“Answer your fucking phone!” he yelled. When the message greeting came on, he spoke calmly, “Grace, it’s me. Call me back.”
He checked his watch. At this rate, he wouldn’t get to LA until after dark. Why the haste? Better to remain unseen until he figured out what Grace was up to. He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t desert her clients unless something else superseded. Family? Home was the only place he could think of. He knew her dad was ill. She’d better be there.
He conjured visions of her making out under the stars with lover-boy. Just when I get rid of one asshole…
***
Grace followed the corridor to the oncology division. At the end of the brightly lit hall, she entered the door leading to suite 235, marked “Lab.”
“Mom?” she called.
“In here,” the woman replied. “I’m almost finished, and then we can go. How’s the arm? Ah, you removed the Band-Aid already. That’s my girl.”
“You gave me a hematoma, Mom.”
“You shouldn’t have jerked.” Frances checked her handywork. She pressed on the swollen vein. “Should have kept pressure on it. Where do you want to go for lunch?”
“I’ll let you choose. I’m happy with anything.”
“That’s half your problem, Grace Lynn. You should be more assertive.”
“What’s the other half?” Grace wanted to know.
“You’re too much like your father—an idealist. Things don’t work out unless you make them work out.”
“I’ll have to remember that, Mom. Thanks.”
They entered a small café a few blocks from the hospital, where the soup was “to die for,” according to Frances. Grace didn’t have much of an appetite.
“You’re not going to faint now are you? It was just a little stick. You look pale. A couple of days at the beach will fix that. Can you still wear a bikini? I think there’s one in that pile of clothes I want to get rid of.”
“I can’t stay that long, Mom. I told you, I need to get back.”
“Very well, then.” Frances studied the menu in cold silence.
“Mom, I’ll help you get Daddy’s things sorted out. We can spend a little quality time and maybe visit Daddy together.”
“I don’t need your help to visit your father. Please don’t interfere, Grace. I know you mean well, but— Hey, they have clam chowder every day now. I think I’ll order that and a pasta salad.”
“What happened, Mom? What made you so bitter?”
“Bitter? I don’t know what you’re talking about, bitter. Your dad is locked in la-la land. I can’t do anything more than I’ve already done. I’ve put in my time, paid my dues. I have my own life to lead. Tom is a good man. You’ll see.”
“Mom, I’m not ready for that.”
“What do you tell your patients when they’re prepared to move on? Do you advise, don’t? Wait! Make sure everyone is on board before you decide how to live? I don’t think so. Do you want salad? They have a lovely vinaigrette.”
“I’m seeing Dr. Meltz.”
“What? Marcus is old enough to be your father!”
“Professionally, Mom. He’s treating my PTSD.”
“Oh, you had me scared for a minute.” Frances unfolded her napkin on her lap. “How is he?” she asked demurely.
“Great. He and Shirley have a new grandbaby, a boy. Willa gave birth last week. Dr. Meltz was still with them when I left. I’m hoping there isn’t a problem with the baby.”
“Yes. That would be a shame.”
“What’s wrong, Mom? Now you’re the one who looks peaked.”
“I’m fine. Let’s order, okay? What are you going to have?”
Grace appeased her mother’s wish to order, but not to drop the subject. Clearly there was something about Marcus Meltz that struck a chord. Or was it Shirley? Grace remembered Shirley as a flirt. Once the waitress finished noting Frances’s instructions, Grace continued.
“When is the last time you and Shirley got together? You two used to be such good friends.”
“Never. We pretended for the men’s sake. Shirley Meltz drank like a fish,” Frances scowled. “She was a wild one. I suppose most of the wives resented her: that shape of hers, the fact that she didn’t give a damn about what anyone thought. They made a handsome couple though.” Frances sipped her coffee, staring into space.
“You weren’t bad yourself. I’m sure you had your admirers too.”
“That was so long ago, hardly worth remembering. Tom likes the way I look,” she blushed. “He’s very attentive. Not at all like—” The waitress’s timing was perfect. Frances placed her napkin on her lap and began seasoning her food.
“Like?” Grace persisted.
“Like most men.” She waved her hand. “Tell me, do you have a social life? Or are you still chained to your practice.”
“I work hard, Mom. Is that so wrong?”
“Time flies,” Frances said, twirling a generous amount of pasta salad onto her fork. “I’m not pressuring you to go have a bunch of babies, am I?”
“No.”
“Do you go out?” she asked, filling her mouth with food.
“I went out with a short dentist—a mammary gland connoisseur. I’m in no hurry.” Grace reviewed the men in her life. Garret had withered to nothing in the end. Jess was behaving like a psychopath. And Paul? He was nice and so easy to talk to, but— “My eggs should be fertile for at least a couple more years.”
When the waitress cleared the last of the dishes, Frances grabbed the check. Grace pulled out some cash and placed it beside the leather folder. “Ready?”
Instead of taking the cash, Frances shoved Grace’s contribution into the folder and said, “Back to work. Birdie probably botched things up while we were gone.”
Grace slid out of the booth. As she followed her mom, she felt her phone vibrate in her purse. A chill ran up her spine. She checked the number. Jess. Again.
***
When evening came, Grace changed into a T-shirt and shorts while her mom hummed in the kitchen, preparing dinner and cocktails. Tom was due to arrive at six p.m. “Don’t stomp, Grace, you’ll ruin my soufflé!” Grace tiptoed across the floor.
“Sorry. I’m not used to you cooking.”
“Tom appreciates my creative side.”
When the doorbell rang, Frances dropped her oven mitt on the counter and brushed any folds from her navy-blue tank-top and blood-orange Capris. Her flip-flops clipped daintily as she crossed the foyer to the front door. Grace had forgotten how feminine her mother could be around men.
“Grace, meet Tom.”
