Crystal Lies (25 page)

“I love you,” I said as he headed out the door.

“I love you too, Mom.”

After the door closed, I wondered if I should’ve asked him about rehab again. But then why bother? He knew that I desperately wanted him to go, that I was willing to drop everything to take him over, that I’d probably even sell my vital organs just to get him in. What good did it do to continually nag him? Perhaps it was better if I backed off a little. Maybe it would help him to see this need for himself.

All the various warnings I’d heard and read about codependency and enabling during these past few weeks seemed to be echoing through my brain. Naturally, that only made me feel totally inadequate as well as quite certain that some experts, including Marcus, might say I was a complete fool to give Jacob a single penny, not to mention my offer to fix Thanksgiving dinner for him and his, most likely, junkie friends.

But books and lectures don’t always speak to a mother’s heart. And perhaps some of the best lessons in life are, after all, learned the hard way. Fortunately, I was able to distract myself during the next couple of days as I forced my tiny kitchen to produce the Thanksgiving dishes that I’d so easily prepared in the past. I felt like a Pilgrim commando as I shoved the large turkey into the small oven, hoping that there’d still be room for rolls. And, feeling festive, I even arranged some Indian corn and brightly colored gourds among the candles I’d set out on the coffee table.

So why was I shattered and shocked when my turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes and pumpkin pies were all done, and the table was all set, but nobody showed? I mean, really, why was I surprised? The warm aromas of favorite dishes had comforted me temporarily, but my fuzzy
feelings vanished when I realized it was four o’clock, and once again I had been duped by my son.

Oh, it was entirely possible that Jacob had had every intention of coming for dinner and bringing his music buddies. But he’d probably simply forgotten. Most likely a result of his addiction and substance abuse. I knew that addicts had difficulty keeping appointments. I just hoped he was okay and not strung out or lying unconscious on the freezing street somewhere. This was another one of those times I wished I’d gotten that boy a dog-tag ID to wear around his neck. That way if he wound up in the emergency room or worse, he could at least be identified.

I paced back and forth in my little apartment, still hoping that Jacob and his friends might show up apologetic and hungry. But I knew this wasn’t going to happen. The sky was growing dusky as I peered out the window and down the street, hoping beyond hope to see a small band of renegades making their way toward the apartment complex. But the street remained surprisingly quiet. Everyone was probably tucked away in warm houses, sleeping off the effects of too much turkey and dressing.

I turned and looked at my feast, now cold and unappealing. My appetite had faded with my hopes, and for a moment I considered simply throwing the whole mess out. But that would be such a waste, and I had used nearly two weeks of my grocery budget for this dinner. Suddenly I remembered the story that Jesus had told about the man who had prepared a feast but no one had come. That man had sent his servants out to the streets to invite all the poor people. Of course, I had no servants to send out. And, as it was, I had already invited the poor people. After all, who was poorer than my son at the moment?

Then I remembered Jack Smart and Cammie and her two kids downstairs. Was it possible they might be interested in a Thanksgiving dinner this evening? Was the dinner even fit to serve? Without giving myself time to rethink or question myself, I pulled on a jacket and ran downstairs.

“What’s wrong?” asked Cammie as she opened the door. She looked haggard and tired, and I could hear the kids arguing back in a bedroom.

“I know this sounds crazy,” I began,“but I have this big Thanksgiving dinner upstairs. And, well, my guests never came, and I was, well, wondering if—”

“I would love to come!” she exclaimed, grabbing my hand. “I’d do anything to get out of this place today. The kids are driving me bonkers, and I was going to make macaroni and cheese. What time can we come?”

I smiled. “Give me about thirty minutes to warm things up.”

“Cool!” She turned and yelled,“Avery! Warren! Get ready. We’re going out tonight.”

I waved and took off for Jack Smart’s apartment, certain that I couldn’t get lucky twice in a row. But there was Jack in his slippers and cardigan.

“Are you hungry for turkey?” I asked.

He grinned. “Well, I did have a turkey TV dinner for my lunch, Glennis. But it sure wasn’t anything to write home about.”

“Well, I have turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie,” I explained. “And my guests never came, so I thought I’d invite some neighbors.”

“Sounds delicious.” He smacked his lips. “Can I bring anything?”

“Just your sweet self,” I told him. “Give me about thirty minutes to get it together.”

