The Grey Door

by Danna Wilberg

  She opened the trunk and took a deep breath, retrieved her small suitcase, and slammed the lid as hard as she could. The loud noise gave her satisfaction. Her mother didn’t flinch.

  She looked next door. Sorrow filled her heart. Sugar had died several years back, but Grace still expected to see her sweet face.

  Sugar loved me. The memories were powerful. Her mother never understood their relationship. It wasn’t just about lemon bars or lemon meringue pie.

  “I’ll put my things inside and come back out. Can I get you a drink, Mom?”

  “No thanks. I’ll be in when I’m finished.”

  Grace gathered the linens her mom left on the bureau. She smoothed the pink sheets on the double bed and plumped the pillows. I hate pink. I’ve always hated pink. She placed her suitcase on the bed and began unpacking. When the phone rang, she heard her mom barrel through the front door and pick up the call before the machine got it.

  “Hello? Hi. No, it’s okay,” she lowered her voice. “Really, it’s fine.” She took the phone outside.

  After Grace had finished unpacking, she took her mom’s advice and made herself a sandwich. The one thing Grace looked forward to was having a full fridge. When she opened the door, she was surprised. The shelves were bare except for a few condiments. A package of sliced roast beef and a package of sliced cheese were the extent of the cold-cuts her mom had offered. Grace pulled open the crisper drawer and dug through plastic bags until she found lettuce.

  She watched her mom in the back yard from the kitchen window. Her mother was laughing, animated; she slipped out of one shoe. Grace felt a pang. That’s what this is all about. The rush to get down here. Wanting Daddy’s things gone! Why? So she wouldn’t feel guilty. God, He’s sick, not dead!

  Suddenly, Grace didn’t feel like eating. She opened a bag of chips she found in the pantry. They tasted stale. Her appetite disappeared. She threw the bag in the trash and went back to her room, the room with the ugly pink sheets. She threw herself on the bed, took her cell phone from her purse and scrolled through the menu until she found the name she was looking for—Paul.

  “Hello?”

  “I was hoping you’d call!” Paul’s voice sounded excited.

  “Really?” Grace’s lips spread into a smile.

  “Leave me a message after the beep.” Grace was taken by surprise. She was talking to an answering machine.

  “Oh, my God, Paul. It’s Grace. I can’t believe I just fell for that! Call me when you get a chance. Bye.”

  “Miss your friends already?” Her mom’s slender frame leaned in the doorway.

  “No, I…I just forgot to—” Grace didn’t want to explain the call. “Did you get good news? You look happy.”

  “Oh that,” she said. “A friend of mine called.” Her mom remained just as evasive. “How was your sandwich?”

  “Changed my mind. I’m not hungry. How’s Dad?”

  “I saw him the other day. He’s… well…you’ll just have to see for yourself.”

  Grace saw the transition. The smile faded into a scowl. Oh, Mom, she thought.

  “How about a walk, Mom? Maybe I’ll work up an appetite.”

  “No, I’m a little tired. You go.” Turning away, she asked, “By the way, how’s Jess?”

  “He’s fine.” Grace was surprised she mentioned him again. “I decided to back off for a while.”

  “I thought you liked him.”

  “I did, I do. It’s just—”

  “Just what?” her mother persisted.

  “He’s controlling.” Grace eyes pleaded for understanding, rather than judgment.

  “Well,” her mom said flippantly, “we can’t have that, can we?”

  “No,” Grace replied. “We can’t.”

  ***

  Jess cruised through the parking lot on J Street. Grace’s car wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel and peeled into traffic.

  ***

  The next morning Grace sat at the kitchen table. Her mom had set the auto-brew on the coffee pot for six-thirty. The steaming brew had turned bitter by the time Grace poured herself a cup. She didn’t hear her mom leave. She stared at the clock: ten after eight. She would’ve have been up and dressed by now if she had been at home. She went to the fridge to search for cream.

  Her cell phone rang as she stirred her cup. Dropping the spoon in the sink, she hurried to answer the call. It was Paul.

  “Hi, Grace. My morning went from great to perfect when I saw your call on my screen.”

