All The Stars In Heaven (20 page)

Sarah put down her pickle and used her napkin to wipe her mouth. “I . . .” She wrapped her hands around her glass, fingers entwined as she took a deep breath. Jay got the feeling she was trying to shore up her courage.

“I can’t imagine losing your friendship.” Her grip on the glass loosened, and her eyes softened. “Especially over a mistake you made in the past.”

“Mistake
s,
” Jay corrected. “Lots of them.”

Sarah folded her arms across the table in front of her. “Tell me.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Jay finished the last of his burger and knew that his respite was almost over. Their meal had arrived just minutes after their appetizers, and Sarah had kept up the cheerful front until they’d both relaxed into casual conversation again. He’d told her about eighth-grade basketball. She’d told him about getting the lead part in the school musical and not being allowed to take it.

But now, seeing her sitting on the edge of her seat, he could tell she was very much on edge once more, waiting for the rest of the story.

He took another drink then jumped back in. “For a while things with my mom were all right—our little arrangement tolerable. I’d get her a stash every couple of weeks. She’d leave me alone to do my thing—which was going to school, working a minimum-wage job, sleeping on her couch, and trying to keep the place clean and the fridge stocked. I thought I was going to be okay, thought I’d make it out of there.” Jay’s hands clenched into fists on the table. “But I didn’t.”

He glanced at Sarah and was disheartened by the increasing worry in her eyes. He looked at her burger, only half-eaten, and worried he’d been right about her not being able to accept his past. He’d hoped, but . . .
No stopping now,
he thought and plunged on.

“School was rough. Transferring in as a senior had made me a loner, and now I had a bad reputation too. Home was worse. My mom was either high or wishing she was. Life was awful, and one day I caved.” He tried to meet Sarah’s gaze, but she was looking away. “Once I got started on cocaine, it was next to impossible to stop. I used on and off for three years. Somehow, during that time, I managed to graduate from high school and even attend the university a couple of semesters. I held down a few different jobs during my more sober months, took care of my mom . . .”

He looked out the window at the snowflakes beginning to fall. The
Frontier
soundtrack still played overhead, but the song was now “Rubicon.”
The point of no return. How ironic.
He’d arrived there himself. In a quiet voice he told Sarah more than he’d ever told anyone—except Jane.

“Then one day I
really
took care of my mother.”

He pushed his plate aside and took his last drink of soda. He waited, filled with self-loathing as he watched snowflakes drift to the pavement and melt away. If Sarah wanted to know more, she was going to have to ask.

“What do you mean you ‘took care of her’?”

The dread in her voice told him she’d already guessed.

“I killed her.” He couldn’t look at Sarah as he spoke the words. “It was Friday. I picked up our usual stash, brought it home just like I picked up the groceries each week. I’d fix dinner, watch the late show with Mom, and we’d both get wasted. Saturdays were the best for me. I could stay in bed—high, then hung over, of course—wallowing in the self-pity that was my life.”

He paused, half-expecting Sarah to get up and run away. She didn’t, though the color had drained from her face, and she looked like she might throw up. He waited a minute, then continued, speaking quietly as he had before. Most of the patrons were on the other side of the restaurant near the bar, but there was no need to advertise his vile past to anyone else.

“I ate by myself that night. I assumed Mom was asleep because she’d worked the graveyard shift the night before. But I sat down to watch TV, and pretty soon she joined me. After a while she asked me to fix her up with the usual hit.”

Sarah grimaced and turned away. “I feel sick.”

“I’ll stop,” Jay said.

“No.” She shook her head, blond hair partially covering her face. “Go on. Finish.”

Jay’s regrets multiplied as he saw the distress he was causing.

“I gave my mom her share, and she went back to bed. After a while I took mine too—a smaller dose. I hadn’t been using as long or as much as she had, so a little still went a long way.” Jay pulled his gaze from the street and looked directly at Sarah. “When I got up the next morning, I found her dead—overdosed.”

