Chapter One

Chapter One

The Christian Hand Recovery Center was never supposed to accommodate women, but when things got bad in downtown Oakland, the board of directors decided that it would be very un-Christian-like to deny perfectly good bed space to those who were looking to get clean. So they had a meeting.

For reasons unknown those who manned the center, 1986 was a bad year for men looking for salvation, and so The Reverend Dr. Frank Love and his wife got permission from the board to open their doors to women who wanted to seek recovery under the protective armour of the Lord and the watchful eye of his temperance minded staff.

Urinals were replaced with toilets – at least on the top floor; magazines for the dayroom were updated to include Good Housekeeping and People Magazine; counselor volunteers were trained, and Mrs. Love finally got to add some feminine touches to 7 of the 21 rooms that made up the Washington Street missionary that she and her husband had built. Two days after the renovations were complete, the Center was full.

Naturally, there were strict rules about fraternization that were to be observed at all times. Curfews were put in place, and guests (as they were known) were to be in their rooms, alone, by 10pm. Co-mingling was allowed only in the day room.

Men and women being what they are, however, and particularly men and women unaccustomed to a life with a proscriptive framework, meant that it wasn’t long before The Christian Hand Recovery Center board of directors was holding another meeting. What to do about babies.

It seemed that room 21 had been used for more than solitary reflection, and one Tisa Cormier had confided out of necessity to Mrs. Love that in fact, she was pregnant and due in about 7 months, give or take, and the father was in room 9. One John Jackson.

Tisa had delivered the news in her usual noisome manner, indicating that she probably would not have said anything at all, but the staff has asked her to submit to a drug test because they could hear her vomiting in the bathroom and they had noticed she was always sleeping.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she said, her arms crossed defensively across her chest, “but since this whole damn place seems to have to know everything, that’s the situation.”

“I see,” said Mrs. Love. This was a first at the Center, to be sure. She wasn’t quite sure how to react. She had been in the recovery business long enough to know that registering surprise or strong intense feelings about a guest’s proclamations was not always a good idea. I see seemed like the appropriate response for the moment.
“Oh, you see,” said Tisa. “Let me see if I can guess what’s going to come next. You’re going to tell me I broke the rules and now I have to leave because – let’s see if I can make my accent sound just right -- this is your house, right?” Her tone was indignant and challenging, and depressingly predictable.

“Well, right now, I just want to thank you for telling me what’s going on, Tisa,” said Mrs. Love. This was a standard response that Mae must have uttered at least three times a day. The center’s philosophy was to respect the message; they believed it fostered honest communication. Inside, her head was reeling, but this was not the time to be overly demonstrative. So Mae continued “And I think we need to make sure you get some vitamins and a visit to the doctor. I think about 9 weeks in is the right time. Sounds like you’re about that far along. Let me make some phone calls and we’ll visit together later today.” She smiled and left Tisa in the hallway. She had to find Frank.

“They’ve both violated the rules,” said Dr. Love. “I know it sounds harsh, but they have to go.” It was as simple as that and always had been. Having run this place for the better part of 25 years, Dr. Love knew that you simply couldn’t save everyone. One way to separate the wheat from the chaff was to draw the line at the house rules.

“But it’s not just an adult’s life we’re talking about Frank, there’s a baby involved,” said his wife, pacing back and forth on the threadbare carpet underfoot. She eyed his good sized office, measuring it in her head for a spot where a playpen might fit.

His office was the one place at the Center where they could talk without guests eavesdropping. Folks in recovery look for any little excitement they can find, and gossip, particularly of the juicy variety, rates high on the list: illicit drug use, fights between the Loves, who was recently tossed out. Although pregnant guests were a new development, it was sure to be prime gossip fodder.

The windowless office space, located in the basement of the Center, was off limits to everyone at the Center except the Loves, and because the floors outside were concrete, it was impossible for anyone to sneak up on them. They could talk in peace.

Dr. Love leaned back in his desk chair and closed his eyes. “Mae,” he said with a sigh, “I know there’s a baby involved, but we have to think about the bigger issue. If we let John and Tisa stay here, how are we gonna control everyone else?”

“This isn’t about everyone else.”

