Read Space Online

Authors: Emily Sue Harvey

Space (16 page)

“She's had this before,” I said. “It's chronic. She's had these episodes — to a much lesser degree – since childhood. But they've just recently gotten worse.”
The physician shook his head. “Probably because she's run down from her drug experiences. Takes time to recover. Lots of it.”
“She's under a lot of stress right now,” I said.
Dan stepped closer and asked. “Did any drugs show up?”
I looked away, my insides tightening.
Why did he look for trouble
? Why couldn't he put aside his skepticism when she was truly ill?
Dr. Temp hesitated, then looked at him. “I can't give you that information without her permission. I'm sorry.”
Dan had expected this, but it still didn't prevent him from being royally ticked off. But then, we'd refused to sign the admittance form, owning any debt incurrence. Those would fall under Faith's responsibilities. Thus, Dan would not get any information about controversial drugs in the lab work.
I sensed by the stony set of his features that this merely reinforced his suspicions that Faith had secretly dipped into verboten substances.
Personally, I did not think so. I had not seen the telltale signs so evident during her addiction experiences.
But my opinion, already shared with him, fell on deaf ears.
“You folks may as well go home and rest up,” Dr. Temp suggested. “She's going to be sedated throughout the night. You won't be allowed back in ER, anyway. She's leveled out. So you can relax.”
We left for home.
“I feel in my gut she's been doing drugs again,” Dan insisted quietly, his hands gripping the wheel on the drive home. His eyes got that hypnotic look, intense, dark, set straight ahead.
“I don't think so,” I reiterated, struggling to keep it together when I felt my insides would burst and I would begin to scream and wail and howl.
“You're too trusting, Deede. She's a master at manipulation. You're too innocent for her. She's smart — way ahead of both of us. And I can't understand why her parents can't be let in on the test results.”
I rolled my fingers into fists and squeezed tightly, keeping my voice calm. “Because we're not paying for the tests.”
He huffed. “I support her in every way imaginable. And I'm not enlightened on her drug status? Something's wrong with this picture.”
“You're right,” I agreed. That's all he needed. He began to settle down.
But I felt it in the deepest part of me. The unforgiveness.
And I wondered. Would it always be so?
With oral antibiotics, Faith continued to battle the strep infection at home. She reconnected with Jensen
immediately. She let me read his e-mail account of the missing gap in his communication:
The activity I've been engaged in was confidential. Our unit was charged with hardening computer systems against a threatening cyber attack from a foreign power. The threat was heightened to the degree that we shut down — thus restricting access to all communications systems until the threat was mitigated. I was charged with analyzing the malware's code to determine what it does, how it spreads and how to stop it.
 
So, Faith, I had to work around the clock to accomplish this, leaving almost no time nor, indeed, access to the Internet. Actually, Operations Security aka OPSEC demanded that I could not notify my family of this changed schedule, new limits on communications or the new nature of my job. Sorry it worried ya'll. But it was not my call.
 
I'm happy you're better after your nightmare with that crappy strep germ. It s always been a burr in our behinds, hasn't it? Remember the time I was eight and you were seven I went with ya'll to Myrtle Beach and we'd just gotten there, spent one night and you woke up sick and crying with strep throat and we had to go home? The pits! You and I both cried all the five hour drive home.
 
Faith, I know your depression is tough. I've had it myself at times. But remember what Noni always says: regardless of all the junk and crap, life is still beautiful. That's definitely paraphrasing it. But you get the picture. Stop beating up on yourself and try to accept each day as a new opportunity to be. And don't think about doing anything stupid. It will all work out in the end. Don't forget to go to church, either.
 
