The Grey Door

by Danna Wilberg

  No movement.

  Jess nudged one thin arm with his foot. Torn fingernails snagged in the carpet and began to bleed. The cat hissed. Jess gloated. The hand became still again.

  “I told you that you would never leave me, Jenna. You women think you can just walk out of my life?” He bent down to smooth her cheek. “I think not.”

  ***

  Grace rose from another fitful night of sleep. She showered and dressed quickly for her appointment with Dr. Meltz. On her way, she fantasized about her favorite coffee shop, her order already etched in her brain: two creams, one sugar, and make sure the lid is on tight. But then she recalled how she ran into an old client the last time she stopped at this hour, so she kept going. Coffee will have to wait. She checked her rear-view mirror to make sure no one followed. Stop it, the inner voice scolded.

  “You need caffeine, that’s all,” she assured herself. If she were lucky, Sal would have a pot brewing when she arrived at work. Satisfied, she drove another mile to the doctor’s office and pulled into a metered space.

  She stared at the Victorian’s grey door beckoning her to enter. How long before this madness stops? She dropped nine coins into the meter’s slot and mounted the steps, counting the weeks she had been coming here. Too long.

  The inside door to the doctor’s office was locked. Maybe Willa had her baby. Surely he would’ve called to cancel. She knocked softly and waited in the small area at the end of the hallway. Less than a minute later, Dr. Meltz appeared.

  “Morning, Grace. Sorry for the wait. I was on the phone.”

  “Are congratulations in order?”

  “Yes, a girl. Can you believe it?” Dr. Meltz beamed and handed Grace a chocolate cigar.

  “How’s Willa?” Grace sat down and arranged the pillows. “What did they name the baby?” she asked, peeling the wrapper from the chocolate.

  “Willa’s doing great. Baby Luella Louise, Lu-Lu for short, was born seven pounds, two ounces, nineteen inches and absolutely beautiful.”

  “You’re not too proud,” Grace kidded.

  “There is nothing like a newborn. They come into this world kicking and screaming, and when you give them a little love, they relax in your arms and go to sleep without a care in the world.”

  “I’m happy for you, for Willa, and for Spencer. This makes three?”

  “Yes, I am blessed with three beautiful grandbabies.”

  Grace took a bite of chocolate. Three babies…Willa’s your age.

  “And what’s going on in your busy life?”

  “No babies!” she laughed, but it wasn’t funny to her. She still hadn’t gotten her period. Stress; it’s stress.

  “How’s Jess? Is he still trying to push you around?” Dr. Meltz squinted his eyes.

  “No,” she laughed. “No, he can’t push me around.” She crumbled the foil wrapper, tossed it into the trash, and sat up straight. “I ran into him last night in a restaurant. He was with a tall, gorgeous redhead, another lawyer. And I…I was with a very short, but very cute dentist.”

  “Oh, my!” Dr. Meltz broke into a fit of laughter. “Oh, my stars!”

  “It was rather funny now that I think about it.” When their laughter died, Grace grew serious. “Jess called me three times before I got home, explaining in his message the redhead wasn’t his girlfriend.”

  “He cares for you, Grace. Business is business.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What’s going on? Did it bother you to see him with someone else?”

  “There was a twinge, just a twinge of…not jealousy…envy, perhaps?”

  “How so?”

  “I can’t seem to move on as easily. He’s not even divorced. We didn’t work out, so…on to the next!”

  “Oh, so he’s on to the next? I thought he was having dinner with a colleague.”

  “She was chummy.”

  “How chummy?”

  “She was pawing him,” Grace said. “My first impression was possessive.”

  “Perhaps they deserve each other,” he said.

  “Right,” she agreed.

  “Did you decide when you’re going down to see your mom?”

  “Over Labor Day. Jess asked me to go to Catalina with him; his friend has a plane.”

  “Why wouldn’t he take the redhead?”

  When Grace didn’t respond, Dr. Meltz switched gears.

  “How’re the folks?”

  “I haven’t talked to Mom much lately.”

