Crystal Lies (17 page)

I went into the kitchen and pretended to be highly interested in making a pot of tea. Finally he came back out with an old sports duffel bag stuffed full.

“Well, I’m gonna go now,” he told me.

“Do you need something to eat?” I asked.

He brightened a little. “Sure, that’d be great.”

“What would you like?”

“Oh, that’s okay, Mom. I can fix myself something. I know it’s late, and you look tired. I’ll just make a peanut-butter sandwich to take with me.”

“Sure, help yourself.”

I took my cup of tea over to the other side of the breakfast bar and watched as my son lathered on a thick layer of peanut butter. He was being very careful and neat, almost how a guest might act in someone else’s home. When he was done, he wrapped the sandwich in a paper towel and turned to look at me. “Thanks, Mom.”

Again I fought to hold back the tears. Then I thought of something. “I didn’t notice your car in the parking lot, Jacob. Or even on the street. Where did you park?”

He sighed. “It’s kind of a long story.”

I nodded. “Want to give me the sweet and condensed version?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s impounded.”

“Impounded?”

“Yeah. I got stopped last night after I left here.”

“And?”

“My insurance was expired.”

“Your insurance? What do you mean?”

“The card in my glove box was outdated.”

“Well, didn’t you explain that you had a new one?”

“I don’t. Dad hasn’t paid it.”

“So they took your car because of that?” I stood up now. “That’s ridiculous, Jacob. We can have that insurance reinstated tomorrow. I can’t believe your father did that. We’ll go down to city hall first thing in the morning and straighten this out.”

“Well, there’s something else, Mom.” He looked slightly sheepish.

“Yes?”

“I had an open bottle of vodka in the car.”

“Vodka?” I could hear the shrill tone of my voice.

“It wasn’t mine, Mom. It was Daniel’s. I didn’t even know it was there.”

“So the police searched your car?”

“Yeah. I guess it was because of the MIP”

“But I thought that was all taken care of. I thought you had six months to do your community service, and that was it.”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they don’t expunge the MIP from my record until I finish the community service.”

“Oh, and I suppose you haven’t even started yet.”

“I’ve been busy, Mom.” He shook his head. “My life isn’t exactly easy, you know. I’m trying to work and make some money, and now I not only don’t have a home, but I don’t have a car.” And then to my total surprise, he began to cry.

“Oh, Jacob,” I said.

“I know it’s my fault, Mom. I’m a real screwup. And I’m sorry. But I just don’t know what to do anymore. It’s like things start looking up, and suddenly everything is caving in around me.” He sat down on the stool and put his head on the breakfast bar.

I wanted to remind him that the caving-in part was most likely a result of his drug use, but I didn’t have the heart to kick him when he was down. Instead I put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s true you have blown it, Jacob. But it’s not too late to fix things,” I told him. “I could call Hope’s Wings and—”

“I don’t need rehab.” He sat up straight and looked at me with a blotchy face and hardened eyes. “I can do this thing myself, Mom.”

“You’ve tried that,” I reminded him. “Remember, you told me you were going to straighten up before. But it’s not working. You need help, Jacob. There’s no shame in that.”

He put his head back down on the counter and said nothing.

“What would it hurt to just go in, Jacob? You could talk to a counselor and find out what they have to offer—”

“Yeah, and then they’ll lock me up,” he muttered.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s like that.”

He sat up straight again. “But you don’t know, do you?”

“I can find out.”

“Yeah, sure.” He shook his head. “But you’d probably say anything just to get me in there.”

“Jacob!” I gave him my sternest look. “I have never lied to you.”

“Everybody lies, Mom, It’s just that some people can pull it off better than others.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that but didn’t want to derail our conversation by asking. “What do you say, Jacob?” I continued. “How about if I call and set up an appointment?”

He studied me for a bit, and I could tell he was trying to decide whether to trust me or not.

“When have I ever let you down?” I demanded. “Don’t you know that I would give up my life for you, Jacob? You’re my son. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“You threw me out.”

