Chapter 27: Beautiful Lie
Burke family cabin, Catskills. Thursday evening. March 4, 2004.
For the second evening in a row, Neal looked up from his plate to notice Elizabeth picking up the dishes. It occurred to him that he was going to have an uphill battle convincing Peter he was ready to go back to work next week, and constantly being lost in his own head wasn't going to help. He needed to start getting more engaged in the world around him. He slid off his chair with more energy than he'd shown since the snowball fight and said, "Here, let me help."
"Maybe you should take it easy," Peter said, standing up.
It took an effort not to sigh. "Peter, I want to be useful. Besides, everyone knows chicks like guys who know their way around the kitchen." Neal couldn't help smiling as Henry snorted in an attempt to suppress a laugh. He was quoting something Henry had said years ago, and that he had probably not expected to hear repeated in front of his mother.
Peter sat back down. "I'm married. I don't need advice on how to come on to women."
Neal picked up plates with the grace and speed he'd learned as a cat burglar. "I beg to differ. Men with hot wives need to stay in practice if they want to stay married."
Peter shook his head. "Listen, kid. My marriage is based on love. We don't have to do anything to prove it, or to make it last. Right, El?"
"Well..." El stepped over to kiss her husband. "My love isn't going to run out if you don't meet some quota of housework, but I do think Neal has a point. A little wooing goes a long way."
Peter stood up again and took a plate away from Neal. "Back off," he said, with a scowl on his face but a twinkle in his eyes. "She's mine."
El fanned herself. "My, it's getting hot in here."
Neal patted Peter on the arm. "Told you." He walked out into the spacious family room to study the painting he'd been working on earlier. At the center were warm, glowing colors, inspired by the happy morning he'd spent outdoors. Surrounding and over that center was a transparent layer of pale blue, inspired by the sleet and ice of the afternoon. There were cracks and sharp edges in that layer, signifying the fragility of this morning's experience. Such perfect happiness couldn't last long.
"I don't like it," said Henry. He didn't know much about art, but he had a knack for picking up on the emotion being conveyed in a piece. Especially when Neal was the artist.
"I didn't think you would," Neal responded. "It wasn't meant to make you happy. It's expressing loss."
"You're an artist?" Joe asked, walking over from the kitchen. "I thought you worked for Peter."
Neal shrugged. "This..." He gestured toward the painting. "This is a hobby."
"That's pretty advanced stuff for a hobby," Joe said.
Noelle joined them. "Are you an artist, Joe?"
"No, I'm an architect. I can draw well enough to provide renderings to help clients envision what I propose to build. You learn a few things about perspective and colors in my job, and I've worked on a few art galleries over the years, picked up some things about how to display art. There's a niche in design for art museums, galleries and artists' lofts and studios. It wasn't something I could focus on full time, since I was a single parent and most of those jobs required extensive travel. Now that my youngest is in college, I'm free to travel more and that gives me the opportunity to specialize. I've wrapped up a project in D.C., and I'm looking at some opportunities in Boston and Baltimore, next."
"We live in Baltimore," Henry said. "It's a great place."
Noelle nodded. "Since learning about Neal's talents a few weeks ago, I've wanted to get more involved in the arts community. I'd love to hear about your projects."
"Sure. I've got some sketches in the truck. Remind me tomorrow morning and I can show them to you before I head out."
"Oh, you're only staying one night?" Noelle sounded disappointed.
"Just stopped by to make sure Peter was doing okay. Speaking of which..." He paused. "Neal, Peter said something about keeping you out of a life of crime. Can you tell me what he meant by that?"
"Joe!" protested Peter, who had joined the group with Elizabeth. "I think Neal's been through enough."
"I'm not judging," Joe said calmly. "But you can't drop a comment like that and not expect me to have questions. I want to understand. I know I'm not a hotshot FBI agent like you, but there is still the remote possibility that I could help if I'm at least aware of what's going on in your life."
###
Peter's first instinct was to defend Neal. But then he reconsidered. Jumping to Neal's defense could give the impression that he thought Neal was still a criminal. He didn't want Joe to think that, and he certainly didn't want Neal to think that Peter was ashamed of him.
