Crystal Lies (21 page)

To my surprise, Jacob managed to sort of pull himself together as well. Oh, his hair was still a bit shaggy and limp, and his eyes still contained that lost and vacant look, but his clothes were clean and somewhat appropriate. Sure, it wasn’t the sort of outfit that I would’ve encouraged him to wear to a friend’s funeral, but I knew I couldn’t be too picky Then as we got into the car, to my dismay I noticed that Jacob seemed rather agitated and twitchy, and I suspected this was a side effect of the crystal meth. I wondered if he had just injected himself and was experiencing some sort of chemical high. Would it get worse?

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I tried to block the mental image of my son sitting on his futon in my apartment, baring his forearm—or was that only in movies, so much I didn’t know—and shooting up that ghastly substance. Even so, I wouldn’t have been surprised if that hadn’t just happened. And why not? I saw how he clung to his grimy backpack, hauling it around wherever he went, like a security blanket. Was that where he kept his drug supplies? And, if so, wasn’t he the least bit worried about getting caught? Getting searched? I felt certain I would never make a good drug addict. The fear of getting caught was more than enough to keep me on the straight and narrow for life.

It was cold and foggy as we rode silently through town. And by the time I parked at the church, my stomach felt as if it were tied in its usual knots, only more so. I was even beginning to wonder if I might not be developing an ulcer. “Quit thinking of yourself,” I silently admonished myself. “You are here to support Sherry and her family.”

I’d been surprised that Jacob had agreed to come with me this early. But I had told him I could use some help with setting the tables and getting things ready since a light buffet would be served after the funeral. Of course, this was mostly my way of keeping my eye on him today, because I still hoped we’d have time for another rehab talk before he slipped through my fingers again. But I knew Jacob might attempt his magic vanishing act when Matthews memorial service ended. “Please, God,” I silently prayed as I put another casserole into the oven to warm,“don’t let Jacob get away before we can really talk.”

As it turned out, Jacob proved quite helpful in the preparations. None of the tables had even been unfolded. So while I was working with Marsha to put together some harvest-inspired table decorations of gourds and Indian corn, Jacob and Marsha’s husband, Walter, managed to get the tables and chairs arranged. Walter was being quite the cutup, and I think Jacob was even enjoying being useful for a change. I suppose I entertained brief hopes that doing something as simple as this—especially under these sad circumstances—might remind him of what was really important in life.

We barely finished before it was time for the service to begin, but
when we got to the sanctuary, it was packed. Standing room only. Marsha and Walter had been smart enough to have someone save them seats, but I hadn’t even thought about it. Feeling somewhat dismayed that we were forced to stand in the back by the entrance, I reminded myself that this was probably exactly where we belonged. After all, Jacob
had
been spared that night. My son had survived, even though he was the kid who continually pushed the envelope, testing his limits, playing with fire. And yet he was still standing. And Matthew, the good boy, was taken. How odd of God.

I sneaked furtive glances at my son during the service, wondering if any of this was getting to him. Did he realize how lucky he was that this funeral was Matthew’s and not his? Did he realize that his luck could run out at any given moment? I looked at the backpack now slung loosely over his shoulder and wondered about its contents. A mini meth lab perhaps? No, of course not, I scolded myself. Maybe I was growing delusional. Perhaps as another side effect of my son’s troubling addiction. Maybe this was the result of the perennial umbilical cord that never seemed to completely detach itself—at least in my mind. Maybe the drugs were funneling from Jacob to me. Or maybe I was simply losing my mind.

I tried not to feel envious when I spied Sarah and Geoffrey seated comfortably just one row behind the immediate family. Naturally, they hadn’t even considered saving spots for Jacob and me. Not surprising. I wondered if they would even speak to us afterward. I wondered why I even cared. Although I do love my daughter dearly. And I realized that I was as much to blame as anyone for her selfishness. I didn’t think it would make any difference if she spoke to me or not.

It seemed everyone at the service was in tears by the time it ended. Well, everyone but my son. But I was trying not to look at him. Instead I tried to listen as the pastor reminded us that Matthew had given his heart to God as a teenager and that, although he’d gone through a brief
rebellion following high school, he had returned to the fold during his second year in college.