“Hello, Jack,” called a woman’s voice down the hall.

“That’s Mrs. Gardner,” said Jack in a quiet voice. “Widow lady, been here for years.” Then he called out a greeting to her and quickly introduced us.

“Would you like to join us for turkey dinner?” I asked her without even thinking it might sound strange.

She seemed surprised but pleased. “Why, that’d be very nice, dear. Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. I made enough to feed a small army, or a rock band.” I smiled. “Anyway, no one showed up, and I’d hate to let it go to waste.”

So it was settled. Jack and Mrs. Gardner and Cammie and her two little ones would be my guests tonight.

I was just turning on the oven to warm the food when the phone rang. I dashed for it, imagining it was Jacob saying that he and his friends were on their way. Well, even if that was so, they’d have to make do with a little less food. I certainly wasn’t about to turn my neighbors away now. But it was Marcus.

“I just thought I’d see how you were doing,” he said. “I still remember how hard it was on the holidays in the beginning.”

Touched by his thoughtfulness, I told him about fixing dinner for my no-shows.

“That’s too bad, Glennis, but not too surprising. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”

“I did the works,” I told him, describing the menu in detail.

“Wow, that sounds good.”

“Why don’t you come join us?”

“Us? I thought you said no one showed up.”

Then I explained my plan B to him, and he laughed. “I’d love to come.”

“Great,” I said. “Hopefully the turkey won’t be too dry.”

“I happen to like dry turkey.”

“Then come on over.”

So, what could’ve been a totally disastrous and depressing day turned out to be something of an adventure. The turkey wasn’t terribly dry, and the gravy was some of my best. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, and to my relief, all the leftovers fit in the refrigerator.

Then, after dessert was finished, Cammie decided to lead our somewhat diverse group in a rousing game of charades. But eventually we realized
that the generation gap was a serious challenge. (“Britney who?” asked a bewildered Jack Smart.) Plus, it was almost nine o’clock, and Avery and Warren were getting cranky, so the party began to break up.

“I should probably get the rug rats to bed,” said Cammie as she balanced a fussing Warren on one hip. “But thanks for having us over. I really do like your apartment. I wish you’d help me fix mine up cute like this.”

“I’d love to,” I told her as I handed her a paper plate of leftovers.

“And thank you so much for including me, dear,” said Mrs. Gardner, giving my hand a squeeze. “I feel that I’ve made a new friend today.”

“It’s been great getting to know you,” I said and handed her a plate of leftovers too.

“You’re a good cook, Glennis,” said Jack as he shook hands with Marcus. “And it’s been a pleasure meeting your friend Marcus here.”

“Thanks, Jack.” I handed him yet another plate. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“How about I give you a hand with the cleanup,” offered Marcus after my apartment emptied. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I
want to
, Glennis. And you might be surprised to learn that I know how to wash dishes.” He reached for my chef apron, then put it on and grinned.

As it turned out, Marcus proved to be quite adept in the kitchen. But first he insisted that I sit at the counter and simply watch. “You’ve already put in a long day,” he told me as he filled the sink with hot soapy water.

“But I feel guilty not—”

“No arguing.” He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and turned back to the sink. “Now, tell me, how’s it going?”

“What do you mean?” I studied him as he wiped down the counter next to the sink before he set the drain rack on it. I hadn’t failed to notice that Marcus was a nice-looking man, but seeing him wearing my apron
with his sleeves rolled up and making himself quite useful in my kitchen, I actually thought he was rather handsome.

I wondered what Geoffrey would think of someone like Marcus. He’d probably assume by his ponytail and unpretentious manner that Marcus was an “ old hippie” or even a loser. Geoffrey was quick to sum up people based on appearances. He claimed that he could pick the perfect jurors purely by their looks. I also knew that Geoffrey would be equally unimpressed by Marcus’s career change from a private practice in psychiatry to running Hope’s Wings, a place Geoffrey had already judged as an eyesore. But for some reason these things made me appreciate Marcus even more.

“I mean, how’s it going in regard to figuring out what you want to be when you grow up,” continued Marcus as he set a sparkling glass in the drain rack.

“Oh.” I brought my thoughts back to reality and considered this. “Well, I’ve been thinking about it and trying to be really honest with myself. I’ve never told anyone this before, but I think I’d like to run some sort of shop.”

“A shop?” His brows raised with interest. “Hmm. I hadn’t really pictured you as a businesswoman.”