  “Hmm, I always got the impression you two were close. It seemed whenever we got together for parties, you stuck pretty close to your mom.”

  “We were close.”

  “And?”

  “I went away to school. When I came back, something had changed.”

  “How so?”

  “It seemed like she moved on without me.”

  “That happens. How about your dad? Ever get to talk to him? I imagine it’s difficult with him having Alzheimer’s.”

  “Yes, it is.” Grace felt herself slouch. Suddenly, she was uncomfortable. Dr. Meltz was astute.

  “What’s going on Grace? Talk to me.”

  “I think I mentioned having flashbacks of my dad cheating on my mom. I never gave their relationship much thought until recently.”

  “Tell me about the flashbacks.”

  “I remember being about nine, I walked into the kitchen. My mother was crying. I heard her say, ‘Does she make you happy? Does she?’ My mother stopped when I came into the room. My dad stormed out and slammed the door.”

  “Do you know who your mom was referring to?”

  “No.” Suddenly, Grace felt dizzy. She remembered how Dr. Meltz’s wife, Sylvia, liked to brush up against Dad when Mom wasn’t around. “May I have some water, please?”

  Dr. Meltz obliged. Grace rubbed her temples. “It seems I’ve been getting more headaches lately.”

  “Stress?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

  “What do you think made you recall your parents’ relationship? You said this came about recently.”

  “I think it started before my thirtieth birthday. I had been thinking a lot about Jess. Then he moved here. I didn’t want to get my heart broken.” Grace stood and crossed the room. She picked up a framed snapshot of Dr. Meltz and his wife taken in the 1970s. “He never told me he was planning to divorce Jenna.” Grace paused reflectively. “I listen to my clients talk about their dysfunctional relationships. I don’t know,” she said solemnly. “Sal thinks I should be married by now.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I never gave it much thought until one day I woke up, about to turn thirty-one. Jess moved to Sacramento. I thought I was in love. I realized that what I felt for Jess wasn’t real, that it was a young girl’s fantasy.” Grace’s eyes filled with tears. “I…uh…started to take the thought of marriage more seriously when I met Garret. He could have been the real deal.” She replaced the photo and returned to her chair. “I don’t know, maybe that was an illusion too.”

  “It’s much easier to be in love with an illusion. The illusion doesn’t have to love you back.” Even though Dr. Meltz’s words were gentle, they cut her heart like a knife.

  “I feel so empty,” she cried. “I’m thirty-one years old, and I’m alone.” She couldn’t stop the flow of tears. Dr. Meltz handed her the tissue box and patted her hand.

  “I’ve been a family friend, your mentor. I’ve watched you grow from the day you were born.” Dr. Meltz stroked his beard. The lines in his face softened as he spoke. “When you were about six or seven, you split your knee open climbing a tree. You were determined to feed a nest of baby birds. You came into the house dripping blood. We grown-ups ran around the kitchen like chickens with our heads cut off, fetching clean towels, ice, and antiseptic. You calmly went to the cabinet, took out a Band-Aide, and said to all of us, ‘This will do; I’m fine,’ and went back to your mission. Do you remember that?”

  “Barely.”

  “I
remember like it was yesterday, and I said to myself, now there’s a girl who doesn’t need anybody.”

  “You’re wrong, Dr. Meltz. I do need somebody.”

  “Grace, you have inner strength; you don’t need anyone. Love happens in its own time. Be ready for it when it comes, and it will come again. In the meantime, go on dates with short, cute dentists and newly divorced lawyers. Embrace those fantasies. Enjoy the path you’re on.”

  “Enjoy my path? I got drunk at the Park Lounge the other night and took a Frenchman home.” Grace waited for his disapproval.

  “That’s not considered a date,” he said. “That’s getting lucky!”

  “Why do I take all of this love stuff so seriously?”

  “Because it is serious. Because you are thirty-one. Because you think you should be married and having children like every other female on the planet! Because you think you’ve lost your one chance at having love in your life.”

  “Why do I have answers for everyone but myself?”

