A Mighty Love

by Anita Doreen Diggs

  “It’s me, Mel,” he answered when Charlene buzzed him in. When he got upstairs, she and Dan were waiting for him, the door open, the inside of the apartment bright and warm.

  “Glad to see you, brother. You worried us for a moment.”

  Mel didn’t know what to say. He wanted to hang his head, but Charlene ushered him in and took his light jacket.

  “You must be cold, Mel. Come on in here and let’s see what we can do. I’ll tell you like I told Adrienne: this house, our home is welcome to you if you need it.”

  “Yes,” Dan said, heading for the kitchen. “You want something to drink?” Mel shook his head. He hadn’t had much of an appetite since they released him, even though his stomach felt empty. “Well, you probably know Adrienne is going to need a little time. A little time to get herself together. Like Charlene said, you’re welcome to stay here with us until she’s ready to talk with you. In the meanwhile, why don’t we eat something before we talk about this drug rehab program that Charlene recommends. It’s a weekly. It’s supposed to be very good, and later we’ll catch the game.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Debra stared at Adrienne intently, lit a cigarette, and inhaled loudly. “I think Mel believes you in love wit’ your boss.”

  “That’s crazy,” Adrienne said, “I didn’t even really know him.” Her hands fluttered helplessly. How could she make Debra understand? “He had money and a big-time job, plus I admired him. He was really poor when we were kids and . . .” Her voice trailed off because Debra was frowning.

  “You shut my brother out when Delilah died. He was hurtin’ as much as you. Then you take him back, only you wasn’t really thinkin’ ’bout him at all.”

  “I was thinking of us.”

  “No, you wasn’t. You was thinkin’ ’bout havin’ another baby. But I ain’t mad at you about that. I nevah had no kids, so I can’t judge on what you did after Delilah passed away.”

  “Then what are you mad at me about?”

  “I’m mad at you for comin’ here today lookin’ for trouble.”

  “Trouble? I’m not looking for trouble. I just want peace between us after all these years. Mel has a long, hard road ahead of him, and it would be easier for him if you and I were friends. That way he won’t have to sneak up here to see you or be sad because you never visit us. If you and I stand strong together, he’ll get well faster.”

  “I just want to get some money together to give him so he can get out of your brother’s house and into a room somewhere. He gonna do better wit’ out yo ass pullin’ him down.”

  Adrienne took a deep breath and hoped the big woman did not hit her for what she was going to say next. “Debra, I’m sorry that Mel didn’t marry your friend Rose, but you really need to get the fuck over it and help me save his life.”

  Debra took a few more drags on her cigarette and stubbed it out. “If your boss had done whatever it is you wanted him to do, me and you wouldn’t be havin’ this talk. You woulda run off wit’ him and not looked back at Mel.” She stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Now get outa my house.” Debra walked to the front door, opened it, and stood aside. “Bye.”

  Adrienne shook her head and refused to move. She thought about Lloyd and how she had allowed herself to believe that a knight in shining armor had ridden into town to save her from her life. She thought about letting the music business beat her down and how that defeat had driven her into marriage with the first man who came along. At first, the marriage had been a place to hide out. A place to pretend she didn’t care about her hopes and dreams of becoming a singer. Now it meant everything to her, and she didn’t intend to lose it.

  “I wasn’t planning to run off and leave Mel for another man. I was just about to throw him out because he was drunk all the time, he gave you our rent money one month, and he went to bed with your man’s cousin.”

  Debra gasped. “Mel told you ’bout that?”

  Adrienne ignored the question. “Wouldn’t you throw Big Boy out if he did all of that to you?”

  Debra closed the door. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Charlene told me that the program that he is in meets once a week in the evening. I’m going to surprise Mel by picking him up one night from one of the rehab meetings and taking him home with me. I’d like you to be at our house waiting with one of those nice, old-fashioned meals that he likes you to make so much. I want him to see you in my kitchen. That will tell him that the past is past and we’re friends.”

  “If he don’t drop dead of shock, first,” Debra said dryly.

  “Then you’ll do it?”

  Debra hesitated.

  “It’s not for me, Debra.”

  “All right. I’ll be there.”

  They shook hands on it.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Ready for Recovery met every Wednesday night on Seventy-second Street between Second and Third Avenues. Mel looked at the building number, which he had scrawled on a slip of paper. Several people smiled at him as they went inside. I wonder what goes on in there, he thought. Are they going to ask me a whole bunch of questions? He took a few steps back without even realizing it. Maybe getting shot was enough. If I ever think about using drugs again, I’ll come back, he decided. Mel turned to cross the street and found himself face to face with a slim white man. His kind, gray eyes were filled with compassion. He placed a hand on Mel’s arm. “Please stay,” he said. “My name is Paul. Why don’t you come inside, grab a cup of coffee, and just sit in the back of the room. I’m the group leader, and I give you my word that you don’t have to speak.”

  Mel hesitated, not knowing how to respond. Paul smiled and removed his hand from Mel’s arm. “Come on.”