I shook my head. “No, neither had I particularly. But this would be a shop where I could express my creativity.”

“A creative shop?”

I smiled. “I imagine it as kind of a gift and decorating shop. It would have antiques along with decorating accents, maybe even flowers. Does that sound crazy?”

“No, not at all.”

“I’ve been in shops like that in other towns. But we don’t have anything quite like that in Stafford.”

“There’s the Decorating Den, but it doesn’t have antiques.”

“And I know we have a number of antique and secondhand stores, but they don’t really do much with them. I mean, to show off the antiques and how they could be used to beautify a home.”

“And you definitely have a knack for that.” He turned and nodded to the apartment. “You’ve made this place into something special.”

“Thanks.” I leaned my elbows on the counter and continued to watch him. “It’s funny though. I mean, I always wanted to decorate my home in a unique way, but I never really got the chance…before…”

He frowned as he scrubbed a plate. “Why not?”

“My husband.” I paused. “I guess I’ll have to start calling him my ex-husband before long. It sounds strange though.”

“Your husband wouldn’t let you decorate your home?”

I explained about Geoffrey’s grandparents giving us a home and furnishings and how the die had been cast after that. “Geoffrey has very strong tastes. He likes what he likes, and since he was the one who brought home the paycheck, well, it didn’t seem right for me to argue with him.”

“Wow.” Marcus shook his head. “You were quite the little woman.”

“I know…it’s pathetic, isn’t it? Sometimes I felt as if I’d gone back in time, as if I were stuck in a fifties family sitcom like
Ozzie and Harriet or Father Knows Best
I even wore sweater sets and pearls.”

He laughed. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I suppose not, since most of the time now I wear sweats and jeans. But that’s probably more a sign of depression than personal expression. Or maybe I’m just rebelling.”

He picked up a dirty saucepan. “Don’t worry, Glennis. I’m sure it’s all part of your journey to find yourself.”

“Find myself,” I echoed. “Do you think it’s even possible?”

“I know it is.”

When the dishes were done and the kitchen was sparkling, I offered to make us a pot of coffee. “Unless you need to go,” I said.

“Do you think I could have another piece of pumpkin pie with it?”

“Of course.”

And so we sat down in the living room with our pie and coffee and continued to talk. And to my amazement, I found myself relaxing even more. I was laughing and feeling as if someone had miraculously turned back the clock, and I was suddenly a carefree college girl again. And then someone knocked on the door, and, presto chango, the magical moment came to an end.

“Who can that be at this hour?” I set down my coffee cup and stared at the door. Already my chest was tightening, and, as usual, I feared something was wrong. Could it be the police? Had something happened to Jacob?

“Want me to get it?” offered Marcus.

“No, that’s all right.” I stood up and headed for the door. Bracing myself for bad news, I opened it, and there stood Jacob.

“Hey, Mom,” he said as if it were perfectly normal for him to show up on my doorstep this late at night. And to be honest, I suppose it was. Just the same, his unexpected visits always took me by surprise.

“Jacob.” I opened the door wider. “Come in.”

He stepped inside, and I suspected by the jitters and twitches that he was on something. “Hey, it’s you,” he said, pointing at Marcus. “I remember you. You’re the counselor dude from the loony bin. What’re you doing here at my mom’s place anyway?” He glanced at me with suspicion. “What? Is this some kind of intervention or something?” He looked over my shoulder as if he expected someone else to come down the hallway.

“No, Jacob,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Marcus was here for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Jacob slapped his forehead. “Oh yeah, I totally forgot, huh? Sorry, Mom. But seriously, are you pulling something on me here?” He returned his focus to Marcus, then scratched his head.

“No one’s pulling anything, Jacob,” said Marcus.

“I don’t know.” Jacob still had his backpack securely in one hand. “This doesn’t feel right to me.” He turned and narrowed his eyes at me. “Mom?”

I held up my hands. “Honestly, Jacob, Marcus was simply here for dinner, along with some other friends that I managed to round up when you didn’t show.”

“Is anyone else here?” asked Jacob, peering toward the hallway again.

“No. My neighbors just left. Do you want some leftovers?”

“I, uh, I don’t know.” He looked at Marcus again.

“Maybe I should go,” said Marcus, standing.

