“It wasn’t until I came in here with you men and learned that I have a disease, that I couldn’t control my drinking… then I understood I had to stop completely.”
Each share was more honest than the next. For close to an hour, Ozzie listened; they were all telling pieces of his story.
“Thank you for your vulnerability, gentlemen,” Earl said. “In the early days, Sister Ignatia of the Sisters of Charity of St. Augustinewould give her alcoholic patients a medallion. She asked only that before that person took a drink, they return the medallion. Is there anyone here who wants a medallion?”
Joe nudged Ozzie. “You should take one.”
“But I’m scared,” Ozzie said. “What if I can’t do it?”
“I’ll go through it with you.” Joe stood.
Ozzie rose on shaky knees and followed Joe up to the front of the room, where Earl placed the medallion in Ozzie’s palm. It was cool to the touch but weighty at the same time.
“Welcome home.” Earl gave him a hug, and Ozzie had to tamp down the emotions that threatened to show on his face.
Rita and Maceo stayed at Mercy-Douglass for seven nights, and each evening when visiting hours ended, Joe and Earl were waiting for Ozzie outside of her hospital room.
The first time Ozzie saw them waiting, he was surprised and asked what they wanted.
“A sheep can’t get lost if he is in the middle of his herd,” Earl answered matter-of-factly.
The official meetings were held on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. On the other nights, Joe and Earl met Ozzie down in the hospital cafeteria, where they took turns reading to him from the literature that governed their program of recovery. Each night before he left for home, Joe would say, “Pray to God to keep you sober. Meet me back here tomorrow night at seven-fifty.”
Although his work buddies peppered him with pleas to go to Wally’s, Ozzie resisted. On his eighth day sober, Ozzie pulled the Chrysler Windsor up through the circular driveway and gave Rita’s name to the front-desk clerk. It was twenty-eight degrees and breezy, so he kept the car warm and running.
When the same nurse who had been on duty the night Maceo wasborn wheeled Rita with Maceo in her arms out to his car, Ozzie stood tall with pride at the sight of his family. Rita was draped in a tan wool coat, and the white turban that covered her hair made her look regal. Maceo was bundled in a snowsuit.
“Baby, you two okay?” he asked.
“Ready to get home and sleep in my own bed.” Rita smiled and handed the baby to the nurse. Ozzie scooped Rita up in his arms and carried her the few feet to the front seat of the car.
“You know I can walk.”
“Not on my watch.” He kissed her cheek, lowered her into the front seat, and then moved aside so the nurse could place Maceo in Rita’s arms.
When Ozzie rounded the car, the nurse touched his arm and said, “Joe told me to tell you that he’ll see you tonight, seven-fifty.”
“I’ll be there.”
Rita had been given strict orders to avoid steps in her first week at home, so Ozzie lifted her up the stairs and into their back bedroom. He had already put together a wooden cradle, and Great-aunt Reese had dressed it with a heap of blankets. Once Rita and Maceo were propped up with pillows, Maceo started to kick his legs and fuss.
“You hungry?” Rita cooed, and Ozzie sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Rita removed her enlarged breast and pressed it against Maceo’s face. The miracle of a woman’s body never ceased to amaze him.
“Will you be okay for a little while? I need to run back to the hospital for my meeting.” Ozzie had briefed Rita on his acquaintance with Joe and their fellowship in the basement.
“Sure, long as that’s all you’re leaving here to do?” Her eyes went dark. Ozzie knew that Rita had every right not to trust him.
“That’s it.” He moved to kiss her on her forehead, but he wouldn’tmake her another promise with his words. Now he had to show her with his actions.
At six months sober, Ozzie’s head was clear, and he had the energy of a teenager. Rita had stopped questioning his intentions when he left the house for his nightly meeting, and she had started nudging him to resume their quest to obtain a mortgage from the bank.
“Sweet Maceo has sucked up the breathing space in this back bedroom. There is no place to move,” she complained with the baby on her hip.
On his lunch breaks, Ozzie made his rounds to the banks again. He filled out another stack of paperwork and pleaded his case to the tellers.
In the seventh month, Joe told Ozzie that it was time for him to sift through the wrongdoings of his past. Ozzie made an inventory list, and Joe listened to him with patience. When he finished, Ozzie walked lighter, like he had shed ten pounds of guilt, secrets, and pain.
Now they were preparing for Maceo’s first birthday party, and he and Rita were blowing up balloons. The fragrance of the chocolate cake that Rita had set on the rack to cool wafted into the living room, making him hungry. But he was too nervous to eat.