“It was just because my counselor said it was the only way to help you. Believe me, Jacob, I wouldn’t have been able to do it otherwise.” And even as I said these words, I felt a tiny ray of hope. Maybe Dr. Abrams had been right after all. Because here we were just twenty-four hours later having a conversation about rehab therapy, and he seemed to be softening. “Let’s make a deal, Jacob,” I offered. “I’ll let you stay here tonight if you’ll agree to go in for a counseling session.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. As soon as we can get one.”

“And you’ll find out whether they can lock me up against my will or not.”

“Really, Jake, I don’t think they do that.”

“I want to know for sure.”

“Okay, I’ll ask. No problem.”

“Well, I have to work tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” I told him, relieved that he at least still had a job. “What are your hours?”

“Nine to three.”

“Fine. Well, I’ll see what I can do and get back to you. Okay?”

“I guess.”

Then I grabbed him and hugged him. “You do know how much I love you, don’t you, Jacob?”

He nodded and appeared to be choking back tears again. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just that everything is so messed up right now.”

“I know.” I held him back and looked into his eyes. And, although I knew I wasn’t an expert, I really thought he was sober. “But things are going to get better. I really believe it.”

“I hope so, Mom.”

And then, unlike the previous night, we both went to bed. And for the first time in weeks I slept for most of the night.

I felt so hopeful the next morning, even remembered the words from a poster I’d had back the sixties:
Today is the first day of the rest of your life
. That was how I imagined it would be with Jacob. I’d schedule him an appointment at the local rehab center, and he’d finally receive the help he so badly needed. Just like that we’ll be on the road to recovery, I assured myself. I thought I could actually see a light at the end of the spiraling tunnel.

After Jacob went to work, I phoned Hope’s Wings, the place Dr. Abrams had recommended, and after a short wait I was connected to a helpful man named Marcus Palmer.

I gave him a brief history of my son, concluding with,“But now he’s ready to get help. He’s agreed to meet with a counselor.”

“That’s great,” he told me. “And you’re lucky because I just had a cancellation this afternoon. Will four fifteen work for both of you?”

“That’s perfect,” I told him. “Jacob gets off work at three.”

I made a special point to stop by the Red Devil a little later that morning so I could tell Jacob the good news. I even wrote down the time and place on a card so he wouldn’t forget. “I’ll pick you up at three,” I told him.

“Thanks, Mom.” He shoved the card into his pocket and frowned. “You need any gas?”

“Sure. Go ahead and put twenty dollars worth in.” I stood and watched as he filled the Range Rover with the kind of gas that would probably make it rattle and ping, and I wondered what I could possibly
say to encourage him. “The guy sounded really nice,” I said and handed him the twenty.

Jacob actually smiled, and I felt a rush of relief flow through me. “That’s cool, Mom.” He pulled his ski cap down over his ears. “Hey, do you think you could loan me a few bucks? My lunch break’s coming up, and I didn’t have much breakfast this morning.”

I looked back in my wallet to see a solitary bill, another twenty. “This is all I have,” I told him, holding up my twenty.

“Thanks, Mom.” He smiled as he took the bill. “I’ll pay you back on Friday. I promise.”

Not only did he not pay me back, but he was nowhere to be found when I went back to the Red Devil at three. I drove around town looking for him, but I finally had to call Marcus and cancel a little after four.

“I’m sorry to wait until the last minute,” I told him through my tears of frustration. “I really thought Jacob was going to cooperate this time.”

“Don’t feel bad,” he said. “Stuff like this happens all the time.”

“I know. But he seemed so willing. I gave him a card with the time and everything.”

“Do you think there’s a chance that he still might show?” asked Marcus.

“I seriously doubt it since he doesn’t even have a car right now,” I told him. “But I suppose he might have a friend drop him off. Although that seems pretty unlikely.”

“Well, hey, I’ve got that hour available anyway. Why don’t you come in, just in case? And if Jacob doesn’t show, we can at least discuss some ways for you to cope with your stress in the meantime.”

So I got back into my car and drove to the rehab center. It was located on the outskirts of town and was nothing like what I’d expected. I suppose my image of a rehab center came from a scene in an old movie. For some reason I assumed it would be a large sprawling campus with acres of
green lawns and gracefully placed trees, perhaps gated with security guards and tall fences to keep the patients confined. Although I had assured Jacob I didn’t think that was the case.

