over. I can’t wait to see what Norah’s like with the doctor. I can only hope I’m half as awesome as she is when I’m in my nineties.”

“I know, right?”

Matt didn’t say anything about the possibility of not making it to his nineties. Jack didn’t either.

If Jack were in charge of Norah, he’d probably want her primary care doctor near the apartment. She wasn’t exactly young, and old people went to the doctor a lot. He knew, because Five Star knew alotabout Matt, that Matt still used the Men’s Special Clinic that catered to young gay men who usually didn’t have high incomes. He’d been going to the same place since getting his first job, although his financial records showed he made generous donations to allow them to fund people in the same position he’d been in when he was younger.

For Norah, though, nothing but the best would do. The best gerontologist in Georgia worked through Emory, so Matt drove her all the way there. Matt had even rented an SUV for the occasion, so Norah wouldn’t have to feel crammed in.

Norah didn’t say anything about it. She just met Jack’s eyes in the rearview mirror, grinned, and shook her head. She knew her grandson loved her. She knew what was behind it. Jack supposed she’d probably have been happy enough with a regular old family practitioner, but she wouldn’t stop him from showing his love this way if it meant something to him.

She reached forward and put a hand on his arm. She didn’t say anything, just gave him a little squeeze. It felt like approval.

Between traffic and the Atlanta area highway system, it would take them some time to get to Emory. Jack settled in for the long ride. He didn’t see anything particularly threatening in the cars surrounding them. The produce delivery truck was a known company, and the driver didn’t even glance their way. He just looked aggravated.

There was a minivan, being driven by a white woman with thick makeup, painstakingly styled and sprayed hair, and five children in the back. Her laboriously styled ’do contained an artistic array of cereal, no doubt the work of the toddler immediately behind her. Jack wondered if she knew.

The Volkswagen hatchback to the left, with Mass plates, contained what looked like a mother-daughter duo. Either that or someone had cloned herself—it was Massachusetts, with all their biotech facilities and their creepy history a person could never be too sure. Either way, probably not a threat.

The giant Cadillac SUV barreling up on them from behind, on the other hand, was a different story. People drove aggressively all the time, especially in larger vehicles, but this behavior would have been more culturally appropriate in New Jersey. It wasn’t typical of Georgia at all.

He reached for his gun. “Everyone hang on.”

Matt glanced at him. “Are you serious?” He gripped the wheel and, with a glance, cut over into the lane to the right.

The Caddy didn’t slow down. The driver had time to jerk the wheel and slam into Matt’s SUV. The front and side airbags deployed as horns blared all around them and glass shattered. Someone screamed—Jack thought it was Samaira.

Jack’s stomach lurched as their car spun across the remaining two lanes of traffic. He heard metal crunching as other cars hit theirs, but they bounced off. He waited for the vehicle to come to a complete stop before unbuckling his seat belt.

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