He fired off an expletive, which I took as a negative. “Are you listening to me, Glennis?”
“I’m listening,” I said, growing weary of him and the entire conversation.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Glennis?” His tone softened, and I could imagine him willing himself to be composed. “If you leave me like this, it’s over.”
“I’m so sorry, Geoffrey,” I told him in my most polite voice, the one I used for the opening day of kindergarten when I was meeting the anxious parents of my students for the first time. “But it was the only thing I knew how to do.”
“Is he living with you now?”
“Well, no.”
“So, Glennis. What’s the point of your leaving? You’re letting him rip our home apart, and it’s not even doing him a bit of good.”
“I’m just trying to make a place for him, something to come home to.” I felt the tears in my voice. “He won’t make it on the streets, Geoffrey. He’s too—”
“It’s his choice to live like that.”
“Not really. He’s in a trap, and he needs our—”
“He needs to make better choices,” snapped Geoffrey. “And for that matter, so do you!”
“I’m making the only choice I know how to make at the moment.” Tears were sliding down my cheeks now. “I’m just trying to help Jacob. I’m trying to just… just survive.”
“So that’s your answer?”
I grabbed a paper towel to wipe my face. “My answer?”
“Meaning, you are choosing not to return home?” I looked around the shabby apartment, piled high with a bunch of cheap, junky pieces of furniture. “I think I am home.”
“Fine!” And he hung up.
My heart felt as if someone had strapped a boulder to it and thrown it into the sea. I collapsed into my camp chair, leaned over with my head in my hands, and began to cry harder.
I think I sat there and cried for about three days. And then one morning Jacob called.
“Mom?”
“Jacob!”
“Where are you?” He sounded small and frightened, like when he’d been a little boy and awakened from a nightmare. “I keep calling the house, and you never answer. And the answering-machine message is different.”
“Different?”
“Yeah, its Dad saying to leave a message.”
“Oh.”
“Where are you, Mom?”
“I… uh…I moved out.”
“Moved? Like out of the house?”
“That’s right. I have an apartment now.”
“You mean you’ve left Dad?”
I could tell he was completely stunned, but I wasn’t sure how to soften the blow. “Well, sort of.”
“What do you mean, sort of? You’ve either left him or you haven’t.”
“Well, I had to get away for a while. I needed some time and space to think about things.”
“Is this because of me?”
“Nooo…” I picked up a pillow from a pile of stuff on the floor and tossed it onto the homely brown couch that I’d gotten for cheap and had finally pushed into the only place a couch could fit in this miniature living room.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“No, Jacob, it’s not. Your dad and I have been growing apart for years now. And its not so much that I wanted to leave him, if you can understand that, but I needed to get away to kind of find myself. Does that make sense?”
“Sort of. I guess I felt like that too.”
I sighed. “It’s so good to hear your voice again. I’ve been so worried about you. I wish you would’ve called sooner. You know it’s been almost a week now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Where have you been staying?”
“With friends a few nights and in my car.”
“Are you… uh…okay?’ Of course, what I really wanted to ask was, are you doing drugs? But I didn’t want to scare him off. “Of course I’m okay.”
“Did you lose your job?”
“Well, it’s pretty hard to keep a job when you’re homeless.”
“You can come stay with me.”
“Really?” He sounded hopeful. “Do you have room?” I sort of laughed. “Well, it’s a pretty small place, but I saved a bedroom for you, if you want it.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I gave him the address, and he said he’d stop by later on and unload some of his stuff. He didn’t promise to move in with me, but at least I was going to see him. Just hearing his voice was like medicine for me. I immediately went into high gear and started arranging the furniture pieces that had simply been stacked and shoved here and there. I dug out the white canvas slipcover I’d purchased for my dog-ugly couch, which actually had “good bones,” and I pulled and tugged until I finally got it on. To my surprise, it wasn’t half-bad. And when I added the colorful pillows I’d confiscated from my previous home, it looked even better. It was a start.