  “What would I do if you had all the answers?” Dr. Meltz gave her a wink. Grace checked her watch. Their time went over.

  “I have a client in ten minutes. I have to run. Give Willa my love. Tell her I’d love to see the baby before she goes back home.”

  Grace hurried through the grey door, but the blinking red light stopped her in her tracks. Her brain processed >click<, flash, >click<, flash. She squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them again, shuddering at how quickly her mind played tricks.

  ***

  Grace heard the sobbing coming from inside her office before she opened the door. When she rushed in, she saw Sal standing by her computer in tears.

  “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  Sal shook her head and pulled Grace toward the monitor. On the screen, the local NBC affiliate was broadcasting footage of a terrible accident off Highway 50.

  The anchor’s words enunciated crisp and clear: “The vehicle was reported going off the road at three o’clock this morning by passing motorist Jeff Aderbloom.”

  The camera switched to the witness Jeff Aderbloom. “I’ve never seen anything like it!” Jeff said, visibly shaken. “The car in front of me suddenly flipped into the air for no reason!” He motioned to the sky with his hands. “The next thing I knew the car was rolling down the embankment. I tried to help,” he said, blinking away tears. “I called 911. The car was about a hundred feet down, then it slid another hundred feet and more of the hillside went with it. All I could see were the taillights. I tried to climb down, but slipped a couple of times and decided it would be better to wait for help. When I reached the top of the hill, I heard this rumble—” Adderbloom covered his face with his hands. The camera came back to the reporter.

  “Help arrived within minutes,” the reporter said. The camera switched to an interview recorded earlier, identifying Lieutenant Brooks from the California Highway Patrol.

  “The call came in at three a.m.,” said Brooks. “We were on the scene by 3:10 along with an emergency crew. El Dorado County rescue units worked diligently to uncover the vehicle from tons of dirt and debris. More details will follow the coroner’s report and after the investigators have had a chance to study the cause of the accident.” The camera switched back to the reporter: “Any ideas what may have caused the accident?” The camera lens zoomed back to a close-up shot of the lieutenant.

  “Because of the time of the accident, there is a high possibility that the driver fell asleep at the wheel,” he said, “but that’s’ merely speculation. We’ll know more after our investigation.”

  “What about the landslide?” the reporter interjected.

  “We’ll know more after the investigation,” the lieutenant said curtly.

  The camera scanned the accident site once more before returning to the reporter. A truck was pulling away from the seen with a crushed car in tow. Flashing lights began to disperse. The reporter looked solemn as he spoke his concluding words: “Although identification has not been confirmed, we have learned, the vehicle is registered to twenty-nine-year-old Wilde Defoe of Citrus Heights.” The reporter paused for effect. “CHP reports the road will be open to morning traffic. There may be delays while CalTrans repairs the loose embankment and fixing the damaged guardrail. Back to you, Stan.”

  Sal clicked off the program.

  Grace was speechless. Did the floor move? It felt like she was about to fall. The color drained from her face; her skin turned clammy. She sat down hard. Wilde’s words echoed in her brain: “I see myself looking up while dirt is pouring on me. I feel like I’m in a grave.”

  The sound of Sal blowing her nose brought Grace back to the moment.

  “It is difficult to believe.” Sal leaned against her desk, clutching her tissue. “I guess no one is in control of their destiny.”

  Grace looked up at her, bewildered. “Excuse me, Sal,” she said, feeling her body float out of the chair. “I better go check my messages.”

  “I’ll bring you some coffee, Grace. I didn’t get a chance…”

  “Thanks,” Grace mumbled. “I’ll be here.” Her voice trailed off.

  Grace dialed her message center to confirm her deepest fear. “Grace, it’s Wilde.” He was crying. “Where are you?”

  “Oh no,” Grace moaned. Tears flooded her eyes.

  “This is it,” he sobbed. “I told you I couldn’t shake the feeling.” It sounded as though someone was pouring stones into a galvanized bucket. Then she heard him grunting and something pinging, shushing, and clunking. “I can’t get out of here!” he screamed. As Grace listened to the muffled sound of his voice slip away, her body began to shake.