Love, Jensen.
I finished reading the message with tears in my eyes.
Faith sat in the other office chair, watching for my reaction. “He's very wise,” I said. “I hope you realize just how much.”
“He is pretty smart, isn't he?” Faith pushed from the chair onto her feet and headed for the porch. I heard her swing by the kitchen, grab her cigarettes and slam out the front door. And I realized she'd completely pogo-ed over the subject of Jensen's wise counsel.
Faith avoided introspection like a plague.
That had not changed since drug rehab.
She continued to hibernate on our shaded front porch, languishing in a white rocker, smoking, reading or, at frequent intervals, talking on her cell phone to non-names and faces. Rarely did she stoop to clarifying openness, melding her two terrains together to give me glimpses of her total world.
Mystique wrapped her. I did glean, over time, that these invisible friends were ones who'd usually either gone through drug withdrawal or with whom she had drug-affiliated relations.
To her credit, following drug rehab, Faith managed to cut off most of her past partying friends.
Positive changes. But dregs of the alien-Faith, who'd gone off to another planet in years past, remained, alive and well.
In recent days, any attempted engagement with her drew either disdain or suspicion. My conversation topics were viewed skeptically and critiqued before Faith would proceed with civility. Despite all my efforts and contributions, which seemed at times infinite, it never seemed enough.
Today, Dan came in for lunch. I heard him reprimanding Faith — again — for flicking her ashes on the porch.
“I'll sweep them off,” she insisted, though much nicer than had I reminded her.
“When?” Dan called over his shoulder as he came into the house.
“I'm so sick of her messes,” he snapped and pulled out his chair. I set his plate of homemade chicken salad, greens, fruit and cheese before him and joined him. Faith might or might not eat with us. She lived on her own timetable.
My head already pounded from Dan's “ashes” litany and from the fact that it was true. But it was like hearing the same tom-tom drumbeat message over and over and over until it triggered a hysterical response at the first beat.
“How's your day going?” I asked, overly bright, hoping to veer his mind in a more pleasant direction.
“Okay.” He drank thirstily of his iced tea. “I see she's not cleaning her room, either. I went up to ask her something this morning and that place looks like a dump. It's
not right, Deede. This is our house and she refuses to honor that.”
“I know.” My insides flattened out as if waiting for the next stomp of the foot.
He lowered his voice. “I was hoping for some privacy during this hour home — but I can see it's not to be.” His eyes relayed a different hunger from that for food, lifting my emotions somewhat.
I smiled in agreement and reached across to squeeze his hand. Our “private times” were a sore point with both of us. “Rain check,” I murmured and winked at him.
Faith did come in and join us. “Dad, Mr. Smith, our neighbor across the street, has a flat tire. Would you go help him? He's having a hard time with it.”
Dan looked at her. “Did you volunteer my services?” The words were low, yet biting.
“Not exactly. I told him you might be able to help him. Was that all right?”
“I would prefer that you ask me before volunteering my services. Mr. Smith is not physically challenged. So he can change his own tire, I suspect. That's what I do when I have a flat. Besides, I have a work agenda I have to meet every day. Work? You know?”
Faith crunched into a pickle. “So you won't help him?” Her voice was flat. Faith's usual timber.
Dan glared at her. “Faith you are such a control freak. Why don't you just leave me out of your plans in the future ?” He threw down his napkin and stomped his way out the front door, banging it shut behind him.
“Sheesh.” Faith rolled her eyes. “He's supposed to be such a fine Christian man, and he doesn't even want to help out his neighbor?”
“Stop it, Faith. You know that's not the point.”
“Oh? Then what is the point?”
“The point is that you're not only speaking for your father by volunteering his time and energy, you're also judging his Christian character. You're dissing him, Faith, and I don't like it a bit.” I threw down my napkin and marched from the kitchen.
“I hate this place,” she groused. “All I ever hear is how bad I am.”
Yes.
I sank heavily into my desk chair, desperately seeking escape
.
That's because that's how it is.
Dan's dark face flashed before me — and his hurried exit, as though he could hardly leave fast enough.
And I felt that heavy, sinking feeling in my gut.
His resentment was taking a toll on him.
On us.
“Mom, do you have ten dollars?” Faith asked nicely. I stopped typing and looked over my shoulder. She smiled at me from the doorway.
“No, I don't Faith.”
“Mama, you know you have some money somewhere, tucked away.”
“No, I don't,” I said truthfully. Both Dan and I had stopped carrying cash because it was for certain Faith would ask for it at some point in time.
She walked away mumbling to herself. I caught that she thought I was lying.
Dan was adamant that giving Faith money was detrimental.
That we were being her enablers. I agreed, in principle.
And, too, I agreed that Faith was a user.
Faith's fall from grace had been succinct and complete. During that plunge into hell and the climb out, she'd garnered all the stench that attaches itself to fallen, depraved creatures.
Now, trying to steer her to a fresh starting place, I paid her fines and court costs weekly, totaling hundreds and thousands of dollars. Yet the very next time she asked to borrow five dollars and I said “no,” she would erupt in effrontery, spouting “I hate my life,” or “I've got to get out of here.”
Before my own experience, at about this phase of a story, I'd have been the first to disgustedly tell parents, “Toss her out on the street.”
But since I was not an outsider blessed with the luxury of objectivity, I knew that I'd not started this odyssey only to quit after nearly a year of Faith's being drug-free. Our family history was extraordinary and Faith was not, in our eyes, dispensable.
These problems now facing me were part and parcel of Faith's entire recovery package. So I saved my strength for the important battles. Not the shouting matches.
Rather, now I would retreat to my room or computer and avoid talking to Faith until her anger and victimmentality subsided. Oh, yes, after cooling off, I attempted reasoning sessions. Deeply imbedded in me is a desperate desire to live in peace with all mankind.
This was especially fervent when it came to co-existing with my daughter. My only child. But Faith and I pushed buttons in each other that shouldn't be pushed.
We both are wired for passion, but it spirals in opposite directions during those clashes.
Today, she stuck her head in my office door again and asked, “Would you ask Dad if he has five dollars? Pretty please? I need some ibuprofen for this sore tooth. I'm afraid I'm getting an abscess again.”

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