'Would anyone else like to say something?' said the host.
'My name is Rachel Lopez…'
'… and I'm an alcoholic. I've been sober for three months and nineteen days.'
The group applauded. Lorenzo closed his eyes. He prayed for his daughter, and for Rayne and little Lakeisha, whom he had grown to love like his own.
'… I thought my drinking gave me power. I thought that in bars, at night, I could do what I hadn't been able to do with my parents or my offenders. That I could exercise some kind of control. I had to hit bottom to see that I was all wrong. I had no power. I was just a drunk, and I was alone.'
Lorenzo said a prayer for all the people who had looked after him and were looking after him still: Mark Christianson and Irena Tovar, his grandmother, and Miss Lopez.
'… I'm dating a man, a police officer. I don't know where it's going, but it's good today. And that's what I'm focusing on now: today.'
Lorenzo said a special prayer for the soul of Nigel. When he was done, he opened his eyes.
'… so thank you for letting me share,' said Rachel Lopez.
The basket was passed around the room, and then the group gathered in a large circle. Lorenzo stood beside Rachel, her hand on his shoulder, his on hers. The group recited the Serenity Prayer, and then the Lord's Prayer, and said 'Amen.'
'Narcotics Anonymous,' said the guest host.
Outside the Church, the group dispersed quickly, as the weather did not encourage loitering or idle conversation. Some got into cars with their friends and sponsors or walked toward their residences or places of employment. Others gathered in the Plexiglas bus shelter on East Capitol, out of the wind.
Rachel and Lorenzo stood on the edge of the parking lot as Rachel found a cigarette, lit a match, and cupped her hands around the flame. Mark Christianson had pulled the Tahoe into the lot and was waiting. They could hear muffled barking sounds coming from inside the truck. It sounded like more than one dog.
'That you?' said Rachel.
'Yeah. My partner was supposed to go to lunch. He must have made an unscheduled stop instead.'
From the driver's-side window, Mark smiled at Lorenzo, then made woof actions with his mouth and wiggled his eyebrows.
'He looks nice,' said Rachel.
'He's odd,' said Lorenzo. 'But I guess he's all right.'
Lorenzo looked her over as she smoked. A shock of gray had come into her hair, a thick streak against the black. It had appeared soon after the assault. There was a horizontal scar, a thin razor line on one of her cheeks, and a large circular scar, like a heat scorch, in the palm of one hand. That hand had yet to recover its full dexterity. The largest scars were on her chest. The stitch marks were prominent and would be there for the rest of her life. He could see part of them now, pink and raised, coming from the V-neck of her sweater beneath her open coat. She looked small. She looked like she had aged ten years.
'You ought to quit them cigarettes,' said Lorenzo.
'Hard to quit everything at once,' said Rachel.
Shirley and Sarge, walking together, emerged from the church and came toward them. Sarge kept on without a greeting. Shirley stopped to say hello.
'Can I get a Marlboro, Rachel?' said Shirley.
Rachel shook one from the deck. Shirley put it behind her ear and accepted Rachel's matchbook, gotten at a convenience store, as well.
'You comin'?' said Sarge, calling to Shirley from the sidewalk.
Shirley smiled at Rachel and Lorenzo. 'Y'all have a blessed day.'
'You also,' said Rachel.
Shirley joined Sarge. The two of them walked down the street.
'I got calls to make,' said Lorenzo.
'So do I,' said Rachel. 'You been to the clinic lately?'
'I been meanin' to.'
'You need to get over there and drop a urine.'
'You know I'll be droppin' negative too.'
'No doubt.'
She looked into his eyes. Both of them smiled.
'All right, then, Miss Lopez,' said Lorenzo, touching the sleeve of her coat. 'Let me get on out of here and see what my partner's got in that truck.'
