Crystal Lies - Melody Carlson [86]
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