Page 63 of The Five Year Lie

My son hangs his head and shuffles slowly toward me in a perfect pantomime of Unhappiest Child Ever.

“Hey—do you think Buzz would like sword fighting?”

“Probably. But I’d like him to survive until kindergarten, so we’ll probably stick to peewee soccer.”

He blinks. “I meantwatchingit. Plus there’s food involved. Will you go somewhere with me on Sunday night? It’s a fair. You’ll both need costumes.”

“Costumes?”

Zain gives me the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his face. “Trust me. It’s going to be awesome.”

Trust meare the two worst words in the English language. “I’m going to need more information.”

21

FIVE YEARS AGO, JULY

Drew watches a caterer in a white chef’s coat push a cart carefully across the lawn.

“Here comes the dessert,” Zain says. “The miniature cheesecakes are always amazing.”

“Good tip.” Drew pastes on a smile and shifts his weight for the hundredth time. Standing in place for any length of time makes his leg stiff and his lower back ache. He’d like to sit down, but nobody else is sitting down, except for one person.

Edward Cafferty is still recovering from knee surgery. So they’ve brought him a single bar stool, placing it in front of the backyard bar. There he sits, holding court for a bunch of programmers, who are very busy kissing his ass.

It’s the Friday before the Fourth of July, and this is Drew’s very first company picnic. It’s also probably his last. Every day it’s becoming more obvious that he isn’t cut out for the corporate lifestyle. Even if he’d gotten a job at a company that wasn’t quite so evil, he’d have a hard time feeling motivated to fatten the boss’s bottom line.

Mostly he avoids thinking about where he might be a year from now. A guy can only solve so many problems at once. It’s hard enough doing a job he hates while also carrying on an undercover mission.

He scans the backyard of Edward’s stately home. It’s beautifully landscaped, but a little crowded today. According to watercoolergossip, this party—an annual tradition—is usually held at a country club. But Edward’s two knee surgeries made the planning difficult.

The boss is sporting an ice pack on his post-surgical knee. Something went wrong with his first surgery. Ariel said Edward blew a gasket at his specialists when they told him he needed it redone. Since then he’s been working from home, and driving his underlings crazy. At least once a day he demands in-person meetings with various members of his staff, who drive over here to see him.

Drew hasn’t missed his snarling face around the office, though. Not coincidentally, Ariel has been happier at work than he’s ever seen her.

She’s here somewhere. Not that they can acknowledge each other. That’s probably why he’s in such a piss-poor mood. He can’t wait to leave, although the food is great. He’s already eaten a lobster roll, an avocado cheeseburger, and crab cakes. An endless supply of Maine craft beers is being offered in metal tubs full of ice. The catering must have cost a fortune.

Still, it’s not afunparty. Everyone else looks a little stiff. It’s really just another day at the office. A command performance. Plus, it’s Friday, so he’s missing date night with Ariel for the first time since they got together.

As if summoned, she emerges in the corner of his field of vision, joining her mother near the door. They’re chatting with Reggie, the firm’s general counsel. Ariel’s wearing a red polo dress and white sneakers. And she looks bored.

He has a strong urge to march across the lawn and say something to make her laugh. But that’s not happening. He hasn’t said a single word to her in the hour he’s been here, and he doesn’t plan to start now.

The only one having fun might be Ray, who’s currently undefeated in an ongoing tournament of cornhole on the back property line. “Who’s next?” he calls out. “Who dares to challenge me?”

“Hey, Drew should do it! Throw down, man!” says Trevor, the programmer. He parks a hand at Drew’s ribs and gives him a shove that’s meant to be playful.

Or maybe it isn’t. In either case, Drew’s balance isn’t what it used to be, and he ends up taking an ungainly sidestep to avoid falling.

“Whoops, sorry.” Trevor chuckles. “That’s why I always lose to Ray. Too clumsy. But maybe you can do better.”

Ray tosses him a beanbag, which Drew catches. “Come on, kid. Break my streak? What have you got to lose—besides your manhood.”

A smile forms on Drew’s face against his will. “That’s some big talk, sir. I’ll take you on.”

The older man tosses him three more beanbags, and Drew tests their weight in his hands.

“You go first,” Ray says magnanimously.