  The room was set up like a classroom, with folding chairs in rows and a microphone on a stand in the front. Paul disappeared into a group of people who were talking on the far side of the room. There was another cluster of people standing closer to Mel, drinking coffee out of paper cups. A tall, slender black woman disengaged herself from the cluster and bounced toward him. She was smiling. “Welcome. I’m glad you made it. Would you like some coffee?” Mel nodded and followed her to the coffeemaker. She was wearing a green turtleneck sweater, jeans, and a pair of sneakers. He accepted the warm cup from her gratefully. She sipped hers. “I’m Nora.” She beckoned to the cluster of people she had been standing with. They came over, and a man shook his hand. “Hello, I’m Steve. What’s your drug of choice?”

  Nora laughed. “You don’t have to answer him.”

  Mel smiled. “Hi, everybody.”

  “Is this your first meeting?” asked a petite white woman with streaked gray hair.

  Mel nodded, and to his surprise, he received a smile and a simple, loving hug in return.

  Mel felt his fright and apprehension begin to melt. Paul appeared at the microphone and called the meeting to order. Everyone grabbed a coffee refill and took a seat. Mel made sure that his was in the last row near the door, in case he wanted to leave before the session was over.

  Paul turned on the microphone. “Welcome to Ready for Recovery, the Seventy-second Street branch meeting of Narcotics Anonymous. Who wants to read the twelve steps tonight?”

  Nora volunteered and Paul turned the microphone over to her. Mel listened intently as she recited them from memory. When Nora reached step number eight, Mel felt a weight fall from his shoulders. “We made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.”

  Forget steps one through seven, he thought. Here was the solution! To save his own life, all he had to do was find the courage to go to everyone he had hurt, scammed, or deceived, and confess.

  Nora sat down to a round of applause, and Paul stood up once more. “We have a speaker coming to share with us tonight, but before that, has anyone here been clean for ninety days?” Several hands went up. Everyone applauded. “Six months?” More hands. More applause. “How about a year?” Nora stood up alone, and Mel found himself standing up with every
one else to give her a standing ovation.

  “Do we have any new members?” Paul asked.

  Mel scrunched down in his chair as a skinny white woman with pale skin and short blond hair stood up.

  “Tell us your first name,” Paul said gently.

  She took a deep breath and her words rushed out. “Hello, everybody. My name is Lisa Johnson, and I am a prostitute and a crack addict.”

  “Glad you made it, Lisa,” chanted the group. Lisa sat down.

  Paul addressed her. “Welcome, Lisa. We only use first names here. We hope that Ready for Recovery will become your home group. However, you will receive a pamphlet at the end of this meeting that lists every center in the city along with their meeting days and times.”

  Paul’s eyes swept over the group. “I am happy to say that yesterday was my third anniversary.” The group cheered, but Paul silenced them with a raised hand. “Thank you, but every day is a struggle, and it always will be. Now I’ll turn the discussion over to Mr. Archer Downs, who brings the message of recovery to us tonight.”

  Archer Downs was a six-foot string bean of a man. His bushy black hair was streaked with gray, as were his sideburns and mustache. His complexion was ruddy, which was unfortunate since his suit, which draped his gangly frame, was somewhere between red and cranberry. His voice seemed to come from a stout man. It boomed. There was no need for a microphone. He held his arms limply at his sides. He was a plain man who came with a plain message that he dived into without preamble. “I had a wife. I had four beautiful children and a thriving law practice. We owned a home in Montclair, New Jersey. We had a nice life until my dad drowned in a boating accident and I got on the pipe. I smoked crack once, twice, three times. After that, I couldn’t find my way back to sobriety for five years. In those five years, I smoked away the house, our clothes, the children’s toys, and their college funds. I embezzled money from the law firm and went to jail. By the time I got out, my wife had divorced me and moved away.”

  Archer told his story in a matter-of-fact manner, his voice devoid of emotion or self-pity. Mel understood that the man had somehow managed to make peace with the horror he had inflicted on his family. But how?

  “I was on suicide watch in jail when a chaplain came to see me. He told me something which I found hard to believe.” Archer paused and lowered his eyes. “The chaplain told me that God didn’t want me to die. He wanted to embrace me. I laughed at that. I figured the chaplain wouldn’t be spending time on me if he could see my crying wife, scared mother, and ragged children.”

  There was a muffled sob from somewhere in the room. Mel didn’t know if it came from a man or a woman.

  “The chaplain came by every day for a week. One day, I wasn’t in the mood to hear what he’d come to say. I figured the best way to get rid of him for good would be to tell him every bad thing I had done to feed my habit.”

  Mel wondered what the chaplain would have said to a man who fell asleep with a lit cigarette in his hand, causing the death of his infant daughter.

  “At the end of my recital,” Archer continued, “the chaplain told me that God’s love is mighty and strong enough to embrace every man. Even a man like me who forced his own retarded sister to sell her body one night so that he could get high. I got out of jail six years ago, and I’ve been sober ever since. That is my message to you. No matter what you’ve done, God’s love is a mighty one and is strong enough to handle it. Thank you for listening.”

  After hearing that message, Mel decided to become a permanent member of the group. God had allowed him to survive the drug dealer’s bullets because He wanted Mel to live. It was a sign from above that his debt was paid in full. He was looking forward to a drug-free existence. He left feeling empowered. It had been a long time since he had felt that way.