“Come on, now.” His voice was patient and his demeanor calm. “This place can’t accommodate no baby. What’s going to happen when the child is born? Are we gonna just let them raise that baby as if it were in a normal environment? What if they’re in ‘group’ and the baby gets fussy? How are the other guests going to feel about screaming at all hours of the night?”

“Now, that last one you’re kidding about. Please tell me you’re kidding, Frank,” said Mae, now still, her hands pressed on the edge of the desk as she leaned in to make her point. “All the heroin addicts we had up in here going through detox and you’re going to try an tell me guests are gonna be concerned with some little yelps comin’ out the room?” She waved away his nonsense and sat back down in her chair.

“You don’t even like Tisa, Mae,” her husband pleaded. “I know. . . I know you’ve been secretly wishing to get her out of here.” He got up from his desk and gently massaged her shoulders.

Secretly, Mae had disliked Tisa the moment she met her. For starters, she was strikingly beautiful, with curly black hair, green eyes, and perfect smooth brown skin. Such a fact was never good for true recovery, because beauty could be always be used as a crutch to get what she wanted. Even though over time such manipulations wore thin on people, there was always another man waiting to make her happy and thus, another obstacle to getting better.

The Loves has gotten to where they could see through the combination of crank-highs, cocaine-lows, and personality quirks of the damaged souls who passed through their doors, and predict with stunning accuracy which of them would get through the 180-day program and actually make it on the outside. Mae recalled the first day intake with Tisa, telling her that they did not allow smoking – the one vice permitted generally at the Center – in the Center, including in their private bedrooms. Tisa had rolled her eyes and remarked that since she was effectively a prisoner, what difference did it make what she wanted. There was no gratitude in her tone for getting a second chance, and no humility in her voice.

Tisa’s anger and penchant for humility was not exclusively directed at the Center’s staff members. During the ‘group’ sessions, Tisa had been admonished numerous times for making light of other people’s plights, or worse, ridiculing them for their choices. Her own stories revealed an upbringing that was considerably more comfortable and middle-class than most people in her predicament. This, coupled with Mae’s discussions with Tisa’s father, made Mae believe that Tisa was much more the architect of her situation than she cared to admit.

Tisa was prone to hyperbole and her stories after awhile sounded like exaggerated jeremiads. Mae had been in the business of salvation long enough to know that Tisa was looking for some sort of quick fix that the good Lord was not going to provide. Notwithstanding any prescient tinglings, the Loves remained optimistic about everyone who passed through the Center, including Tisa. And as long as she stayed within the boundaries, she had a home with them. She had pushed them in the past, but this was a clear violation.

Still, at least in Mae’s eyes, there was always something redeeming about the woman. At times, Tisa could be vulnerable and painfully needy, even sweetly so. Sometimes early in the morning, Tisa would come down to the kitchen where Mae would be sitting in the corner amidst the sea of breakfast prep activity, making her shopping lists for the volunteers who would be in later that day. They would talk, and Tisa would tell Mae about her aspirations and dreams, sometimes even ask advice. They might share a cup of coffee together while Mae helped her complete a job application, and Mae would suggest different wording or offer help with the writing portion of a questionnaire.

Mae could see through the veneer at times, and knew that Tisa longed for approval from her. Mae tried her best to give it, as she did with all the guests. There would be tender moments of breakthrough, where Tisa would acknowledge her own complicity in her circumstance and, if only for a moment, vow to be a better human being, even make a commitment to Jesus.

And then, just as quickly, such tenderness was gone, disappeared; replaced by a indurate, venomous, angry bitch who refused to believe her undoing was her doing. In the same stroke with which she painted her own self blameless did she call into question Mae’s motives for helping her, or ridicule Mae’s life choice of wasting her days caring for the scum of the earth. “What does that say about you, that the only people you spend your time with are America’s throwaways,” Tisa had said on more than one occasion.

She had seen all these behaviors before, to be sure, but rarely were they all wrapped up in the same package. An inimical spirit to begin with, Tisa had a way of cutting to the core of a person’s self-esteem, and she did it with razor sharp precision. The staff and the guests had at one time or another felt her wrath, and had come away shaken. She was poisonous.