“But if it was the same amount she always took—”

“It wasn’t,” Jay said. “When I thought she’d been sleeping earlier, she’d been in her room freebasing.” At Sarah’s confused look, he explained. “Smoking a very dangerous, pure form of cocaine. She’d cooked it up when I wasn’t home. That she had any to cook up was my fault too. I’d been trying to wean myself off again, taking less and less each week so I could get out. I hadn’t told her, but I’d hidden what I didn’t use in my closet—an addict can hardly ever do it on his own or make a clean break, so I had some around ‘just in case.’” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I didn’t know it, but she’d found some and used it. The dose I gave her doubled what she already had in her bloodstream.”

Face ashen, Sarah pushed away from the table. Jay could see that her mind was reeling.

“Want me to take you home?”

“I don’t know.” She folded her arms across her middle and bent over, close to her knees. “I want to know how you got from there to here. Why aren’t you in jail? How are you a
law
student
at Harvard?”

“The grace of God,” Jay said, quite serious. “When I found my mom, I was scared. Called the cops right away. They came. Took her body. Arrested me. I spent some time in jail awaiting trial, but I wasn’t convicted of anything more serious than possession. I was sentenced to a lockdown rehab facility—best thing that ever happened to me.”
Next to you, possibly . . .

“And they cured you and you went to college. Everything was done and fine?” Sarah asked, her tone angry.

“Nothing was done and fine. My body went through withdrawal. I spent months in counseling and therapy. I had to fight off depression over and over again. I performed hundreds of hours of community service.” He paused. “Each and every day I have to live with the knowledge that I’m at least partially responsible for my own mother’s death.”

Sarah lifted her face to look at him, something changing as he spoke those last words. Along with anger and hurt, he thought—hoped—he glimpsed compassion and understanding. He held his hand out, but she didn’t take it.

“She killed herself, Jay—and perhaps almost her son.”

“Don’t make excuses for me.” He spoke with conviction. “I was old enough to make a better choice. I should have left, and I knew it.” He studied her face. “The real issue now is what I have to live with—what you’d have to live with if you chose to be with me. Once an addict, always an addict. It’s something that will be with me the rest of my life. You have no idea how careful I have to be. I can’t even drink a beer—won’t chance taking anything that might replicate that feeling of being high and make me start to crave it again.”

“How long has it been since you were . . .” She couldn’t seem to say the words.

He didn’t want to either. “Six years. Never long enough.”

“Tell me about those years,” Sarah coaxed. “What you did, how you survived.”

A smile—the first in nearly an hour—crossed Jay’s face. “The center—as I came to affectionately call the rehab facility—was my lifeline. One counselor in particular, a young woman named Jane, reached me in a way no one else had been able to.”

“Jane,” Sarah repeated. “Brown-haired, brown-eyed Jane?”

He nodded. “I ate up her sessions, drank in every word she said. But it wasn’t enough, and she became my new addiction.”

“What do you mean?” Alarm had crept into Sarah’s voice.

“I stole her wallet so I had her phone number and address. I’d call her just to listen to her say hello. Then I’d hang up. I wrote her letters, followed her around when she was at work. Then one day I cornered her in the hall and kissed her. She wasn’t expecting it.
I
wasn’t expecting the feelings that exploded between us.” He looked out the window again, realizing for the first time that the memory wasn’t as painful as it used to be. “Her boss
really
wasn’t expecting it. She got fired.”

“Good.” Sarah sat up straight in her chair. “Therapists are supposed to behave better than their patients.”

“She did,” Jay said. “And technically she wasn’t a therapist yet. She was an intern about to graduate. But that kiss was entirely my fault. She was a good girl—wholesome, like you,” he added. “For a long time I felt worse about Jane losing her job than I did about my mother’s death.”

“So
then
you got your act together?” Sarah asked.

“Not right away,” Jay said. “I almost got kicked out of the program—would’ve gone straight to jail, too. But Jane spoke in my defense, and I was allowed to stay.” He watched Sarah’s expression change as the significance of this sunk in.

“Your own mother betrayed you, but . . .”

“But this woman whose career I’d just ruined stood up for me so I could get my life back.”

“No wonder you loved her.”

“No wonder,” Jay agreed. “But there’s love.” He reached across the table to lift Sarah’s chin so he could look into her eyes. “And then there’s
love.
”

She turned aside. “I’d love it if you’d finish.”

