Baby Come Back (15 page)

             
“Nick,” I had said, “I will do my best to forgive you.  I know that eventually, I will.  But I truly hope that you will stay clean now; not for me, but for yourself.”

             
“Thank you, Gina.  You don’t know how much this means that you will forgive me.  I couldn’t ask for anything more.  I will promise you to take one day at a time in my recovery.  That is all anyone can do.”

             
“I am glad to hear that Nick.  Now, I’ve really got to get Mom’s car back home to her.”

             
“Sure,” he said, “Oh here, these flowers are just a small token of my appreciation for your compassion.”

             
I took the bouquet from him, thanking him as I got into the car.

             
“Gina - there is one thing you could do to help me; I mean if it isn’t too much trouble?”

             
“What’s that, Nick?”

             
“I am going to be staying with my parents for the next couple of weeks.  I attend either NA or AA meetings twice a week.  I will do this for the rest of my life.  I just thought if, well if maybe you had a free evening on Tuesday or Thursday over the next couple of weeks, you might come to one to see how well I am doing.  I have my first one tomorrow night in Hoboken.  I will be introducing myself and telling my story.  No pressure.  If you decide to come, it is at 7:30 p.m. at Central Methodist Church.  I hope to see you there.”

             
With that, Nick had taken off on foot, leaving me there to stare after him feeling guilty. 

             
I had allowed Nick’s visit to torment me for the better part of a day and a half.  I had finally decided that I would go to Central Methodist the evening of his meeting; I had wanted to hear what he had to say.  I had slipped in to the church auditorium quietly and taken a seat in the back.  Several minutes later the meeting started with reciting the Serenity Prayer. 

             
I had spotted Nick sitting in the front row.  There were a couple of other people in the same row. I had figured they were newbies.  I had been right.

             
The first order of business was to allow anyone new to get up and tell their story.  Nick had been the second one up to the podium.  I had watched as he went to the podium and adjusted the microphone to accommodate his height.

             
“Hello, my name is Nicholas Camerucci and I’m a cocaine addict.”

             
Everyone in the crowd had clapped at his disclosure and then greeted him with a thundering “Hello Nick.”

             
I had scrunched down in my seat for fear he would look out amongst the crowd and see me sitting in the back.  I had wanted to hear what he said without him knowing I was present.

             
Nick had stood at the microphone and told his story to the room full of strangers.

             
“A year ago, I had everything.  I had a great job at a casino in Atlantic City, my own apartment, and best of all, the love of my life, my girl next door had moved to Atlantic City to be with me.  We had been together for more than two years.  I was her first, and truth be known, she was mine, though being a dude, you never, ever admit that to a chick.”

             
There was some laughter in the audience at that one.  I had been frankly surprised at his admission.  Though we had never discussed it, I had simply presumed that because Nick was older, an athlete and very popular at school, he had gotten his share of tail.

             
“I guess I had too much wealth hit me all at once; I mean I spent a year in college that totally was a drag.  I wanted to make money now; I wanted my girl with me.  I wanted all those things without paying my dues.  I was all about ‘instant gratification.’  Working at the casino, I was making more money that I ever thought imaginable.  I took shifts for other people; the tips were awesome and I was addicted to making my paycheck increase each week.  I competed with myself. The problem was, working all those shift for others required that I be on my game, pardon the pun.”

             
A few more chuckles rippled through those in attendance.

             
“So even before my girl came to live with me, I had started using coke to keep me ‘up’ - to keep me on my game.  It worked for a while.  I had promised myself once my Gina got there, it would stop.  Well we all know how those types of promises go, I guess.  It was not realistic.  I was already hooked.  Once Gina arrived, everything had been perfect.  We worked together, lived together and loved each other.  I hid my addiction from Gina, for a while.  Once she found out, she was an angel.  She didn’t want to lecture me; she didn’t give me ultimatums; but, she was not an enabler, either.  She talked to me about it; we discussed options.  I finally figured out that I had to get clean or lose her.  I had reached a point where I was getting physically abusive to her.  I hated myself for it but it was like I was someone else.  I knew I was close to losing her. Nothing would have been worse than losing Gina.  So I set about getting clean.  I was almost there.”

             
He had stopped then.  Tears were flooding down his cheeks.  He needed a minute to compose himself.

             
“There was a night that Gina worked a double at the casino.  One of her friends had called off sick.  I told her she didn’t need to do it, but if she wanted to, I would pick her up after her shift.  She said she wanted to work the shift.  We had been trying to save money. The friend of hers that asked her to work ended up coming over to our apartment.  Short story: we got high and ended up in the sack.  Gina found us.  I was a total ass to her.  I am too ashamed to tell you people the horrible details. 

             
Nick had stopped for a moment, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

             
“Needless to say, Gina left me and she had good reason to do so.  I knew immediately I needed help.  I went into rehab the next day.  Here I am.  I have been clean for seven weeks and two days.  I thank God for helping me to get clean.  Thanks for listening.”

             
There was a round of applause as Nick had taken his seat and the next addict had gotten up to tell her story.  I had hurriedly slipped out of my seat and left the church before Nick had seen that I had been there.  I had needed time to process what I had heard him say to the group.

             
In the following two weeks I had attended all of Nick’s meetings and by this time, he had known I was there.  We had re-opened our lines of communication.  Both set of parents had been ecstatic over that.  By the end of my first term of college, I had transferred my credits to a junior college in Atlantic City and had moved back in with Nick.

