Crystal Lies (28 page)

He shakes his head.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

He shrugs now.

“When?” I demand. “When have I ever lied to you?”

His chapped lips curve into what is almost a smile. “The Easter bunny, tooth fairy, Santa Claus…”

I laugh and squeeze his hand. “Seriously, Jake. I would never deceive you. I would never do anything to hurt you. You can trust me.”

“Was Dad really mad about the break-in?”

I nod. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Jacob. He was furious.”

“Do you think he called the police?”

“I honestly don’t know, Jacob. He did say he was going to. But it’s hard to tell with your dad. It could be pretty embarrassing, you know, that his own son burglarized his house. On the other hand, he was really angry. I don’t know what he did.”

Jacob looks toward the buildings now. “I guess it wouldn’t be as bad as jail here. Do you think?”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“But what if they can’t take me today, Mom?”

I think he sounds honestly worried now, as if he’s finally made up his mind to get treatment and will be devastated if he can’t get in.

“All we can do is ask.” I feel myself choking up again. “Do you want to go see?”

He nods and reaches for the door handle. Together we get out of the
car and walk through the fog toward the main office building. I pray with each step. I pray for a miracle.

“Is Marcus here?” I ask the receptionist. This is a new girl I haven’t met before, and I decide not to waste time trying to explain anything.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks.

“No. Is he busy?” I glance up at the clock and see that it’s twelve thirty, so it’s entirely possible that he has left for lunch. I know he likes to go to a deli not far from here. Maybe I can find him there. Still, the idea of getting Jacob back into the car and away from Hope’s Wings worries me. What if he suddenly changes his mind?

“Glennis!” calls a familiar voice, and I turn to see Marcus walking toward us.

“Hi,” I say, trying to sound calm although I feel certain my eyes are giving me away. “Do you have a few minutes?”

He smiles. “Of course. Come on back to my office.” He extends his hand to Jacob, waiting to shake. “How’s it going, Jacob?”

“Okay.” Jacob tentatively shakes Marcus’s hand, then glances over his shoulder as if he’s considering a fast break.

But Marcus puts his other hand on Jacob’s shoulder and guides him back down the hallway. “How’s your music coming along?”

“All right,” mumbles Jacob as we go into the office.

Once we’re seated I quickly tell Marcus that Jacob is interested in treatment now. Marcus, being the professional that he is, turns his attention to Jacob, ascertaining that this is really true.

“You really want to be here?” he asks, studying Jacob’s face closely.

Jacob swallows, then nods.

“This is a decision you’re making of your own free will?” Jacob nods again.

“You really want help? You want to change?”

Then Jacob begins to tear up, and I grow worried that the emotion
will make him change his mind. I know how he hates crying in front of anyone.

“All right then,” says Marcus quickly. “You’re in luck, Jacob. We just got a vacancy this morning.”

Jacob looks back up at Marcus, and his face actually looks relieved. I wonder if I might faint. “What do we do?” I ask, afraid this is all just a dream that will blow up in my face again.

“You don’t need to do anything, Glennis,” he tells me.

I feel confused now. What does this mean?

“You’re free to go.” He nods to the door.

“Just like that?” I ask, standing.

He smiles at me, probably to reassure me that everything is fine. “You’ve already done the paperwork, Glennis. Of course, Jacob will have to sign some things himself. Then we’ll take him over to detox and get him a room and maybe some lunch if he’s hungry.” He looks at Jacob now. “I think it’s meat loaf today, but don’t let that discourage you. It’s really pretty good. I thought I’d have some myself.”

“So I just leave then?” I repeat.

Marcus nods.

“Okay.” Then I pause by Jacob, and leaning down, I tell him I love him and that I’m proud of him. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I assure him as I move toward the door. “I know you’re in good hands now.”

He sort of nods but doesn’t look completely convinced. I can tell he’s starting to get the jitters now. I suspect it’s not so much out of anxiety as a side effect of the meth. And then I walk out of Marcus’s office, down the hall, out of the building, and across the parking lot to my car.