“It’s just one of those unexplainable events that we will probably never fully understand,” he continued. “Not until we stand face to face before God. But we do know this: God doesn’t make mistakes. And even though Matthew and his friends may have made some mistakes that fateful night, the eve of Matthew’s twenty-first birthday, we can be assured that God the Father was watching. His hand was on Matthew’s shoulder. And even now, Matthew is safe in his heavenly Father’s arms and…” He continued to speak, but I had difficulty focusing on the words after that.

My mind felt like a captive bird trapped in a pitch-black box, as if I were fluttering about in the darkness trying to find an escape but banging into walls and falling down and beating myself into oblivion. My head felt light and dizzy as I stood in the doorway, swaying.

“Are you okay, Mom?” whispered Jacob.

“I’m not sure…”

Then he took me by the hand and led me out to the foyer where he found an empty bench by the rest rooms and helped me sit down. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Just feeling faint,” I said. I leaned over and took a deep breath to steady myself.

“You want me to get someone?” he asked as he sat down beside me.

“No, no…I’m fine,” I muttered. “You go back in there, Jake.” But he stayed by my side, and we listened to the remainder of the service from the bench by the rest rooms.

Finally the speaking stopped, and a woman sang. I was feeling better now, a bit guilty for removing Jacob from the actual service. I turned to encourage him to go back in there but noticed he now had tears running down his cheeks. The first I’d seen today. I reached over and put my arm around his shoulders, pulling him toward me. To my relief, he didn’t resist.

“I’ll go in, Mom,” he whispered.

“I’ll wait out here. You go on back into the sanctuary,” I said. “No, I mean I’ll go into rehab. I’ll go.”

My heart leaped with hope, and although I knew it was wrong to feel so elated at the funeral for my best friend’s son, I just couldn’t help myself. I hugged Jacob and promised him he wouldn’t be sorry.

The rest of the funeral passed in a blur for me. As expected, Geoffrey and Sarah were somewhat cool and reserved when we went over to say hello to them after the service ended. And I could feel them both looking at Jacob in that way—as if they were simultaneously thinking what an embarrassing loser he was. Perhaps they felt the same about me, too. Who could be sure? Even so, I wanted to tell them that things were going to change soon, that Jacob had just agreed to go into rehab and would be getting much better. But I kept quiet since I wasn’t sure how Jacob would feel. It should be up to him to make this kind of announcement to his family. Most important, he had made the decision for himself. And on the pretense of using the rest room, I went outside and called Hope’s Wings on my cell phone, making an appointment for Jacob to be evaluated the next morning.

“We’re so glad for you, Mrs. Harmon,” said the receptionist named Susan. “Jacob has been on our prayer list ever since you first came in here.”

“Thank you,” I told her. “I really appreciate it.”

“See you two at ten tomorrow,” she said.

“Yes.” I hung up and wondered if Jacob would be able to make it that long. But I knew that was the earliest they could see him. Still, I remembered what had happened the last time, when I had gone by myself. It was less than twenty-four hours, but I knew that anything could happen between now and then.

I was about to go back inside when I got a whiff of cigarette smoke. I turned and was shocked to see Sherry standing by a fire exit with her back to me, and she was smoking.

“Sherry?” I said as I walked over to her.

Without turning around, she dropped her cigarette, crushed it beneath her shoe, then turned to see me. “Glennis, what are you doing out here?”

I smiled sheepishly at her. I could tell she was embarrassed, but then so was I. “Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

She squirted some breath spray in her mouth, then tucked it back into her purse. “I used to smoke, back in my college days and up until the boys were born. Don’t ask me why, but I took it up again the day after Matthew died.” She shook her head. “I know it’s totally crazy. I can’t even explain it myself. But it’s like I needed to do it.”

I put my arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “I think I understand.”

“Really?” she looked skeptical.

I nodded. “How are you doing?”

She shrugged. “As well as can be expected.”

I could see, even beyond the dark glasses, that her eyes were still puffy. “This is so hard,” I said.

“Yes, especially when everyone keeps coming up and saying something really sweet about Matthew. It’s like I just couldn’t take it anymore. I know that’s horrible. They’re only trying to help. But I really needed a break.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t believe I sneaked outside the church to smoke. My reputation will be shot.”

I smiled. “I don’t think anyone saw you.”

“What’re you doing out here?”