But when I turned at the Hope’s Wings sign, I was somewhat disappointed to see several rather drab barracks-type buildings compounded next to a large blacktop area. Nothing was fenced or gated. I parked in front of the building that was marked Main Office and went inside to inquire about Marcus Palmer. As I walked past a building marked Rehab Center, I noticed a cluster of people of varying ages. They stood around a doorway smoking and talking. I later learned they were patients and that smoking and eating chocolate were the only vices allowed in this facility. But even the chocolate was rationed. However, the cigarettes were not. I didn’t bother to ask why.

“Marcus is just finishing a session,” said the girl at the reception desk. She looked to be about Jacob’s age and had a pierced lip and spiky hair that had been dyed a bright shade of purple. “But his office is right down that hall. You can wait for him in there if you like.”

Near the end of the dimly lit hallway, I reached an office with the right name on the door. The door was open, so I went in and sat down in a straight-backed chair. The office closed in around me with shabby, beige-colored carpeting and a cheap metal desk. Other than the artwork plastered on every available wall, the space would’ve been quite dismal. Given the amateurish quality of the art, I suspected that these pieces had been created by patients at Hope’s Wings. And the more I examined the collages and paintings, the more intrigued I became. One piece was particularly fascinating. It consisted of dozens of cut-out heads of beautiful women, obviously extracted from a fashion magazine. But across each mouth, except for one, was a piece of black tape. And the one head without a taped mouth, tucked down in the left corner, had a handmade blindfold pasted over the eyes. It seemed that, especially in this case, a picture really was worth a thousand words.

“Good morning,” said a dark-haired man, extending his hand toward me. “I’m Marcus Palmer.” He had on a navy V-neck sweater with worn elbows. But what caught my attention was the tie-dyed T-shirt he wore beneath it.

“I’m Glennis Harmon,” I told him. “Jacob’s mother.”

“Ah, Jacob’s mother,” he repeated as he leaned against his cluttered desk, folding his arms in front of him. “Is that your official tide?”

I wasn’t sure if he was making fun of me, but I was definitely feeling more self-conscious by the minute. “Is this how the counseling sessions for mothers usually begin?”

He laughed as he went around to the other side of his desk. I could see now that his dark hair was pulled back into a neat tail, and I guessed he was one of those baby boomers who hadn’t quite given up on the sixties yet. Then he pulled out what looked like a fairly decent leather chair, slightly out of place in his otherwise lackluster office.

“Now that you mention it,” he said as he sat down,“I suppose there are some similarities in my
mother
sessions.” He pushed a pile of papers off to one side of his desk. “The first thing I usually try to get across to family members and spouses of addicts, mothers in particular, is that this is
not your
fault.”

“Not my fault?” I echoed.

“That’s right.” He waited for my reaction.

I wanted to cooperate and hopefully get some answers for Jacob. So I figured I needed to be honest. “Okay, my mind can accept that it’s not my fault, but my heart feels differently.”

He nodded with a solemn expression as he folded his hands neatly on his desk. It seemed he was waiting for me to say something more. And because I dislike lapses in conversations, I accommodated him.

“I mean I’ve read a few things…books about addiction, articles on the Internet, and I
know
that I’m not
really
responsible for my son’s behavior.
But then I’m a mother.” I held up my hands hopelessly. “It feels like everything and anything that goes wrong with my children must be my fault. I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, and I wonder if I’d breast-fed him, maybe he wouldn’t have turned out this way. Or maybe if I hadn’t pushed him to potty train by two. Or maybe I took away his binkie too soon.”

“Binkie?”

“You know, a pacifier.”

“Oh.”

“Silly things like that. Of course, that’s only on nights when I know he’s in his bed, hopefully sleeping. But that seems to be less and less anymore. On the nights when I don’t know where he is, I find myself wide awake as I imagine a hundred and one ways he has been killed or injured or arrested. I’ve even reached the place where the image of his being arrested seems the most favorable.”

“You want him to get arrested?” His expression was completely blank now.

“No, of course not.
I’m his mother
. Why would I want to see my son in jail?”

“Because maybe you think he’d be safer there?”

I nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. Although I’ve heard that horrible things can happen in jail, too, and that inmates are still able to get drugs and…” I sighed. “I just feel so completely hopeless sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Okay,
all
the time. I feel hopeless
all
the time—24/7.” He smiled now. Not a big smile, but sort of a knowing smile. “Well, you’re not alone, Glennis.”

“You feel hopeless too?”

He smiled again, slightly bigger this time. “
Sometimes
I do. It isn’t easy to deal with addicts day after day, many who don’t really want to recover,
some who want to but can’t. But mostly I’m okay. I was actually referring to other people who have an addict in their life.”

“Right.”

“Have you ever considered joining a support group like Al-Anon?”

“I went to a meeting.” Just one?

“Well.” I wanted to blame it all on Geoffrey now, to pour out all my grief and frustration and make it seem like his fault, but I knew that wouldn’t be completely true or even fair. “I guess I wasn’t sure if it was really worth it.”

“Worth it?”

“Oh, at the time I was still with my husband, and we didn’t agree on how to handle things, with Jacob I mean.” He nodded. “I’ve seen that happen a lot.”

“He thought Al-Anon was a total waste of time.”

“Did he go to a meeting too?”

I firmly shook my head. “I don’t think he would’ve liked being seen somewhere like
that
”

“Not good for his image?”

“Exactly.”

“But you went anyway.”

I shrugged. “I’ve long since quit caring about my image. I know I’m a bad mom, and I figure everyone else in Stafford knows it too.”

“Oh, come now, Glennis, I’m sure you’re not a bad mom. You’re here today, even though your son, who really should be here, has bailed on us.”

“The fact is, I would do anything to get Jacob away from drugs.
Anything
”

“I’m sure you would.” He studied me for a moment. “The problem is, there is nothing you can do.”

“Nothing?” I must’ve looked crushed. “Nothing at all?”

“I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. The only one who can help Jacob is Jacob.”

“That’s what my husband used to say.”

“Your husband was right.”

With those words came a jagged lump that lodged itself in my throat, making it, I felt sure, impossible to speak. And suddenly I wanted to get far, far away from this hopeless place and never come back. I had come here for answers, for help, and all I got was that.

“Are you all right?”

I nodded.

“Would you like a drink of water?”

I nodded again, looking down at my lap and fiddling with the strap of my purse as he went out, apparently in search of water. I suppressed the urge to dig for my keys and bolt from the stuffy room before he returned. No, I told myself. Knowing I would probably be charged for a full hour of counseling time, I was determined to get my money’s worth and, if nothing else, waste this discouraging man’s precious time.

He returned and handed me a paper cup of water. I took a slow sip and attempted to gather my wits. “So, if there’s nothing I can do, then why am I here? Why am I wasting my time?”

“There’s nothing you can do to rescue Jacob,” he continued. “But you can do something for yourself.”

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t concerned about myself, that when your son is killing himself with drugs, you cease to care about your own life, you almost cease to exist at all. You are only consumed with ways you might be able to help him, things you could do to save him. But I simply sat there and said nothing.

“You need to take care of yourself, Glennis.”

I took in a shaky breath, afraid that I was about to completely lose it. “But how can I take care of myself when my son is out there ruining his life with drugs?”

“It’s a daily thing, Glennis, a moment-by-moment process. You can only take one step at a time, and sometimes they’re just baby steps. It’s really not so different from what we teach those who come here to recover. You have to work it out for yourself, one day at a time.” He continued to talk for a while, but I’m afraid that most of his words were lost on me. I was probably still stuck on the bit about my husband being right. How could it be that Geoffrey had been right? That must mean I had been wrong.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. “Excuse me,” I said, cutting him off in midsentence. “Do you really believe my husband was right?”

He looked as if I had momentarily lost him. “Oh, you mean about saying that only Jacob could help Jacob.”

“I guess so.” Actually I meant about
everything
. Had Geoffrey been right about everything?

“Well, I suppose I should be careful with my words. I certainly don’t want to devalue the important role that family members can play in a person’s recovery Statistics prove that a good support network of loving family and friends can really improve a person’s chances of making a complete recovery.”