I feel like a war veteran as I slowly drive home from Hope’s Wings. I remember this old guy who used to live next door to my parents when I was a kid. He’d survived World War II but had lost a leg. I remember how
he used to say he could still feel the pain of that missing leg sometimes. I think he called it “phantom pain.” And that’s how I feel right now. Like Jacob is still in the car with me. Still hunched over and hurting and hopeless. And I am still hurting for him. Phantom pain. I wonder if it will ever go away.

Feeling slightly stunned after I get back to the apartment, I walk around in a daze for nearly an hour and even begin to wonder if I simply imagined my entire morning. I pick up the phone, then set it down again, fighting the urge to call Hopes Wings and ask if Jacob Harmon is really there, really enrolled, and getting treatment. Then I realize its entirely possible that he may have gotten cold feet after I left. He might have refused to sign the papers and be admitted. He could be walking back toward town this very minute. Even so, I don’t allow myself to call. Not yet.

Instead I gather up my things and go downstairs to do the laundry.

“Glennis,” says Jack as he sees me turning toward the laundry room,“how’re you doing?”

“I’m not sure, Jack.”

He opens the door for me. “Something wrong?”

“Not exactly.” I set down my laundry basket and remove my backpack. “I took Jacob to Hope’s Wings this morning.”

He slaps me on the back. “That’s great news.”

I nod. “I know it is. But I think I’m still in shock.” Then I tell him the whole story, still questioning whether it really happened or not.

“You need to take a deep breath,” he tells me,“and just relax.”

“I’m not sure if I even know how,” I admit.

“It takes time,” he tells me as he opens the lid of the washer for me.

I put my dirty laundry into the washer, pour in the soap, insert my quarters, and wait for the water to start coming in. Then I turn and look
at Jack. “It’s so amazing,” I tell him, finally allowing myself to smile. “I think it’s a real miracle, Jack.”

He nods. “But it’s only just beginning, Glennis. It’s up to Jacob to make the miracle work.”

“Right.” I feel myself deflating again.

“But it’s a great start, Glennis.” He smiles broadly. “And the Bible says not to despise small beginnings.”

“Yes. I’m sure you’re right, Jack. But in some ways I’m almost afraid to believe the whole thing. It seems so unreal.”

“Well, take it easy on yourself. Give it a few days to sink in.”

I pick up my laundry backpack as Jack opens the door for me again. “Thanks,” I tell him,“for everything.”

“I’m not done praying for your boy yet,” he says as we walk outside together. “He’s got a long road ahead of him, and old Jack here is going to be praying every day that Jacob gets there in one piece.”

“I appreciate it.” Then I go back upstairs and sit down on the sofa and wonder what to do. But I am so tired and drained that all I can do is lie down and fall asleep. But it is a good sleep. Perhaps the best sleep I have ever had.

I’m surprised to wake at the sound of the phone’s loud ring, and just the same as before—as if nothing has changed at all—I rush for the phone, worried that it’s bad news.

“Hello?” I say breathlessly.

“Glennis,” Marcus says in a calm voice. “How are you doing?”

“Oh…” My relief is overcome by fear. “Is he still there?” I ask quickly. “Did Jacob stay?”

Marcus chuckles. “Yes. I thought you might be worried. He’s still here. He’s signed all of the appropriate forms and agreed to stay with us until he is well.”

I sigh now, deeply. I feel like maybe I can breathe again. “Thank you so much for calling,” I tell him. “Can you tell me how he’s doing?”

“Well, as you can imagine, it’s pretty rough at first. But the staff is used to this sort of thing. Don’t worry, Glennis. He’s getting the best treatment.”

“Good.” Still, I’m not sure. I feel personally responsible if anything goes wrong.

“I may even stick around here myself tonight,” he continues. “To keep an eye on things.”

“Really? Does that mean it’s serious? Is Jacob in any danger?”

“No, not really. But the first couple of days are always the hardest. And he’s got a lot of crud in his system. He must’ve really had some binge. Poor guy.”