“I was just calling Hope’s Wings.” I tried to suppress my happiness over Jacob’s sudden turn of heart. “He’s decided to go in, Sherry,” I told her. “I made an appointment for tomorrow morning.”

She hugged me. “That’s wonderful, Glennis.”

“Well, tomorrow’s still a ways off. And remember what happened last time.”

“I’ll be praying especially for him.” She sighed. “If God had to take my son, the least he can do is give you back yours.”

I felt that familiar stab of guilt again. “Oh, its not really like that, Sherry.”

She waved her hand. “I know. But I guess it’s just starting to sink in, Glennis. I mean the way that Matthew died. At first, I couldn’t understand how Rod was so focused on the kids who took Matthew to the bar that night and how they bought him those drinks. But now I do. Now I’m really getting angry. Bitter even. Rod is talking about getting a lawyer and seeking some kind of murder charges.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and maybe against the bar, too.” She made a fist and shook it. “I mean what kind of place allows stupid young kids to buy twenty-one shots for one person to consume? Bartenders are supposed to be trained to know that half that amount can seriously hurt someone. It was irresponsible.”

I nodded. “You’re right.”

“And according to Brent, Matthew’s roommate at college, Matthew hadn’t been into the party scene at all this year. So his body wouldn’t have been accustomed to alcohol. Our family doctor said that Matthew was probably legally drunk after just a few drinks and that as a result he wouldn’t have been thinking clearly when he consumed the others. Rod says it must at least be a clear-cut case of manslaughter if not second-degree murder.”

“Oh, Sherry, that’s so sad.”

“Sad and wrong.” She was pulling out her package of cigarettes now. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

She held the red and white package out to me. “Want to try one?” I studied the pack of Marlboros and inwardly cringed. Smoking had never appealed to me. But then I decided, I can do this for Sherry. So I
took one. And feeling like a delinquent junior high girl, I glanced both ways as I waited for her to first light hers, then mine. I took a tentative puff, then immediately began coughing and sputtering uncontrollably.

“Shh,” she warned me, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was around.

I regained my composure but decided that smoking was probably not going to solve any of my problems. Even so, I pretended to smoke with her. For some reason it seemed the right thing to do.

“Thanks,” she told me. Then we both used her breath spray and went back inside.

“I know it seems impossible to believe,” I told her as we walked down a hall toward the sounds of voices in the fellowship hall,“but somehow I believe you’re going to get through this, Sherry. And that you’ll be stronger for it.”

She stopped walking and turned and looked at me. “And do you believe that for yourself, too, Glennis?”

I frowned. “I’d like to. But most of the time I don’t think I’m as strong as you are.”

She grabbed my arm and stared into my eyes. “Yes, you are! If I can survive losing Matthew, you can survive this thing with Jacob too.” I nodded. “Right. Maybe you’re right.”

The crowd in the fellowship hall had definitely thinned, and I was relieved to see that Jacob was still there. I realized I had taken quite a risk by being gone that long. But fortunately he’d been roped in by Walter to put away chairs. I helped out in the kitchen, but it wasn’t long before I noticed Jacob trying to catch my eye, and I knew it was time for us to go.

“You were a good sport,” I told him as we headed for the parking lot. “Thanks.”

“Well, Walter’s pretty funny. In an old-guy kind of way. Did you know he used to be a surfer dude?”

“No, I barely know them. Marsha is a friend of Sherry’s.”

Then Jacob told me about some of Walter’s adventures in surfing, and for a few moments I almost believed that I’d gone back in time. Like when Jacob was still in high school and still doing the normal things. But when we got to the apartment building, instead of going up with me, Jacob announced that he wanted to take a walk.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “It’s freezing cold out here, and you don’t even have on a coat.”

“I’ve got a sweatshirt in my pack,” he assured me.

“Will you be home in time for dinner?” I asked.

“Sure,” he promised with a somewhat convincing smile.

Even so, I had a feeling he wouldn’t. I had a suspicion that I wouldn’t see my son again for a while. If at all. I trudged up the stairs to my apartment as if lead weights were tied around my ankles. I felt almost certain that all my hopes for Jacob had been in vain today. I wondered if I should call Hope’s Wings and tell them to give tomorrow’s ten o’clock appointment to someone else. Someone who might actually show up.