             
Things were ideal for several months.  I had attended college and worked a part-time job as a cashier at a drug store; Nick had found a job as a pit boss at another casino.  We had found a different apartment; it was a beautiful townhouse. I had told Nick I couldn’t stomach going back to the one with all of the horrible memories.  He had understood.  Nick had continued to attend at least one weekly meeting at NA; I had gone with him as much as possible.

             
As Valentine’s Day had approached that year, Nick managed to get a night off.  He had planned a very special evening for us.  He had taken me to a very expensive restaurant for dinner.  Nick had turned twenty-one by this time, so he had champagne brought to our table.  We had sipped champagne, dined on oysters and fresh lobster.  For dessert, Nick had ordered Cherries Jubilee.  It had been perfect.

             
Later, back at our apartment, Nick had spread rose petals across our bed.  There was a card and a wrapped box on the bed.

             
“Open it,” he had instructed me, softly.

             
The card had been very romantic; he had told me how much he loved and cherished me; how we would be together forever.  The box had contained a beautiful, red silk nightgown.  It was floor length with spaghetti straps; very classy.  He had purchased it from one of the upscale shops downtown.

             
I had changed into the gown, while Nick had lit candles around our bed.  We had made love very slowly, very sensually.  Nick had not been rough with me on this occasion.  It had been the first time that I had experienced an orgasm.  It had taken both of us by surprise.  Afterward, I had wrapped myself around Nick as if I couldn’t’ get enough of him.  I had finally felt some sort of a connection with him on a very intimate level.

             
“I love you, Nick,” I had whispered to him.

             
“I love you back, Gina.”

             
“Gina Marie, you’ve barely touched your dinner.  You need to eat to have a strong and healthy bambino.”

             
“Sorry, Mom.  I’m just not that hungry this evening.” 

I got up and started to help her clear the table.  Amie was loading the dishwasher in the kitchen.

              “Gina, are you not feeling well?”  My mother was looking at me with concern evident on her face.  This was a perfect opportunity to get out of going to the wake.

             
“You know, Mom.  I guess I’m not feeling very well.  I haven’t been sleeping well at night.  I’ve been just a little crampy all day,” I lied.

             
“Heavenly Father,” she said, making the sign of the cross on herself.  “You get yourself into bed now, Gina.  We don’t need a repeat of what happened before.”

             
“But Mom, the wake--”

             
“Gina Marie, you have your orders.  Angie will understand.  If you’re feeling better tomorrow, you can go to the funeral.  I won’t argue about it, Gina.”

             
“Okay, okay, I’m going Mom.”

             
I climbed the stairs to my room.  I was thankful I didn’t have to face Nicholas Camerucci; at least not today.  I changed into my nightgown and climbed under the covers of my bed; the bed that had been my safety haven while growing up.

             
My thoughts returned to the weeks after that very special Valentine’s Day spent with Nick in Atlantic City.  Things had continued to go well between us.  We hadn’t made love since Valentine’s Day; Nick had simply resumed his rough fucking once again.  I had figured Nick was possibly out of his comfort zone when showing tenderness.  I had attributed it to being some macho, Italian thing.

              There had been one exception to the norm; my period was late.  I had missed a couple of my birth control pills, which wasn’t necessarily unusual for me.  I had sometimes forgotten to take them for a day or two so I simply made up for them whenever I remembered.  The following March I had discovered that I was pregnant.

             
I had visited the Planned Parenthood clinic for confirmation.  I had been nervous about telling Nick.  It had to be done, though.  He had seemed to take it in stride. He had actually seemed tickled about the prospect of being a father.  He had made it clear though that he wanted us to be wed.  We had decided not to tell our respective parents until after we were married.  That had actually been Nick’s decision.

             
The baby was due in November; I had told Nick that I had always wanted to be a June bride, so we planned to get married at one of the numerous wedding chapels on the strip after I wrapped up my classes for the quarter.  Nick had booked the bridal suite at the hotel where he worked for our honeymoon.

             
Several of my friends from school had hosted a bridal shower for me.  I had felt guilty about not letting my mom know, but it really was better this way.  I was nearly four months pregnant; there was no point in walking down the aisle at St. Vincent’s in a white wedding dress.

             
A couple of days before our marriage was scheduled to take place, several of Nick’s buddies were taking him out for his bachelor party.  I had some angst about that.  Nick had still been attending his NA meetings; he knew that he had to abstain from situations that might cause him to relapse.  He had never really been a drinker; even after he came out of rehab he hadn’t used alcohol with the exception of the champagne on Valentine’s Day.

             
Nick had assured me that he would limit himself to a beer or two; I wasn’t to worry.  I had worried though; I had worried when he hadn’t returned home by the following morning.  I had convinced myself that he had probably gotten a little bit drunk and slept it off at his buddy’s place; but which one?  Why hadn’t he called me?

             
I had worried the whole time that I had worked my shift at the drug store.  When I had returned home, music was blaring from the stereo in our apartment.  I thanked God; at least he was still alive.

             
I recalled when I had opened the door to our apartment that afternoon.  There had been strangers inside.  I hadn’t even spotted Nick at first; then I did.  He was in the kitchen, snorting lines of coke off of the kitchen table.