“I’m so glad he agreed to stay.” I sit down in the rocking chair and feel my shoulders relax a bit. “I can hardly believe this is finally happening.”

“It usually takes a while for it to really sink in,” he says.

“It’s like I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“It’s time for you to take care of yourself, Glennis.”

“I know…” And I
think
I do know, but then I’m not sure.

“No, I mean
really
. You’ve been under an incredible amount of stress. And you’ve made some progress. But it’s time for you to get serious about your own welfare.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Whatever makes you feel good. Just take it easy, relax, unwind, let it soak in that Jacob is in recovery.
Just breathe
, Glennis.”

I almost laugh. “Do you know you’re the second person to say that to me today?”

“Who was the first?”

“Jack. He met me doing laundry.”

“Well, Jack is right.”

“Which reminds me,” I say. “My laundry is still in the washer downstairs.”

“Why don’t you just leave it?”

“The management doesn’t like it when you do that.”

“Well, remember what I said. Just enjoy this time, Glennis. Take it easy and don’t forget to breathe.”

“Thanks.”

I hang up the phone and put on my jacket and prepare to go down to the laundry room. But there in front of my door, just like before, is my basket with my dry and neatly folded laundry and a little note pinned on the top. “He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.’ Psalm 91:1-2.”

I’m beginning to believe that there are, and have been, angels watching over me these past several months. I bring in my clean laundry and close the door, then sit down and contemplate some way I can show my appreciation to Jack.

When I was a little girl, growing up in my conservative and fundamentalist Christian home, I adhered to the belief that if I did everything just right, if I did my very best…then life would go well for me. Now I realize that may not be true. Oh, it’s not that I think I should
throw in
the towel and just give up. But I no longer see my life as predictable. I’ve given up on the expectation that my “good behavior” controls the outcome of my life. In fact, I think the only thing I really control (and I’m not even sure about this) is my own choices. And that’s it. But maybe that’s the way God wants it to be. Maybe this feeling of vulnerability and helplessness is what makes us keep running back to him. It works for me.

Tomorrow is Christmas. But you wouldn’t know this to look around my apartment. Other than the few Christmas cards on my coffee table,
there are no signs of the holiday here. This is unusual for me, since I’ve always been one of those women who decorate every available surface. But this year is different. It’s not that I’m depressed so much as that I am trying to be thoughtful and intentional. I don’t need stuffed Santas or snowmen or jolly sprigs of holly to remind me of the gift God has given.

I felt a little bad when Sarah begged me to join her at my mother’s house, but I knew this was more than I could do. I simply told her that I needed to be here for Jacob.

“I don’t mean to sound jealous,” she told me,“but it seems you’ve given enough to him.”

“I know,” I assured her. “And if he wasn’t in rehab right now, I think I would’ve considered leaving town.”

“But if he’s in rehab, he should be okay.”

“Yeah, that’s sort of true, Sarah. But for rehab to really be successful, they encourage the support of family members. I go once a week for the family meetings, and they’ll have this special program on Christmas Eve that they really want family to attend. It’s my way of showing Jacob that I haven’t given up on him.”

“Do you think I should come home for it?” she asked suddenly.

“Oh, honey, it’s so sweet that you’d even consider doing this.”

“Well, should I come or not?”

“I think you should come if you really want to come, Sarah. It’s your decision. And if you can’t do this, I don’t think you should feel bad about it.”

There was a long pause. “I guess I don’t really want to come,” she finally admitted. “But if you thought it would help him—”

“Don’t worry about it,” I assured her. “But if you have time to write Jake a note or a card, I think that might help him as much as a visit.”

“I’ll do that, Mom,” she promised.

And she kept her word and did it. And now I have this card along
with a few other things all bagged up and ready to take over to Hope’s Wings tonight.

Is this really how I wanted to spend Christmas Eve? I ask myself as I scrape a thin layer of ice from my windshield. Hanging out with a bunch of addicts and their sad-eyed families in the drab rehab-center activities room? Then I remind myself of how life felt just a few weeks ago, and I am surprised that I can even question this, but I suppose I’m just a little emotionally drained.