“Almost there,” Jay promised. “When I found out what Jane had done, I did get my act together and completed the program. I didn’t want to do anything to let her down. After I was done, I tried to contact her quite a few times, but she got a restraining order and put an end to that. Then, a couple of years later, I saw her again. I thought if I’d changed, was drug free, going to school, that sort of thing, she might be interested. I did everything from polishing my new shoes to getting a haircut in the hope of winning her affection.”

Sarah was neither smiling or frowning. “Did you?”

“It was too late. She got married during my first year of law school. But I was glad to see her again, and I was able to help her during a crisis. Afterward she told me something I’ve never forgotten. She said I was like the hero from her favorite movie,
Casablanca,
that I was brave and chivalrous. It was enough that she saw me that way instead of the junkie I used to be.”

Sarah clasped her hands together in front of her. “So Jane turned you around.”

“
I
turned me around,” Jay said. “But she helped. Last time I saw her was at her graduation. After my first year of law school, I went back to the center and spoke with both the director and the dean of psychology at the University of Washington.
I
defended
her,
told them what a difference she’d made in my life, convinced them to let her back into the program. Now she lives in Seattle with her husband and daughter.”

“And you live in Cambridge and are about to graduate with a law degree.”

“
About
meaning another six months,” Jay said.

Sarah held her hands up. “I don’t know what to think or say.”

That you haven’t left yet says a lot.

“Let it digest awhile,” he suggested. “I’ve shared some ugly stuff. I imagine it will take some time to go down.” He picked up the three-dimensional menu standing by the salt and pepper, twirling it around with his fingers, willing to sit here all night and the next. He’d give her whatever time she needed.

“When you told me you had a record, I never imagined . . .” Sarah said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He stared out the window at the snowflakes falling fast and furious now. He thought of the other package in his coat pocket and wondered if he’d ever get the opportunity to give it to her.

Not tonight, that’s for sure.

He returned the menu to the table, looking at the side featuring desserts. “Why don’t we order something sweet? Maybe it will help wash down all that bitter.”
Lame attempt at levity, Kendrich.
He pointed to the Oreo pie. “How about chocolate? And since you’re overloaded now with information about me, is it all right if I ask the questions for a while?”

* * *

“You already know everything about me,” Sarah said.
And I wish—oh, how I wish—you hadn’t told me everything about you.

“I know about you and your dad and cousin,” Jay said. “But you’ve never told me anything about your mother. What was your family like before she died?”

“I don’t remember much.” Sarah watched as a busboy cleared a nearby table. When the dishes were moved, one quick swipe with his filthy rag seemed his best effort. She looked down at their own table, remembering that the silverware had been resting directly on it when they first arrived. She’d put a fork in her mouth that had touched a table that probably wasn’t clean. What little of the hamburger she’d eaten earlier churned in her stomach. And a fork was nothing compared to—compared to the nauseating thought of Jay sticking a syringe full of cocaine into his arm.

Sarah watched as he caught the waitress’s attention and ordered a dessert for them to share.

“Could we have two new spoons to go with that?” Sarah asked as their server left to fill their order.

“Something wrong with these?” Jay asked, picking up his own spoon.

“Maybe.” Sarah glanced at the busboy still making his rounds.

Jay followed her gaze. “Maybe you get this germ thing from your mom?”

“No. I’m nothing like her—nothing at all.” Her voice was adamant.
Nothing like her or you or anyone else messed up by drugs.

“Sorry.” Jay held his hands up. “Want to tell me why the sudden animosity? I know you’re upset with me, and you have every right to be. But why transfer that to your mom?”

“I’m disappointed,” Sarah said, meeting his gaze.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you, but I also wanted to tell you the truth,” Jay said. Genuine regret reflected in his eyes.

“I know.”

“It was a long time ago. And I can’t change the past. No matter how much I want to.” He started to reach for her hands, then stopped as she grabbed her purse from the windowsill, holding the handle in a white-knuckled grip.

“I don’t get the whole thing,” she said. “It seems like everyone I know has been messed up with drugs in some way. It destroys people and lives, ruins families and friendships.”