I worked and worked. Moving and arranging and putting away. And finally it looked almost habitable and considerably bigger now that everything was in its place and out of the way And then, feeling encouraged, I took a quick shower, and for the first time in days I put on something besides my gray sweats. As I ran a brush through my wet hair and noticed the strange woman looking back at me from the slightly steamed-up bathroom mirror, I winced at the tired image of my mother that I was becoming.
Oh, I knew that my once-auburn hair had gotten progressively grayer during the past year. In fact, it seemed almost colorless now. And I suspected I had more wrinkles than before, but the haggard old woman that stared back at me in the mirror was slightly frightening. And it became even worse as the fog from the mirror slowly evaporated and each line and wrinkle etched into my painfully pale face became more noticeable. I leaned forward and stared, touching my cheek with my hand to see if it was really me.
No wonder Sherry had accused me of letting myself go lately. Even so, I couldn’t convince myself to apply any makeup or do more than just pull back my shoulder-length hair into my usual tortoiseshell clip. I didn’t have time or inclination for primping today.
For one thing, I knew that despite my massive stock-up session at the grocery store nearly a week ago, I was currently out of the basics like bread and milk and eggs, and I knew from experience that when Jacob arrived, he would be hungry—probably ravenous. So I made a list, grabbed my purse, and left a note on the door.
As I was driving toward the discount grocery store, my cell phone rang. Even though I despise it when people talk on the phone while in traffic, I thought it might be Jacob again, and so I decided to answer.
“Mom?”
“Sarah!” I exclaimed, pulling over to a side street. “I’ve been trying to reach you all week. How are you, honey?”
“What’s going on, Mom?” she demanded. “Dad told me I’d better talk to you.”
“That’s why I’ve been calling,” I told her, trying to gather my thoughts as I turned off the ignition. “I wanted to explain everything. But, first, tell me how you’re doing, Sarah. I’ve barely talked to you since you got home from Europe. Was it wonderful? I want to hear all about it.”
“It was pretty good. But hot, really hot. They had record-breaking temperatures everywhere and no air conditioning. Leslie nearly had a heatstroke in Madrid the day before we were supposed to fly out, so we had to take her to the hospital and almost missed our flight.”
“Oh my.” I turned the key and let the windows down for some fresh air. “But she’s okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine.”
“And are you back on campus now?”
“Yeah, just getting settled into the dorm. But I really wish I could get an apartment. Leslie and Kara want to go in with me.”
“Well, did you mention this to your dad?”
“Not yet. He seemed pretty upset about something. What’s going on, Mom?”
I couldn’t help but notice the somewhat accusatory tone of her voice and was reminded once again of h
ow much she and Geoffrey were alike. “Well, it’s been quite a week, honey. Jacob got into some trouble—”
“Wow, that’s a big surprise.”
I ignored her sarcasm. “Yes, I know. But your dad and I didn’t agree about how to handle it.”
“No. How shocking.” More sarcasm.
“And I decided to help Jacob, and then your dad got mad, and I was so tired of all this—”
“All this?” She exhaled loudly. “You mean all this crap that Jacob has dragged into our lives?”
“Not just that, honey. Your dad and I have been having our problems too.”
“What? You mean just because Daddy is trying to use tough love?”
“Tough love?” I echoed. “I’m not sure your father feels any love toward his son at the moment.”
“Can you blame him?”
“I know Jacob has messed up, Sarah, but he’s our son, your brother—”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Sarah!” I instantly regretted my scolding tone.
“You always take his side, Mom. That’s probably why he’s so screwed up.
“It’s not a matter of sides,” I said.
“Whatever.” Now I could tell she was exasperated.
“I would do the same for you, Sarah. You know I would.”
“But that’s a moot point, Mom. You will never need to do the same for me. Jacob and I are two completely different people. I can’t even believe we’re related sometimes.”