Still, I know this is far better than being home alone in my apartment and wondering whether Jacob is dead or alive. Count your blessings, I tell myself as the engine in my car finally turns over. Besides, I remember as I pull out into the street, Marcus will be there tonight. I turn on the radio, and it’s not long before I am smiling and humming to the Christmas music as I drive across town. To be honest, I am warmed at the thought of not only seeing Jacob clean and sober but also spending some time with Marcus as well. Really, life is not so bad.

“Merry Christmas, Mom!” calls Jacob as soon as I enter the room. He is instantly by my side, taking my coat and smiling just as he used to smile back in the old days.

“Merry Christmas,” I tell him as we hug. Then I hand him the bag. The “gifts” I brought for him are only practical items like shaving cream and socks and boxers, and all remain unwrapped (as specified in the party invitation), and no edibles are allowed since there is always the concern that drugs might be sneaked in through food. Although why a loved one would smuggle contraband into this place is way beyond me. I can’t imagine emerging from all I’ve been through to get Jacob into this place just so I could sneak him in a stocking full of needles and crystal meth.

Just the same, I had to pass through the “detox” entrance where Molly (tonight’s “guard”) inspected everything to make sure it was acceptable. They even go through your purse and pockets when you come to visit.
Marcus told me that I’d be amazed at the lengths some recovery patients will go to in order to get a friend or family member to smuggle something past the “guards.”

“Then why are they here?” I asked him.

“Some are trying to get out of being sentenced for a drug-related crime,” he told me. “They say the right things and act like they’re here for the right reasons, but later we find out it was really a scam to avoid the rap.”

Of course, that only reminded me of the pressure I’d put on Jacob to agree to treatment. I hadn’t actually told Marcus about that yet. Hadn’t told anyone. Not even Geoffrey when I called to tell him the good news about Jacobs recovery, just in case he wanted to visit his son, which didn’t seem likely.

“Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing,” Geoffrey had said, clearly unimpressed.

“Yes,” I’d agreed, ready to end the conversation quickly. Then to my surprise my ex-husband admitted that he hadn’t told the police that the break-in was Jacob’s doing.

“But I thought you said that you
called them?
” I asked, feeling confused. “Didn’t you have the police come up to the house?”

“Yes.”

“But couldn’t they tell by the notes and the fingerprints that—”

“I took care of all that.” He loudly cleared his throat. “And if you want to help keep your son out of trouble, you’d better keep that little bit of information to yourself.”

“What do you mean, Geoffrey?” I demanded. “You took care of
what?’

“The incriminating evidence.”

“You tampered with evidence?” I felt stunned now Geoffrey was a lawyer; he knew better than to do something like this.

“Look, Glennis,” he said in a gentle voice. “Jacob doesn’t need me to add to his problems.”

“Yes,” I agreed, still shocked. “I…uh…I suppose that’s generous of you.”

“And the less we say about any of this, the better.”

“That’s fine with me.”

So we said good-bye and hung up in a very civilized way, and I even wondered if this divorce might actually proceed in the controlled and dignified fashion that Geoffrey Harmon hoped for.

Of course, I later learned through Sarah that Geoffrey was getting a very nice insurance settlement for the damaged and stolen items. Naturally, I didn’t mention her brother’s involvement in the break-in. Nor did I mention her father’s unethical behavior in covering it up. Perhaps some things really are better left unsaid. I’m still not sure.

“Merry Christmas, Glennis,” says Marcus as he comes up from behind. I turn around to see him wearing a rather garish red and green Christmas sweater. I try not to wince at the clashing colors.

“It’s a gift,” he explains, nodding over to where an overweight young woman is seated on the sofa. She seems intently focused on a knitting project, and the yarn is a bright orange shade that would probably be welcomed by a highway worker. “Janice made this for me,” he tells me in a slightly louder voice. “For Christmas.”