"The best person to describe what Neal has done and why he made a change is Neal." Peter met his consultant's eyes. "Do you want to take this one? I have to admit I'd like to hear your take on it."
"Sure. Let's get that fire roaring again and settle in for a story."
El made coffee while Peter and Henry stoked the fire. Then Peter sat in the center of one of the sofas, with El and Joe on either side. Neal sat opposite Peter, with Henry and Noelle flanking him.
At first Neal looked down at the floor, apparently gathering his thoughts. Then he looked up and smiled. But this wasn't the carefree con artist smile that Peter had worried Neal might fall back on. It was a smile tinged with sadness and regret. It was an honest smile. "I made some poor choices, desperate choices sometimes. I'm not good at asking for help. As a kid I didn't even realize that help was out there."
The Marshals, Peter thought. If they had been aware of how Neal's mother was struggling, they probably would have intervened. But Neal hadn't known they were in WITSEC, and had too much pride and self-reliance to admit he needed help. Hopefully the circumstances of this week had provided a breakthrough in that regard.
"For a long time I told myself that I was only doing what I had to do to survive. Then it seemed like a Robin Hood thing. Exploiting the rich and powerful in order to get by and to help others who were trying to get by."
"I had a hand in that," Henry admitted. "I may have been rebelling against my own privileged background and took Neal along for the ride. And then my dad hung Neal out to dry." He turned to Neal, "And of course you couldn't tell me what was going on. It took me months to figure it out, and by then you were in the wind."
"He was your dad. Not having any contact with my own dad had hurt. I didn't want to get between you and your father. I even understood why he did it. He thought he was protecting you."
Henry shook his head. "That's what he wanted you to believe. If he was protecting anything, it was his career. I was just a means to an end."
Neal leaned back into the sofa and faced Joe. "At that point I was almost twenty-two. I had sold out my artistic and creative talents to show off, forging bonds that put me on the FBI's radar. I thought I had nothing to lose. I went from a con artist who occasionally did forgery, to a forger with a knack for breaking and entering. Once you forge a masterpiece, often the next step is to steal the original and sell it on the black market. I studied with a safecracker and cat burglar. I thought of it as getting my bachelor's degree in crime. It was addictive; I was very good at it, and I was having fun. I spent a lot of time in Europe. But I'd discovered that New York felt like home. I kept finding reasons to come back, and eventually stayed for a long con. When that fell apart I took some jobs in Europe again, but my heart wasn't in it. I wanted to be back in New York. The problem with returning to the States was the FBI had this hotshot agent on my case. I studied him. Up to then I'd found that most law enforcement agents had a weakness I could exploit. But not Peter. His sheer dedication, stubbornness and... goodness were exasperating and fascinating. He was everything my mom claimed my dad was, when she was spinning fantasies about him being a hero cop."
El pulled Peter's arm around her. "Dedicated, stubborn and good. That's my husband to a T." Peter was almost certain he wasn't blushing.
"It was a last-minute job that turned into my downfall. A friend asked me to take his place in a museum heist in St. Louis. Much lower stakes than what I was used to, but the leader of the crew was a legend and I wanted to meet him. At the time I thought I was embarking on my master's degree in crime. But after I agreed to the job, I learned that prior run-ins with the FBI had turned this guy homicidal whenever he suspected betrayal. Meanwhile I had a nasty virus. Between that and the meds I'd taken, I wasn't on top of my game. When I saw Peter at the meet, working undercover, I... I didn't think it was worth the risk."
"You thought Villiers was going to kill me," Peter added.
"I hope that didn't insult you. Villiers was already livid when I showed up, and I didn't know if you had the skills to keep your cover intact against his rage. I was an expert at running away, so I went in with a getaway plan, and made sure his wrath was directed at me."
Peter nodded and turned to his brother. "Then he helped me catch Villiers, started calling me Dad as a joke, and was running a fever so high that I had to look after him for a few days until he was well enough to travel back to New York."
Joe considered this, and asked Neal, "Whose idea was it for you to start working at the FBI?"
"It was Peter's idea. I never would have believed it was an option. I mean, my dad was a dirty cop. He murdered someone. When I learned the truth about him, I gave up any dreams I had of being a cop myself. It still seems unlikely, even now. I mean, I'm grateful," Neal told Peter. "I'm giving it everything I have so I won't let you down, but I keep thinking someone will learn about my dad and it will all be over."
