Crystal Lies - Melody Carlson [99]
“I’m sure Dr. Abrams would agree. She’s always encouraging me to process my pain. She says that I repress too much.”
“That sounds about right.”
“But I’m not as bad as I used to be. When I think of how much I repressed when I was with Geoffrey, it’s a wonder I didn’t blow up or have a complete breakdown.” I smiled. “Although I suppose I have experienced some partial breakdowns over the years.”
“How do you measure a breakdown?”
“I’m not sure. Too bad there’s not some sort of seismic meter for it. Like a nervous-breakdown Richter scale. That way people would know when to watch out or back off.”
She smiled, a little bigger this time. “So, tell me, just how does Dr. Abrams suggest you process your pain?”
“Mostly by not burying it. She keeps encouraging me to start writing about it in a journal.”
“And are you?”
“Not so much. For some reason I can’t make myself write this kind of stuff down. It feels too painful to see it in bold black and white. As if that makes it more real somehow. Isn’t that weird?”
“No. I totally understand. I don’t think I could write anything about Matthew just yet. I mean it’s hard enough even to speak about it.” She turned and looked away, and I wondered if that was a hint to change the conversation.
“How are Rod and Mark?”
“They’re both doing better, I think. Although they seem to be stuck in this crazy vengeance mode right now. Mark got the names of some of the kids who were involved that night, and Rod is set on suing those boys.”
“Well, what they did was sort of like murder, Sherry. Something should be done. Don’t you think?”
“Of course, but I just wish Rod would leave it for the D.A. to work out. It’s so stressful when he talks about it all the time, as if he’s obsessed by it. And it won’t bring Matthew back.”
“I know, but it might spare someone else’s son.”
She nodded. “Yes, you’re probably right. Speaking of sons, how’s Jacob doing?”
I paused from slicing the aromatic loaf of rosemary bread that I had splurged on at Delicato’s Bakery—just for Sherry. “I haven’t seen him since last week,” I confessed. “And he wasn’t doing too well then.”
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I hoped that things had changed for him. He seemed better at Matthew’s funeral.”
“It comes and goes,” I told her as I put several slices of bread in the napkin-lined basket. “Crystal meth is like that. Kind of up and down. Sometimes he seems like he’s doing really great.” I paused to rinse the bread knife. “And ironically enough, he probably seems like he’s doing better when he’s high. It’s when he’s coming down that he gets really agitated and difficult. At least that’s what Marcus says.”
“Marcus?”
“He’s the rehab counselor who teaches the codependent classes at Hope’s Wings.”
“Any chance of getting Jacob to go in?”
“I keep hoping. And he’s been evaluated, and they’re willing to take him—but only if he’s willing to go.”
“And he’s not?”
“No. According to him, he can fix this thing himself.”
As we ate our lunch, I filled her in on all the other sordid details of the past few weeks of my life—about the divorce papers and losing the Range Rover, as well as Sarah’s continued standoff against me. I suppose I thought that all the dismal gloom in my life might somehow make hers look a bit better.
“Any plans for Thanksgiving?” she asked.
“No. I feel like I need to stick around for Jacobs sake, in case he shows up.”
“I haven’t even decided what we’ll do this year. All I know is that I don’t want to be home. I don’t want us all sitting around the table, looking at the chair where Matthew used to sit, and feeling bad.”
“I can understand that.”
“I suppose we’ll visit my parents.”
“My mother tried to get me to join her and Sarah in Phoenix.” I sighed. “To be honest, the sunshine sounds tempting. And I wouldn’t mind getting a chance to talk to Sarah—”
“Oh, you should go out there, Glennis.”
“I would, but I’d feel so guilty about Jacob. What if he wanted to come home or needed help, and I wasn’t here for him?”
She frowned. “I can see your point. But then you can’t keep doing that forever, you know. I