  He decided to apologize to Big Boy first, so that he could start visiting Debra again without worrying about another fight, which would upset his sister. He called Debra’s house the following evening.

  “Hey, I’m glad I caught you.”

  “I ain’t got nowhere else to go right now.”

  Mel cleared his throat. “Is Big Boy there?”

  “Yeah.” Her tone was cautious. “Why you wanna know?”

  Mel told her about step eight. “Put Big Boy on the phone.”

  Debra whooped with laughter. “Can I listen on the extension?”

  Mel felt foolish. “No. And this is not funny, Debra.”

  “So lemme understan’ this. You gotta tell everybody you wronged how sorry you are. How far back you gotta go? It seems to me that just callin’ up all them women at your old telephone company job would take a coupla years.” Debra guffawed again.

  Mel was puzzled. Did Ready for Recovery expect him to go that far? He had thrown away his little black book the day after he met Adrienne. How was he supposed to find all those women? Then a new thought occurred to him. I don’t have to call all those women, because I wasn’t doing no drugs when I pissed them off. I also wasn’t married to none of them, so I didn’t commit any sin. Anyway, they should be over it by now. “Just put Big Boy on the goddamn phone,” he said.

  Mel heard Debra tell Big Boy to pick up the phone. “Me and your brother ain’t got nuthin’ else to say to each other.” Mel knew that Big Boy was shouting the words so that he could hear them. Then there was a long silence. Mel was about to hang up when Big Boy spoke into the receiver.

  “What the fuck you want, Mel?”

  Mel swallowed hard. “I’m sorry for what I did to Lillian.”

  “Say what?”

  “You heard me, man.”

  “Tell her that, too. You hear me, Mel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I ain’t playin’; you hurt her again and you gonna be real sorry.”

  Mel gritted his teeth in anger. “Don’t threaten me, man.” He hung up before Big Boy could say another word.

  He lay on the sofa at Dan and Charlene’s house and watched TV until it was dark outside. Then he got up and put on a sweatsuit and sneakers. We made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. It was time to go see Lillian.

  He walked a block before he decided to call first. She might have company, and he didn’t want to make matters worse between them by intruding on her privacy. He dropped a quarter in a phone booth and got her number from the directory assistance operator.

  She picked up on the first ring.

  “Lillian?”

  “Yeah, this is me.”

  “Uh, Lillian. This is Melvin Jordan. I know you’re mad at me, but . . .”

  “Oh, Mel! How are you?” Her tone was cool.

  “Fine.”

  “And Adrienne?” The voice was now glacial.

  Damn. She wasn’t going to make this easy. “Uh, she’s fine, too.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Lillian said briskly. And then there was silence. Mel gripped the receiver tightly, feeling like a fool. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you. Good-bye.”

  “Don’t hang up so fast! At least tell me why you called.”

  Mel took a deep breath. “I owe you an explanation, Lillian. Can I come over?”

  “See you when you get here,” and then she hung up.

  Lillian answered the door with two little girls staring out at him from behind her. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Her dark-brown hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. It made her look younger. She held the door wider, and her narrowed eyes never left him as he walked in and stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say with the kids watching.

  “Say hello to Mr. Jordan,” she told them.

  “Hello, Mr. Jordan,” they answered in unison.

  “How old are they?” Mel asked politely.

  “Carol is six, and Betty is four.”

  Mel shifted from one foot to the other. “They visitin’?”

  “My grandma had a stroke,” Lillian said simply, “so my girls are living here with me now.”

  “I’m sorry,�
� Mel said sincerely. So Lillian and her kids were living all cramped up in the tiny studio apartment. “When did it happen?”

  “The same morning you left here,” she said frankly.

  No wonder she had broken down crying in Debra’s kitchen. Mel felt like dirt.

  She turned to the little girls. “Y’all go set the table. Dinner is almost ready.”

  They scampered away obediently.

  Lillian beckoned to him. “Come sit down.”

  Mel followed her into the main room and perched on the edge of the sofa. Lillian sat next to him sideways, with one leg folded up under her so that she could look him in the face.

  Mel turned slightly so that their eyes met. “Look, Lillian, when we went out that night, I knew me and Adrienne was gettin’ back together the next morning. I lied to you and I’m real sorry about it.”

  She shook her head from side to side. “Not good enough.”

  Jesus! What did she mean it wasn’t good enough? What the hell else did she expect him to say? He looked down at his hands.

  Lillian gestured toward the kitchen, where her daughters were chattering happily and making a lot of noise with the dishes. “Only little kids like those in there have a right to think that the words ‘I’m sorry’ make everything all better. They do it all the time. They say ‘I’m sorry’ and believe that it washes their wrong away like an eraser on a chalkboard. You a grown man. Now I want to know why you did that to me.”

  If Lillian hadn’t been a frequent guest at Debra’s house, where he was bound to run into her again, Mel would have left the apartment that instant. Instead, he frantically searched his mind for the truth. When he found it, he decided to give it to her straight. “I wanted you and if I had tole you the truth, we wouldn’t have spent the night together.”