  “Such bull so early?” she laughed.

  “You called me. I can’t help it if I react favorably.”

  “I’m at my mom’s.”

  “Happy to be there, I can tell!”

  “Please, discourage me from ruining your day.” “Won’t happen,” he assured.

  “I wish I could believe that,” she sighed. Her eyes squeezed shut. She couldn’t speak. Finally, tender words escaped ending the silence. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

  “I understand,” he said. “You’ve been busy.”

  Grace didn’t detect any animosity in his tone. “What have you been up to?” she asked.

  “Passed my exam. I was hoping we could celebrate.”

  “Congratulations! Yes, when I get back into town, I’d love to.” “When will that be?”

  “After Labor Day. I’m helping Mom get Dad’s things packed up.” “Did—?” he started to ask. Grace sensed his remorse.

  “No, no. He’s got Alzheimer’s. He’s in a home.”

  “I see. Is there anything I can do to help? I’m an expert at moving furniture!”

  “My, there are so many things to be learned about you.”

  “You as well,” he paused. “Is it too early in the relationship to tell you I miss you?”

  “Relationship?”

  “You not only have beautiful ears, they also work really well.” Grace dismissed the tingle she felt. It was too soon.

  “I need to take things slow, Paul.”

  “I’m okay with slow. I still have dial-up on my computer. Slow dancing—now that’s one of my favorites.”

  “I may take you up on dancing.” She pressed her lips together, stifling a silly grin.

  “J’ai hate—”

  “Pardon me? I—”

  His voice turned to silk. “I said, I’m looking forward to it.”

  Grace felt the heat rise from her chest to her cheeks. She managed a squeak, “Oh.”

  ***

  Grace’s mom returned home shortly after Grace hung up with Paul, her arms filled with groceries. She bustled around the kitchen filling shelves. Grace rose to help unpack the items from the bag, but her mom’s elbows came up as a warning not to get too close.

  “Sit, Grace. You don’t know where anything goes. Any coffee left?”

  “Are there any more bags in the car?”

  “I’m not the fragile one; your dad is. My cup is by the sink. Just a dash of cream.”

  Grace bit her tongue, holding back harsh words. She took a deep breath.

  “What time would you like to go see Daddy?” she asked, setting the cup beside the brown bag.

  “Actually, I was hoping you would go alone. I’ve been up there three times this week already. I have plans this afternoon.”

  “I thought the purpose of me coming down here was to get his things squared away.”

  “Yes, that’s right, and don’t forget you promised to help out at the hospital on Saturday. That reminds me: I have to call Cindy Lewis. She was supposed to pick up the fliers for me. I just don’t have enough hours in my day.” She sipped her coffee, folded the bags, and left the room. Grace followed.

  “Mom, we need to talk about this.”

  “Talk? About what? Go see your dad. It is what it is. His health is declining. I have no control over that.”

  Once the linen closet was restocked with toilet tissue, Frances faced her daughter. “Listen, things have changed. I still have m
y health. I do not intend to waste it doting on someone who has no clue I exist. I do what I am expected to do. I care for him. I pay the bills. I make sure he has what he needs.” She pushed the closet door closed and moved into another room. Grace followed.

  “I understand that. Do you want to tell me what changes you are talking about, Mom? I’m listening.”

  “Don’t start that crap with me, Grace. I’m sure you are an exceptional therapist, but I am not your client. I am your mother!”

  “Why are you so angry?”

  “Why are you pushing my buttons?”

  “I would like to sit down, finish our coffee, and talk. That’s all.” The woman checked her watch.

  “I have to be in Riverside by eleven. Birdie Nelson and I need to go over a few more things before Saturday.”

  “Fine. Twenty minutes. Then I’ll get ready and go see Daddy.” Grace pulled out a chair and waited for her mom to sit before she took a seat. “Tell me what’s going on in your life, Mom.”

  Their eyes met in a knowing way before words validated what Grace suspected. “I’ve met someone,” her mother confessed, “I love him. He loves me.” Tears accompanied the smile that couldn’t be contained. “He’s wonderful. I’ve never been happier.”

