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At the sound of my precious son’s name on his lips, I’m the one who deflates. As much as this jerk’s attitude warrants the boot, I do indeed still have a problem of astronomical proportions.
Jacob has a problem, and neither one of us has anywhere to turn.
I stare through the gap between the crossbar and the top of the steering wheel, the instrument panel blurring. “Yes. Jacob. He’s seventeen.”
“What are the charges?”
“Um…” I pull myself together and rattle them off. Grade two substance, more than four grams. Intent to distribute. A couple others I can’t remember.
“So he’s looking at a felony here.”
That’s what I’m told. “And there was one other thing.”
A lone eyebrow spikes.
This is probably the scariest part. “There was a gun, too.”
A scoffing sound scrapes out. “And how does your baby explain that?”
“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”
His hands lift saying,not my problem.He lowers them back to his knees. “Alright, give me the rest.”
I shouldn’t—but I am the definition of desperate.
“Tell me exactly what happened and how you think I can help.”
I take a deep breath. “Last month, Jacob got pulled over on his way home from a friend’s house.” I sigh. “I mean, his girlfriend’s house.” I’m still coming to grips with their relationship. “Anyway, the officer said he smelled pot—which wasn’t possible, by the way—but Jacob consented to a search. He had nothing to hide.”
I’m pretty sure I catch an eyeroll. “Go on.”
“Well…they found drugs under the front seat.”
“Marijuana?”
I chew my lip. “No. Harder stuff. And bogus prescription drugs, too.”
His sigh as he shakes his head makes me feel like an idiot. “Not very original.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m saying, under the seat is not a great place to hide a stash. Dumb, actually.”
“It wasn’t dumb, because he didn’t put them there. They weren’t his drugs.”
A laugh sputters out.
“They weren’t! He has no idea how they got there!”
“Hollie—”
I come off the door. “I’m serious! He doesn’t do drugs. He didn’t then, and he never has. And he sure isn’t dumb enough to sell them!”
“So he tells Mom.”
“It’s the truth! I know when my son is lying to me.”
John’s cheek, freshly shaved, hitches up. “As say half the mothers on the planet, and yet, somehow, even right here in small-town America, our streets, our schools, our homes are overrun with drugs. But it’s always someone else’s kid, right?”
