Crystal Lies - Melody Carlson [111]
My biggest concern, as usual, was where Jacob was. What was he doing? And how long would it be before his whole world caved in on him? It seemed it could only be a matter of time.
December
Then I get the phone call, which brings me back to the present and my drive toward Ambrose Park to meet my son. And despite all I’ve been through with him already, I am still worried about what I’ll find there.
From my parking spot near the playground, through the mist I spot a hunched-over figure that I recognize as my son. He’s sitting on a picnic table with his back to me. His olive drab coat, one that he got at the army surplus store, drapes over him like a small tent. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was a bum. I suppose he is.
“Jacob?” I call from where I remain standing in the parking lot. I pull my jacket tighter around me and wait. It’s a foggy kind of day where the freezing cold air crawls beneath your clothes with long, damp fingers. After what seems an unreasonable amount of time, he turns and looks at me, then slowly stands and meanders my way. His knit cap is encrusted with grime and pulled so low on his brow that it’s hard to see his face, but he appears not to have shaved for days, and I can tell by the blank, dark look in his eyes that he’s been using again. No surprises here.
Jacob’s pattern seems to be to “binge on crystal meth.” Or at least that’s the way Marcus puts it. This terminology about drugs, addiction, and treatment is still something of a foreign language to me. But I am learning.
Without speaking, he gets into the car, and soon we are driving. I glance from the corner of my eye to see his head leaned against the window of the passenger side. He is already asleep. Probably coming down from his meth high. I can see that he’s tired and sick and probably needs a good long rest, but I’m tempted to drive him straight over to Hope’s Wings and simply drop him on their doorstep. However, I know that it will do no good. They will refuse to admit him unless he is willing to stay.
At a red light, I resist the urge to reach across the front seat and push a strand of greasy blond hair away from his face. It’s obvious he could care less. Worried that he might be cold, although he appears to have several layers of clothing on beneath his oversize coat, I turn up the heater. I’m sure this layering of clothes is a trick he learned after his car was impounded and he was no longer able to spend nights sleeping in the back of it. I wonder if his “friend” Daniel kicked him out, but I don’t think I will ask.
I wait for the light and watch as a young mom and two small boys cross the street. She’s walking between them, securely holding on to their little hands. Bundled up against the cold, the boys both have flushed cheeks and happy smiles, and judging by the candy canes in their free hands, it looks as if they’ve just been to see Santa Claus at the minimall across the street. I vaguely recall a time when life was simple and sweet like that. Too bad I didn’t fully realize or appreciate it then. I remember how I could hold on to my son’s hand as we crossed the street and how he would cling tightly to mine. I never worried that he wouldn’t make it to the other side. Now I’m not so sure.
It’s hard to believe it’s only two weeks until Christmas. I suppose I’ve been pretending that Christmas doesn’t really exist this year. And it’s too painful to imagine how it will feel to spend it with our family split up like this with Sarah in Arizona, me in my crummy little apartment, and Jacob…well, only God knows where Jacob will be by then.
The light turns green, and I get on the freeway for home, or what I have learned to call “home” during these past several months. But lately I’ve decided that little apartment is not my real home. It’s not a place I’d care to live permanently. Despite the improvements I’ve made, I know I need to move on when my lease is up. If not sooner. Still, I am hesitant to look for another place. I worry my money will run out if I don’t stick to my strictly regimented budget. I know I should