“Jake’s just going through some hard things right now. But that could all change. I’m trying to get him to go into rehab and—”
“Good luck with that.” Sarah sounded as though she was ready to end the conversation. “So tell me, Mom. Are you and Dad still together?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
“I’ve gotten an apartment.”
“So you’re separated then?”
“Well, sort of.”
“Look, Mom, you moved out of the house, right? Well, that would mean you’re separated.”
“Okay. I suppose so.”
“Mom, can’t you see what’s happening?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re letting Jacob ruin your marriage. And that’s wrong. Plain wrong. You and Dad have been happily married for twenty-five years, and just because Jacob’s screwing up his life doesn’t mean you have to throw away a perfectly good marriage.”
“A perfectly good marriage?”
“Well, you guys seem pretty happy to me.”
“You really think so?”
“Oh, I know it’s not perfect. But whose marriage is?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know, honey.”
“I know this, Mom. I know Dad doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment. He has worked hard for his family. He’s a great provider, respected in the community, and he doesn’t deserve this kind of crap from you.”
Her words slapped me despite the distance between us.
“And if you weren’t so blind, you’d see it too,” she continued. “Dad’s exactly right about Jacob. He’s made his own stupid choices, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. As much as I hate to admit that my little brother’s a junkie, it’s the truth, and the sooner we all accept it, the better it will be for everyone.”
“Are you suggesting I simply turn my back on your brother?”
“I’m not saying you have to quit loving him, Mom.” Her voice softened. “I mean as much as I hate him sometimes for all this crud, I do still love him. But I’m saying you have to let him do his thing and hope he doesn’t kill himself doing it. In the meantime, I think you should focus your attention on saving your marriage.”
“Saving my marriage?” I echoed.
“Yes. You and Dad are both Christians, and as I recall, you made a vow to God and to each other—you know the spiel, Mom—till death do us part. And you’re not keeping it.”
I swallowed hard. “A big part of me is already dead, Sarah.” She didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I continued. “I know this is hard for you to hear. But like I told your dad, I just needed a break, a chance to regain myself and to think about everything that’s going on right now. It’s not as if I’m looking for a divorce. I’m certainly not. I just needed to catch my breath. Can you understand that?”
“Not really.” She paused. “Oh, I think Leslie’s here, and we were going to look at apartments this afternoon.”
“Right.”
“Think about what I said, Mom,” she told me.
“Yes, of course I will.”
“Good.”
“I love you, honey.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
And that was it. I shook my head and looked around the interior of the Range Rover, trying to remember where I was and where I’d been going. Then, spying the short grocery list by my purse, I remembered. Oh yes, Jacob was coming home.
I headed the Range Rover back to More-4-Less, not even sure why I was going there again, except that it was in the neighborhood, and perhaps I wanted to prove something to myself. I tried to push Sarah’s words and accusations away from me as I walked across the blacktop parking lot. After all, my opinionated daughter was only twenty-one and still had a lot to learn about life and relationships. And, although I hated feeling like I was hurting her, I knew it was best for her to hear the truth, at least from me. Still, it seemed there was far too much hurt going around these days, and I wished there was some other way…something I could do to stop all the pain.
As I searched for a grocery cart without wobbly wheels or too much sticky grime, I wondered if Sylvia would be there at this time of day. For some reason, I wanted to see that woman again. I wanted to assure her I was doing much better now. Okay, perhaps “much better” was a huge overstatement, especially after that conversation with Sarah. But I was alive and moving—even if it was only two steps forward before I took one and a half back. At least those half steps were something.