  Grace listened to the story of how her mom met Tom Bridges, but her heart cried in silence for the loss of their family. Growing up she had longed for these moments, the girl talk, even though at times it had been difficult to imagine the woman gave birth to her. And now here she was, sharing her heart, and all Grace could do, was think of herself. My love didn’t have the chance to flourish; it was stunted by fate. Graced nodded and smiled as she struggled to suppress her emotions. “I’m happy for you, Mom. You deserve love.” Grace lost the battle. Her eyes glistened with tears as her mother rose and surprised her with a hug. But the affection ended abruptly, leaving Grace to feel unfulfilled as usual.

  “I gotta go!” her mom said. “Traffic can be murder this time of day.”

  “I understand,” Grace smiled, hiding her disappointment. “Go. Don’t be late,” she said, clearing cups from the table.

  Standing by the kitchen sink, the weight of a memory fell on her shoulders. I was nine years old. She turned slowly, seeing the image clearly. Her father stood in the doorway, ready to flee. Her mother was standing where she stood now, pleading. Her eyes filled with tears. “Does she make you happy? Does she?” It was the only other time Grace remembered seeing her mom cry. It all made sense now.

  ***

  “Hi, Daddy.” The man poked cubes of red Jell-O with a plastic spoon. “Daddy?”

  “Damn blood clots,” he scowled. Melamine crashed on the tile floor and echoed in the sparse room. A nurse popped her head in. “Everything okay?”

  “Red Jell-O,” Grace said, scooping up the goop.

  “Sorry, Dr. Simms, would orange be better?” The nurse didn’t wait for an answer. She left and came back through the door, beaming. “Here you go. Sorry ’bout that. I forgot. Blood clots, right? What was I thinking?” She took the soiled napkin from Grace. “Let me do that. The doctor doesn’t get many visitors,” she said, cleaning the mess.

  Roger Simms ate in peace. Grace remained invisible.

  “Daddy? It’s Grace, your daughter, Sunshine. Remember? When he looked at her blankly, she began to sing. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”

  “Get me another Jell-O, will you? And stop that singing! You have a lousy voice.” He looked at her and squinted. “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?”

  Grace’s heart sank.

  “How about a game of cribbage?” she asked.

  “Now you’re talking,” the man said, wiping his chin with a shaky finger.

  CHAPTER 15

  ST. JOSEPH’S

  S aturday morning Grace and Fran were up and dressed by seven-thirty. The smell of cinnamon toast filled the air. Grace buttered two pieces on individual plates and placed them on the wooden surface. She refreshed both cups of coffee and sat down. “How often do you go see Daddy?” she asked, honing the sharp edge of her voice. “The nurse said no one has been to visit in weeks.”

  “I have my own life. He doesn’t know me anymore.” Fran folded the newspaper and tossed it aside. “And don’t look at me that way, Grace Lynne,” she said, raising her voice, “Your dad gets the best care available.”

  Silence prevailed until they reached the hospital and stepped out of the car. Grace heeded her mom’s warning and backed off. She wouldn’t spoil the big day. Her mom chaired St. Joseph Hospital’s bone-marrow drive every year. Grace had assumed it was the pet project that had been taking up her mother’s time. She was wrong. She has a lover. Grace felt a sinking feeling in her gut. Why did I agree to be the first donor on the list today?

  Double doors shushed open, welcoming their arrival. Small tables lined the lobby. Soon, the stations would be filled with volunteers like herself.

  “I can’t wait till Birdie Nelson sees you,” Fran whispered discreetly. “She brags about her Joanie.”

  “Mom, can we forego the competition? And you know how I hate needles.”

  “Here, fill this out and don’t be a baby. It’s just a little prick.” Grace rolled her eyes. She hated paperwork even more.

  “Once the forms are completed,” her mother lectured, “your blood will be drawn to establish your HLA, human leukocyte antigen.”

  “I know, Mom, it’s my inherited tissue type.” Grace had volunteered for the project many times, but this was the first time she agreed to become a bone-marrow donor herself. She checked the box marked PBSC. If chosen, her marrow would be collected in a non-surgical procedure.