I wasn’t sure what to do or say now. On one hand, it would simplify things if Marcus left. But at the same time, I was feeling a little uncertain about Jacob’s behavior tonight. Something about the look in his eye wasn’t only unsettling but also a bit frightening. Still, I reminded myself, he’s my son. Jacob would never do anything to hurt me. And yet I wasn’t sure.

“Or I can stay,” offered Marcus, carefully studying me as if he were reading my thoughts. I think he understood that I was uneasy.

I nodded at Marcus, then turned my attention back to Jacob. “I’m glad you’re okay, Jacob,” I began,“but I wish you had called me about not coming today. I was getting worried about you.”

“Like I said, Mom, I just totally forgot. Don’t you believe me?”

“Right.” I went into the kitchen now. “Are you hungry? There are still some leftovers.”

“I…uh…I don’t think so.”

“Want me to fix you a plate to take with you?” I asked. I couldn’t believe that I was hinting to Jacob that he would have to leave, that he wouldn’t be spending the night here. But I knew that he was still using, and I’d been trying to remain firm with him about not living here without getting help and getting clean. Still, I felt like the world’s worst excuse for a mother as I realized I would be throwing my very own son out on Thanksgiving.

“Huh?” He looked back and forth from me to Marcus and back again, as if he was trying to keep an eye on both of us, as if he thought we were really up to something.

“In case you get hungry later?” I said to get his attention back. “You could take some turkey and things with you.”

“No, that’s okay. I don’t want anything.” He turned back to Marcus, but his expression seemed to be turning hostile now “Really, man,” he said in an agitated voice,“I want to know what you’re doing here in my mom’s apartment. Why’d you come? Are you trying to get me into your loony bin again? Cuz I’m not going. I’m not into that kind of crap. I mean that place is for psychos and losers, you know. And I don’t care what you guys think. You’re not forcing me to go there.”

“That’s right, we’re not.” Marcus sat back down on the couch and looked evenly back at him. “No one gets forced into rehab, Jacob. It’s a personal choice that only you can make for your—”

“And don’t think you can sit there and talk me into it either.” Jacob shook his fist. “I don’t need your crap, man.”

“I’m not trying to talk you into anything, Jacob. And I realize that you’re high right now” Marcus was speaking in a soothing but personable voice, probably the same tone he used in working with patients. “And that naturally makes you feel a lot more edgy and suspicious about people. I know what that’s like. But, honestly, Jacob, I only came for turkey tonight.”

Jacob walked over to the front door now. “Yeah,
right.
”

“Your mom’s a great cook, Jacob. You missed out on a really good dinner.”

“Yeah, you bet.” He slung his backpack over a shoulder as he reached for the doorknob.

“I wish you’d take something with you,” I said returning to the living room area.

“I’ll just bet you do,
Mom!
” But the way he said “Mom” sounded like he really meant “Traitor.” And as ridiculous as it seemed, I knew that’s just what he thought—that I had invited Marcus over here in order to corner him and drag him, kicking and screaming, into Hope’s Wings for imprisonment and subsequent treatment.

Jacob just shook his head in disgust, as if he was seriously disappointed in me, as if I was the enemy. Then he walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

My hands were shaking as I sat down in the rocker across from Marcus. “What just happened?” I finally managed to ask.

“Paranoia is one of the many side effects of crystal meth use, Glennis. It doesn’t take much to set it off either. But in Jacob’s defense, it probably seemed perfectly obvious to him that I was here to take him away tonight.”

I nodded. “That’s what I thought he was thinking.”

“The best thing you can do in that situation is to remain calm and be honest.”

“Calm.” I took in a deep breath. “I was frightened of my own son just now, Marcus. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here.”

“I think the problem was that I was here, Glennis. In Jacob’s mind, right now, I am a threat to his freedom. He sees me as the enforcer who will take away his fun.”

“Fun? I just don’t get it, Marcus. How can anyone think it’s fun to be so messed up? Why on earth does he keep going back to it?”

“Because it makes him feel good.”

“But how can that be? Honestly, I don’t understand.”

“Meth is like cocaine, Glennis. Most addicts say that the high is incredible.”

“I know,” I admitted. “I’ve read that it’s totally euphoric, that it makes you feel powerful and creative and all sorts of stuff. Sometimes I even think I should try it myself.” I made a face, and Marcus laughed.

“Unfortunately that high never lasts. Almost everyone I’ve treated says that it’s never as good as that first time.”