Thinking of Jacob, I got a gallon of milk, some “no pulp” orange juice, a large carton of eggs, two loaves of bread (one white, one whole wheat), some sliced roast beef and smoked turkey, some leaf lettuce and tomatoes, a nice selection of fresh fruit. I even picked up some of the junk foods—cheese curls and powdered-sugar doughnuts—that I normally avoided but knew my son liked. Then, feeling like the prodigals mother who was ready to slaughter the fatted calf, I even got a case of Dr Pepper, my son’s beverage of choice. Well, at least in childhood. Who knows what he imbibes now? I also picked up a box of maple bars (another Jacob favorite) and a package of chocolate chips in case we felt like making cookies. Who knew? Then, feeling even more celebratory at my son’s homecoming, I picked out one of those bunches of prearranged flowers, mostly carnations and chrysanthemums and only $5.99, before I headed to the checkout.
To my pleased surprise, Sylvia was there, and even though her line was slightly longer than the other two, I decided to get in it anyway. I absently flipped through a Good Housekeeping magazine as I waited my turn. After shopping at the discount furniture warehouses, I couldn’t bear to look at magazines like House Beautiful or Architectural Digest, my usual preferences. I kept telling myself it was best not to look back. Just move forward.
When Sylvia began ringing up my purchases, I was ready for her. I expertly snapped open the brown paper bags and loaded my groceries almost as quickly as the moving belt funneled them at me. Sylvia didn’t really look up at me until she announced the total, but I noticed a faint glimmer of recognition in her eyes.
“So you got it all figured out this time,” she said as I handed her my debit card.
I nodded. “I’m figuring out a lot of things.”
She nodded as she ran my card through the scanner on her register, but after a moment she frowned. “It’s been rejected.” She handed back my card.
I’m sure my face looked alarmed. “Rejected?” I asked in a mousy voice
. “Really? Are you sure?”
“You want me to run it again?”
I glanced at the impatient customers waiting behind me, then fumbled through my billfold for cash. “No, no,” I told her. “I’ve got it.”
I felt a gnawing deep inside me as I handed her several twenties. It was already beginning.
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes looked surprisingly kind as she handed me my change. “They usually stop the cards right away.”
I sighed. “I guess I should’ve known it was coming.”
She nodded to my bouquet still lying on the counter. “Don’t forget those.”
“Thanks.” I picked it up and set it on top of a bag. She smiled. “Well, hang in there.”
Despite my sinking heart over the cancelled debit card, I felt like I’d accomplished something as I walked across the parking lot toward the Range Rover. Oh, I knew all I’d really done was bag my own groceries, but it was a start. Besides, I knew I still had my savings account, in my name only. I wasn’t broke yet. And I didn’t want to live off of Geoffrey anyway. Not if he wanted to be stingy. Somehow I would get through this. And, I told myself, Jacob was coming home!
Jacob’s car was nowhere to be seen when I parked in space number thirty-six at the apartment. When I got upstairs, I noticed my note was exactly where I’d left it. So I began putting the groceries away, taking my time and rearranging a few things along the way. I felt pleased at how my little apartment was beginning to function like an actual, albeit rather tiny, home. In some ways it seemed like I was a little girl again, playing house. Not a bad feeling really. I even considered baking something, since I always thought the smell of baking made a place feel homier. But it was turning into another sweltering end-of-summer day, and without air conditioning I figured I’d better not add any heat to my second-floor dwelling.
After the food was put away and I’d snipped the bottoms of the flowers and temporarily stuck them into a juice pitcher, I fixed myself a late lunch and sat down at the narrow breakfast bar on a new pine barstool. (I’d purchased a pair of them for only $19.99 each.) There I quietly ate and watched out the window as cars zipped past on the busy street down below. I suspected that most of the minivans contained moms and kids doing their back-to-school shopping. I’d always loved doing that with Sarah and Jacob. Especially when the kids were smaller and we’d stock up on things like Crayola crayons, number-two pencils, bright plastic lunch-boxes, and rain parkas. The older they got, the less fun and more expensive it became. But I still got a thrill seeing them with a new backpack or the latest thing in shoes. And whether they would admit it or not, I think they enjoyed it too. Well, except for Jacob in his last year at high school—I don’t think he wanted anything last year. Another sign that he was becoming someone else.
Crystal Lies Page 7