Reflecting on all this now made it clear to Mae that it was best for everyone if Tisa was gone. And she had to admit that she did want her out of the Center. But there was a baby involved here. What chance did that innocent little life have if Tisa was forced on the street and back on the cocktail of percodan and dolls she’d been taking when she came in. Mae sat silent, unsure of what to say.

“Maybe we can call her parents. With the baby coming, they might have a change of heart.” Frank offered, still rubbing her shoulders. “Why don’t we start by calling them before we make any decision.”

Together, they pulled the file and dialed. The Loves thought it best if Mae delivered the news. She explained that the Center simply did not have the resources to accommodate a child. “We just wanted you to know what was going on.”

“She’s pregnant, huh?” Mr Cormier asked after a silence that seemed to last into the next day. “Well, how far along?” he asked without affect.

“She thinks she’s about two months pregnant. We haven’t sent her to an obstetrician, but we have no reason to believe she’s not telling the truth.”

“Why not? Tisa has made a career out of lying. Are you sure she’s even pregnant?” he asked.

“Well, Mr. Cormier, we don’t see what good it would do for her to tell us something like that if it weren’t true. After all, it could get her kicked out of the program,” said Mae. There was another silence.

“Look, I am grateful that you folks are around. Lord knows we’ve paid for enough private rehab programs that didn’t work. That’s why we stopped giving her money and putting her in programs. And I trust you know what you’re doing,” he added. “But if it were me, I’d start by giving her a pregnancy test. But OK, let’s proceed on the premise that she’s pregnant. What is it that you’d like me to do?”

“We were thinking you and your wife might be willing to take her in,” said Mae. “She’s working the steps in the program and she’s – ”

“Let’s stop right there. We’ve talked to you folks about this in the past. We tried the nurturing parent thing. It didn’t work. Now, it’s the tough love thing. Until she is clean and sober for at least a year, and has a job or gets herself back into school, this house is off limits. Maybe you want to counsel her to have an abortion.”

Mae was taken aback, “Oh, we couldn’t do that. We just don’t believe in abortion.”

“But you believe in drug addicts caring for babies, huh? OK, well, I think we’re done here. Don’t get me wrong. We love both our daughters and we mortgaged our house to help that child – twice! Our older daughter Barbara had to pay for her own school because we put everything we had into treatment programs . . .” his voice trailed off. Mae sensed that he was holding back tears, despite his gruff demeanor. After awhile he regained his composure.

“I’m sorry. Please tell Tisa we love her. We know that with help, she’ll figure it out.”

Frank settled back in his chair again, and looked at his wife. She was the first to speak. “Well, first of all, she’s already three months into the program. She’s only got three months left. By the time she’s 5 months pregnant she’ll have a job and she’s be on her own. What’s the harm, really?”

“The harm is that she broke the rules and it’s going to throw a wrench in our program,” said Frank. “And you and I both know that she’s not going to be ready in 3 months.”

“Well, we’ve had lots of folks that have transitioned to jobs here. And we have even more who have repeated the program with permission from the county. I don’t see that as an obstacle.”

“Doesn’t the phrase ‘she broke the rules’ mean anything to you, Mae?” This time he was pleading with his wife. “This is a challenge I’m afraid we are not equipped to meet. This could ruin everything we’ve built here.”

“This is what the Lord has placed before us, Reverend Dr. Love,” she said softly. “ What we’ve built here is the only chance that baby has. It’s one thing to let those souls back in the community and know that most will start shooting up again, or snorting, or popping. It’s quite another to send an innocent baby to its doom. And you know that if we let this girl out of here, we might as well reserve bed space for her unborn child now.” Mae looked at her hands, which were trembling. “I guess I’m ashamed to admit it, but you’re right Frank. I never did like Tisa. But it’s precisely why I think the Lord’s behind it. This is my test, too.”

And so there was another meeting of the board of directors and another vote. Tisa and John could stay and deliver their baby while living at the Center. So long as there were no additional rules violations, one of them was employed at least part time and they were working the program, they could stay until the child was a year old. There would be no co-habitation. The baby would stay with Tisa. When Mae delivered the news to the expectant couple, John managed a weak thank-you. Tisa commented on the obvious uselessness of the celibacy rule.

Roughly seven months later, Domini Cormier Jackson was born.