“Then why do they continue?”

“They think they can recreate that big high again.”

“But they can’t.”

“Not really. But they still get a brief feeling of euphoria. Unfortunately, they have to use more and more meth to feel any effect. And that’s when it gets dangerous.”

“Because of overdose.”

He nodded. “But we don’t need to think about that now.” He glanced at his watch. “Besides it’s getting pretty late.”

I thanked him for coming and walked him across the small room. “I’m glad you were still here when Jacob showed up,” I admitted as he opened the door.

“So am I,” he said, smiling down at me. “And he really is a good kid, Glennis. He just needs to get clean.”

I nodded. “I know.” Then I closed the door and listened as Marcus went down the steps. Still feeling a bit worried about Jacob and what he might be capable of doing while under the influence of crystal meth, I secured the deadbolt and left the outside light on. Then I got down on my knees and begged God to do something.

“Please,” I cried out in desperation. “You’ve got to help Jacob. Somehow you’ve got to get through to him, God. Can’t you make him see that his life is worth so much more than this? Can’t you do something? Anything?” I continued like that for quite a while. Then feeling completely exhausted and not any more hopeful than when I’d started praying, I headed for bed.

But once in bed, all I could think about was Jacob. Where was he tonight? Did he really have anyone to stay with? Was he out on the streets? I knew that temperatures were supposed to drop again that night. “In the
teens,” the weatherman had said that morning. What if Jacob was so strung out that he didn’t realize how cold it was out there? What if he fell asleep on a park bench and died of exposure, hypothermia? How would I ever be able to live with myself knowing that it was my fault? That I had turned my own son, my own flesh and blood, out into the cold? And on Thanksgiving, too.

After an hour of such questions, I couldn’t take it anymore and got up and began pacing around the darkened apartment. I kept looking out the window, wishing that Jacob would come back. Wishing that I had handled things differently. So what if I’d been scared? Which was more scary—my son high on drugs sleeping it off in this apartment or my son lying dead in a gutter? And perhaps none of this would’ve happened, I considered, if I hadn’t had Marcus over here. What was I thinking to invite him anyway? I should’ve known this could present a problem for Jacob. In his eyes, it probably seemed I was linking myself with the enemy and subsequently making myself into the enemy. That’s how I’d felt tonight—as if I’d suddenly become Jacob’s enemy. Poor Jacob. In his twisted, drug-inflicted mind it must’ve felt like the final blow. His very own mother consorting with someone from Hope’s Wings. What had I been thinking?

By now I had myself so agitated that I knew I would never go to sleep. I continued pacing and fretting until I felt my sanity was in serious peril. Was I completely losing my mind? And how had I wound up in this unstable condition after enjoying a relatively nice evening? What was wrong with me?

I paused in front of my refrigerator and read all the notes I’d posted there. While the words were of some comfort, I knew that something was missing. In front of my shabby slipcovered sofa, I got back down on my knees again. And this time I didn’t cry out for Jacob as much as I cried out for myself. It seemed that my own soul was hanging precariously by a
thread. How could I possibly ask God to help someone else when I was floundering like this?

“Help
me
, God,” I prayed out loud. “I am such a complete mess, and I don’t even know what to do about anything anymore. Please, I’m begging you, help
me
to survive this. Help
me
to trust you more. To believe what your Word says and to have the faith to function without having these meltdowns all the time. Please, God, I need you.” Then I went back to bed and lay down again. To my surprise, I did feel a little better, a little calmer. And as I lay there, still thinking about Jacob but trying very hard not to imagine the worst-case scenario, I began to see something I’d never seen before.

With crystal-clear clarity, I began to see Jacob as God’s child. Not that he wasn’t my child, because I knew that indeed he was and always would be, but I began to understand that if God had truly been the one to create my son—and I think I believed this—then God must bear some responsibility for the way Jacob’s life seemed to be heading. Not only that, but if God was the loving God I had once believed him to be—even if I had questioned this lately—then wouldn’t he want to take care of Jacob, his own child?

And so I imagined myself handing my only son over to God and saying,“Here he is, God, the child that you created. I trust you to take care of him now. I know that I cannot. I give him over to you, God. Please watch over him and protect him, for he is, after all, your son.” And then believing that God was far more able to handle this heavy responsibility than I was, I closed my eyes and went to sleep.