The Weight of Him(25)

He squatted over the toilet bowl, the fruit-filled shakes running through him. The bathroom door groaned open. Embarrassed, he clenched and wiped hard at himself, even though he didn’t feel finished.

As soon as the room cleared, he exited the stall and washed his hands in a rush, eager to leave before anyone else joined him. Too late; the bathroom door again made its eerie noises, bringing in Denis Morrissey and his toothsome smile. The men exchanged nods and Denis unzipped. “How’s everything going?”

Billy tried to sound upbeat. “All right, thanks.”

If Denis noticed a smell, he didn’t let on. “Did I see you have a bit of a limp?”

Billy mentioned his attempt at exercise. “The will’s there but the body’s not cooperating.”

“Take your time and go easy on yourself, Rome wasn’t beaten in a day.”

Billy laughed at the familiar phrase made strange. He watched Denis wash his hands, going at them again like he would never get them clean enough. The sound of water returned Billy to the rain on the day they had buried Michael, his son’s coffin disappearing beneath the shovels of wet dirt. His ears filled with a high-pitched sound.

“Are you all right?” Denis asked.

Billy, dizzy, clammy, reached for the tile wall.

Denis gripped Billy’s elbow. “Whoa, there. Do you need to sit down?”

Billy blinked back the blur of dizziness. His heart chugged and his empty stomach sounded its death rattles. He pressed his hands against the cool tile and lowered his head between his arms.

“Should I get help?” Denis asked.

“No, I’m all right.” Moments passed, Billy blinking, breathing. Just as he thought he felt a little better and they could both get back to work, the words spilled out. “I’m afraid I’m not able for all this—that I won’t lose the weight and I’ll let myself, everyone, down.”

Denis patted Billy’s back, sticking his shirt to his skin. “You don’t have to go this alone, you know. There’s plenty of groups you can join.”

Billy shook his head. He’d already tried group meetings over the years. All that measuring and counting calories, the constant talk of food, recipes, and cheat tips—he’d left feeling ravenous, and even worse about himself. He’d hated, too, how he was always the biggest one there and how all the others had looked at him with either fear or relief, and sometimes even delight. At least I’m not as bad as him. He makes me look good. Please, God, don’t let me end up like him. The sweat oozed from Billy. He couldn’t attend a meeting with a bunch of smaller versions of him and listen to everyone go on about how hungry they felt, how deprived, how guilty. All that and still they’d be thinking how much better off they were than him.

“What about Overeaters Anonymous?” Denis asked. “There have to be OA meetings here in town—”

Billy shook his head again. “Stop, please.”

“Come on, what’s the harm in trying?” Denis said. “I’ve been a member of AA for ten years and I swear by the group meetings and the Twelve Step program. OA uses the Twelve Steps, too, I’m sure, and they work for practically everyone.”

Fresh hope came over Billy. His vision cleared and his head stopped reeling. Denis might be on to something.

*

The doors to St. Michael’s Church were locked. Billy again rattled the handles, hoping. He looked up and down the street, for someone to ask for information. He’d searched the Internet and had driven fifty miles to find this Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, hoping to ensure he didn’t run into anyone he knew. If AA could help alcoholics of every make, shape, size, and color, then surely it could help other kinds of holics, too.

He checked the doors again. He needed this meeting. Needed to get inside the church and out of sight. How would he explain himself if he was caught? That would really set tongues wagging. He’s addicted to the drink as well as the grub. He heard voices, and followed the chatter, taking him around the side of the church and into an open courtyard.

People stood talking and laughing, smoking and holding paper cups. He scanned the group, but was half blind with fear and couldn’t take in their faces. Behind them, the door to a long, whitewashed annex stood open. He pushed on through the courtyard.

The large, crowded annex appeared to be a dining room, with its high ceiling, low-hanging brass chandeliers, and the banquet tables pushed against the walls. Despite the number of people sitting about on metal chairs—there had to be seventy or more—Billy’s eyes went straight across the room to the woman sitting behind the desk, her back to the oversized fireplace and its thick wooden mantel. He pushed himself toward her.

“Do I need to sign in?” he asked, his voice faint.

“This your first time?”

He nodded.

“Nora,” she said. He nodded again, unable to get his name out. She pointed to a table next to the doorway. “You’ll find all the literature over there.”

He hesitated. “Take a seat anywhere you like,” she said. He moved to the empty back row and dropped onto a chair next to the aisle. It was only after he sat down that he realized he’d chosen the seat farthest from the exit.

Nora appeared next to him. “We have a little kitchen in the back, feel free to help yourself to tea or coffee and…”—she blushed—“and biscuits, if you want. Come on, I’ll show you.”