"Why should that make a difference?" El voiced the question in the back of Peter's mind. "You're not saying you had anything to do with the murder, are you?"
"Of course he isn't," Henry said. "He was barely three years old when it happened."
"But that doesn't change the fact that I'm the son of a murderer. It's in my blood."
Almost everyone protested, including Peter. Looking over at Joe, Peter was surprised to see his brother's attention on him, rather than on Neal. He realized that Joe wouldn't only be concerned about Neal as an honorary member of the family, but also about Peter's readiness to act as a father figure. He decided to make a bold move. "I'm in your blood," he said.
"What?" Neal sounded startled.
"We have the same blood type: A negative. You don't remember much of the first twenty-four hours you spent at Jacobi hospital, do you?"
Neal shook his head, still appearing puzzled.
"There was so much Flashback in your system, the drug almost killed you. The doctors were desperate to counter the effects, and one of the things they tried was a transfusion. Replace tainted blood with fresh, you see? That means my blood is in you. My traits fighting with your father's traits. My money is on my blood. It's newer, stronger if you will."
Neal frowned. "I don't think it works like that. Traits dueling in the blood... That doesn't make sense."
Peter crossed his arms. "You seriously believe your father's traits control you, but that mine wouldn't fight those traits?"
"But it's just a saying – in my blood – it's genetics."
"You're a genetics expert, now?"
"No, but..." Neal looked at Henry. "We studied this, when you got your master's. Nature versus nurture. Inherited traits and tendencies."
"We did," Henry confirmed. "And you know that there is no evidence that you are predestined to be a criminal – or evil – because your father made a mistake. You have a big say in who you become. I've never seen murderous tendencies in you. C'mon, Neal. You hate violence."
"Was it violent?" Neal asked. "No one told me who he killed or how."
"You never looked it up?" Noelle asked. "It would have been in the news reports, in the public record."
"I didn't want to face it," Neal admitted. "Reading about it would have made it seem more real. But this trip seems to be all about facing ghosts."
Noelle took a deep breath. "He got involved with the Irish mob, and ended up shooting another cop."
"Whoa," said Joe. "I'm surprised you're not in Witness Protection."
Noelle raised a brow. "I hope you don't take offense, but that's not something we discuss outside the family."
Neal glanced at Henry, who had remained silent. He looked almost as puzzled as Neal did. "I don't remember..." Henry started, but then shook his head. "I was a wreck until you finally woke up at Jacobi. I probably missed a lot."
After a moment of contemplation, Neal looked up at Peter. "Nice bluff. There wasn't a transfusion, was there? You were lying to make your point."
Henry's expression cleared. "Not just a lie. A beautiful lie." He smiled. "When I was a kid, I asked Mom about the lies parents tell. Like letting us believe in Santa Claus."
"Or trying to spare you some of the pain of a divorce," Noelle added. "I used the term beautiful lie to describe the lies we tell to protect someone we love. I didn't realize you remembered that. Honestly, you were so upset that day, when you realized I'd filed for divorce and why, I doubted that anything I said sunk in."
"It did. I thought about it a lot. Sometimes I think that's what made me decide to study psychology."
Peter glanced at Joe, who was watching Neal, Henry and Noelle. Joe nodded and said softly so that only Peter could hear, "Nice job. I couldn't have done it better myself." Then he stood up and said for all to hear, "It's been a long day. I'm going to turn in."
"You'll have the third bedroom," El said. "I'll make up the bed while you bring up your bag."
"Thanks, El." The others stood up, and Joe stopped beside Neal. He shook Neal's hand. "Welcome to the family."
As Joe walked away, Neal turned to Peter, shocked. Peter walked over to put a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Son," he said.
Neal waited a moment, then cocked his head. "What?"
"That's it."
"I mean, what do you want me to do? You always... You've only called me that when there's something you needed to convince me to do."
"I know," said Peter. "And that's not how it's supposed to work. That's why I'm saying it now. I want you to know I feel that way, independent of wanting something from you." He pulled Neal into a quick hug and said goodnight.