  CHAPTER 11

  PARK LOUNGE

  O utside the Park Lounge, the waiter delivered another glass of wine to Grace on the patio. Red, puffy eyes stared past the slow stream of cars parading bumper to bumper down L Street. Too preoccupied with reliving Wilde Defoe’s previous sessions, she didn’t hear the footfall.

  “Ah, my lush friend is here.”

  “Luscious to you,” she slurred, taking another swallow of wine.

  “Hmmm, is that an invitation to join you?” Paul asked.

  “Suit yourself,” she continued, staring ahead.

  “Bad day?”

  “Very bad.”

  “I see.” He pulled a chair next to hers.

  “Is this where you hang out when you’re not waiting tables at the Ambrosia Café?” she turned to ask. “Or are you stalking me?”

  “I was passing by. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Shades of orange and pink splashed across the sky. Neither one spoke until twinkling lights illuminated the night.

  “One of my clients died this morning.” She pinched her lip, trying not to cry.

  “Aw, Grace,” he sighed, reaching for her hand. “How did it happen?”

  “Car accident,” she said, jerking her hand from his.

  “How tragic. I’m sorry.”

  “He told me weeks ago that it was going to happen.”

  “You mean it wasn’t an accident?”

  “I can’t talk about my clients,” Grace stiffened. Her mouth tightened into a slash, and she looked away.

  Paul laughed. He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I’m not with the CIA, Grace, and I’m sure you have your own network of professionals to talk to, but I’m here now. I’m willing to listen and kiss away the tears.” He lifted her chin until their eyes met. “I’m here because I was meant to be here tonight with you. Can you believe that?”

  Grace was sure Paul’s intent was sincere. She felt safe, and the words Dr. Meltz spoke about love ignited in her brain. Be ready for it; it will come again. She grazed Paul’s mouth lightly before her lips hugged the rim of her glass. After a quick sip, their eyes reconnected, and she spoke.

  “My client said he was having premonitions of being buried alive. I didn’t buy it. I was convinced the problem stemmed from his childhood. I failed him.” She drained her glass and called to the waiter for
another.

  “This is not the way,” Paul said, nodding at the collection of empties.

  “How then, Paul? How am I supposed to deal with all the shit that has been eating away at me?” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and he gathered her into his arms.

  “C’mon,” he said, dropping a fifty on the table to cover the bill. “I’m taking you away from here.”

  The wind blew through their hair while soft music played on the radio. The humming of the engine furthered Grace’s somber mood as they traveled down the highway. As minutes stretched into hours, she watched huge shadows come and go. Why don’t the stars ever move? she wondered. It wasn’t your fault; you didn’t kill him.

  The smell of salt air filled her nostrils before the sound of crashing waves reached her ears. She peered over Paul’s shoulder to the ocean below.

  “You okay? We’re almost there.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “Why am I stealing into the night with a damsel in distress?”

  “Luscious damsel,” she reminded him.

  “That you are,” he chuckled. “This is what I do when I need to clear my head. It’s proven to be more effective than alcohol for me.” He patted her knee. “I told you; I want to help.” Grace struggled to clear the lump in her throat.

  Paul turned onto a secluded road that wound its way another mile through tall trees. At the end of the road, a clearing revealed a magnificent structure perched on a cliff.

  “Who lives here?” Grace asked.

  “The house was my grandmother’s. She passed away last year. It’s mine now. I was renting it out, but now that I’ve finished school, I might stay here awhile. Then again, maybe I’ll sell it. I’m not sure yet.” He opened Grace’s door and helped her out of the car.

  “I have clients tomorrow. I can’t—”

  “I promise to have you back by dawn.”

  “It’s breathtaking,” she gasped, entering the foyer. Windows stretching from floor to ceiling showcased sapphire blue as far as the eye could see. She found it difficult to discern where the night ended and water began. The moonlight shimmered between white ruffles performing a nocturnal can-can.