  “You’ll receive the drug Filgrastim for five days to increase the blood-forming cells in your bloodstream,” said. Fran, “at which time you will go into the hospital as an outpatient to have your blood removed through a needle in your arm.”

  “I know, Mom,” and sarcastically she continued. “My blood will pass through a machine to separate my blood-forming cells and then my blood will to be pumped back into my other arm.” Like a transfusion. Grace had considered the other options. She couldn’t commit herself to the minor surgery required in the other procedures. With her schedule, she had trouble committing to jury duty. Putting herself on the donor list was all she was able to do right now. “I’m ready.” She rolled up her sleeve and turned her head.

  “Don’t flinch now, Grace Lynne. Birdie is watching. She saw me with Tom. She asked about your dad. Now she thinks she’s better than me in every way. Her daughter is only a pharmaceutical rep for Pete’s sake. Hold still. I’ve been doing this for thirty-two years.”

  Grace watched her blood fill the small vile. Two chairs down, Birdie Nelson boldly tore the strip off of a transparent envelope, pulled a swab stick out of a slender pouch, and slipped it inside the cheek of the young man sitting in her station.

  “Mom, why aren’t you using swabs?”

  “Birdie likes to do things the easy way. I don’t.”

  “God, Mom, you’re cruel.”

  “That’s life, Grace. What you see is what you’ll be.”

  Never! She pressed the cotton ball firmly to her arm to stop the bleeding.

  ***

  When Grace felt she’d fulfilled her duty as a devoted daughter, she escaped into the sunshine and headed toward a bench near a bed of neatly arranged pansies. She sat down and began rummaging through her purse. As if her thoughts connected to the vibrations in the universe, she felt her cell phone hum in her hand.

  “Hello.”

  “Bon soir.”

  “Reading my mind again?”

  “Somehow an image of you, sitting alone, with a look of forlorn on your beautiful face made me pick up the phone.”

  “You’re good, Paul. You’re really, really good.”

  “I’m on my way to vaccinate thirty cows.” He sounded amused. “I was thinking about you.”

  “Oh?” Her tone of voice and the silence that followed produc
ed a hardy laugh.

  “I suppose I should finish. I was thinking about you because, one, it’s a gorgeous day and, two, I’m on my way to Amador. I thought I’d stop for wine on the way back. Any preference?”

  “You’re planning ahead?”

  “Bad idea?”

  “Paul, I thought we agreed?”

  “We decided to take things slow. I’m talking about wine.”

  “You’re impossible!”

  “Hard to discourage, that’s all. How are things going down there?”

  Grace ripped the Band-Aid covering the cotton ball from her arm. “Fine,” she said. “The bone marrow drive is going well; if you don’t count the hair-pulling contest my mother is having with

  Birdie Nelson.”

  “Ouch. Did you see your father yet?”

  “Uh-huh. Yesterday. He refused to do surgery on the red Jell-O cubes they gave him for dinner. The staff seemed to take it in stride. I wanted to scream.”

  “Uh-oh. Anything I can do?”

  Grace looked at the phone as if the voice coming from the other end was not to be believed. “No. I’m all right.”

  “I’m sure you can handle things on your own. Just an offer.”

  “I know. Thanks.” She remained cool. “Good luck with the cows.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

  Grace looked at the tiny welt on her arm. A bruise was beginning to form. “Surprise me.”

  “Wha—?”

  “The wine. Surprise me.”

  Grace scrolled through her missed calls. Jess called five times and left three messages. She flipped her phone shut, not wanting to hear what he had to say. He was acidic. Paul was alkaline. Jess upset her. Paul calmed her nerves. I’m not ready to jump into another relationship. Paul was removing her barriers rather than mowing them down. She chuckled inside about the cows. He’s going to make a great Veterinarian.

  ***

  A frantic woman herded her children away from a smoking Jeep along Route 99. When cars began to slow, Jess veered onto the left shoulder and sped up, leaving plumes of dust behind.