Crystal Lies - Melody Carlson [118]
Of course, that only reminded me of the pressure I’d put on Jacob to agree to treatment. I hadn’t actually told Marcus about that yet. Hadn’t told anyone. Not even Geoffrey when I called to tell him the good news about Jacobs recovery, just in case he wanted to visit his son, which didn’t seem likely.
“Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing,” Geoffrey had said, clearly unimpressed.
“Yes,” I’d agreed, ready to end the conversation quickly. Then to my surprise my ex-husband admitted that he hadn’t told the police that the break-in was Jacob’s doing.
“But I thought you said that you called them?” I asked, feeling confused. “Didn’t you have the police come up to the house?”
“Yes.”
“But couldn’t they tell by the notes and the fingerprints that—”
“I took care of all that.” He loudly cleared his throat. “And if you want to help keep your son out of trouble, you’d better keep that little bit of information to yourself.”
“What do you mean, Geoffrey?” I demanded. “You took care of what?’
“The incriminating evidence.”
“You tampered with evidence?” I felt stunned now Geoffrey was a lawyer; he knew better than to do something like this.
“Look, Glennis,” he said in a gentle voice. “Jacob doesn’t need me to add to his problems.”
“Yes,” I agreed, still shocked. “I…uh…I suppose that’s generous of you.”
“And the less we say about any of this, the better.”
“That’s fine with me.”
So we said good-bye and hung up in a very civilized way, and I even wondered if this divorce might actually proceed in the controlled and dignified fashion that Geoffrey Harmon hoped for.
Of course, I later learned through Sarah that Geoffrey was getting a very nice insurance settlement for the damaged and stolen items. Naturally, I didn’t mention her brother’s involvement in the break-in. Nor did I mention her father’s unethical behavior in covering it up. Perhaps some things really are better left unsaid. I’m still not sure.
“Merry Christmas, Glennis,” says Marcus as he comes up from behind. I turn around to see him wearing a rather garish red and green Christmas sweater. I try not to wince at the clashing colors.
“It’s a gift,” he explains, nodding over to where an overweight young woman is seated on the sofa. She seems intently focused on a knitting project, and the yarn is a bright orange shade that would probably be welcomed by a highway worker. “Janice made this for me,” he tells me in a slightly louder voice. “For Christmas.”
“It’s very festive,” I say, smiling at Janice. She looks up and smiles back. “It looks like you’re a fast knitter,” I tell her.
She nods. “I do this to keep my mind off of other things.”
“Yeah,” says Jacob,“and we all know what those other things are, don’t we, Janice?”
Several others make comments, and I am amazed, once again, at the openness of these people to discuss their addiction problems with such candor. I’ve heard them admit to all sorts of things and even joke about them. Marcus says that’s just part of their recovery, and I must admit that it’s helped me to lighten up a bit about the whole thing. Not that I take addiction lightly. I still don’t. But more and more I am realizing that addiction is just another element of the human condition. Whether its chocolate, coffee, or sugar, I suppose we’re all addicted to something.
The patients (or clients as Marcus calls them; Jacob still calls them inmates) perform a little Christmas play for us. A quiet young man named Oliver wrote it, and its really not bad, although their acting abilities range from stuttering stage fright to a thirty-something woman who later tells me that she’s destined for Broadway. “Once I’m clean and sober,” she admits as she pours herself some red punch.
The highlight of the evening (for the patients) is when they get to go outside for a cigarette break. “It’s their only legal vice,” Marcus reminds me as we stand out in the icy