Grace extended her hand and nodded, “Hello.”
“Franny tells me you shrink heads up north.”
Frances giggled. “Oh, Tom, I didn’t say it quite like that.” Grace wanted to puke.
“And Tom,” her mother grinned from ear to ear, “is the top commercial Realtor in Garden Grove.”
“How did you two meet?”
Tom slipped an arm around her mother’s waist. “The hospital,” they replied in unison.
“Just how long have you been, eh, friends?” Grace’s tone was that of a parent interrogating a prom date.
Tom looked deep into her mother’s eyes. Frances looked horrified that Grace would ask such a question. “It seems like we’ve known each other forever and yet,” he paused, “it seems like we met only yesterday.” Slick move, Grace thought. Avoid the answer.
“Are we ready for a drink?” asked Frances. She linked arms with Tom. Grace decided the two of them were in cahoots. They played their roles so well Grace wondered if she should make popcorn and wait for their next scene to unfold. Drama? Or mystery? Too soon to tell. Definitely romance.
***
Jess pulled into a gas station outside of Barstow. He filled his tank, shopped for items to sustain him through the night, and laid a twenty on the counter.
The cashier placed potato chips, beef jerky, Red Bulls and licorice whips into a plastic bag. He han
ded Jess his change and wished him a good evening.
Outside, Jess opened his phone and pressed redial. Grace’s voice came on the line. “Leave a message after the beep.” Jess refrained from hurling the phone across the parking lot. “Fuckin’ bitch!” A woman standing nearby scurried to her car and locked the door. She fired up her engine and pulled away, averting Jess’s glare. “Grace, I’ve been calling you all damn day. What’s up? Why aren’t you returning my calls? Bye.” He snapped the phone shut and vowed to the setting sun, She’d better be at her mother’s…or so help me God.
Grace hadn’t imbibed in martinis in ages. She was feeling tipsy when she made her way into the house. Tom and her mother remained on the patio, laughing up a storm. All evening, Grace had felt like a third wheel.
She flopped down on the bed and opened her purse. Why does he keep calling me? She dialed her message center and listened. Jess sounded angry. Too bad, she thought. She didn’t have to answer to him. She pressed delete. The next voice she heard was unexpected.
“Grace, it’s Sal. Hope everything’s going well. Call me when you get a chance, okay? Jess stopped by the office this afternoon. He said he was supposed to feed your dog. He wanted your house key. I told him I was taking care of Sneaky and that he didn’t have to worry. He seemed a little ticked-off. I hope I did the right thing. Say hi to everyone. Bye.”
Grace checked the time. Too late to return Sal’s call. Jess? Ticked off? That son-of-a-bitch!
After a long, hot shower, Grace’s buzz faded, and her muscles began to relax. She peeked through her bedroom window. Her mother and Tom were quiet. Too quiet. She donned a dorm shirt and padded into the kitchen. The note on the refrigerator read, “Be back later.” Beneath her mother’s large scrawl was a message from Tom. “Nice to meet you,” he wrote, signed Tom. The O in his name was replaced with a smiley face. Great. I’m glad someone’s happy. Grace went back into her room and dressed for the beach.
Within minutes, she parked beside the path leading down to the shore. The wind whipped her hair and tore at the sweatshirt tied around her neck. Ready to face the elements, she kicked off her shoes, rolled up her pant legs, grabbed a bottle of water from her bag, and closed her trunk lid. Her steps instinctively found their way past the rocks, down the steep grade. Moonlight shimmered on the water. Frothy curls gathered at her feet. The deep impressions in the sand came from her heavy heart. Nothing would ever be the same.
***
Jess’s car crawled along the curb across the street from the Simms house. The glow from the porch light confirmed the address. He turned off the engine and checked his watch. After midnight. He had expected to see Grace’s car parked outside. “Where the fuck is she,” he seethed. Just then, a car turned down the street. As the beams turned into the driveway, he saw two heads in the front seat, one taller than the other. He grew anxious, waiting to see the face of the driver, but the interior light didn’t go on. The man seemed older by the way he inched his way out of the car. He immediately went to the passenger side and opened the door. Jess couldn’t see the passenger either, but he heard her voice. It wasn’t Grace. He slouched down in the seat. He wondered if Grace put her car in the garage. He didn’t want to wait until morning to find out. I have to know.
When the couple disappeared behind the front door, Jess listened. No barking. He got out of his car and slipped around the side of the house. High bushes concealed him from the neighbors’ view. He cupped his hands to the garage window and saw two cars parked side by side. Neither one belonged to Grace. Luckily he spotted the rental car sticker before the vein in his forehead threatened to burst. Good girl.
***
During the night, the fog had rolled in. When Grace awoke at six, she couldn’t see ten feet out the kitchen window. Sleep had been fitful. Her dream had returned and she was in no mood for the dreary weather. She plucked a pre-filled filter from the coffee can, poured water into the reservoir, pushed the button and waited. When the pot filled to the first line, she pulled it away from the spigot and filled her cup.
“You’re up early,” Frances observed.
Grace jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Geez, Mom! You scared me.”
“Is there any more of that?” She pointed to Grace’s cup.
“In a sec. Here take this.”
Frances refused the offer. “I can wait.” She turned her back to Grace and went outside for the paper. When she returned, Grace placed a cup of steaming brew before her. “Thanks. Now sit. I want to know what you thought of Tom.”
“I don’t know, Mom. He seems—”
“We’re getting married.”
Grace swallowed, trying not to choke. “What? You’re still married to Daddy!”
“It won’t be long until… you know…until your father is gone. But I want you to be prepared.”
“Mom, how long have you known this guy?”
“What does it matter? We’re in love. He makes me happy.”
“How long, Mom?”
“Don’t interrogate me, Grace. I’m not one of your clients.”
“You’re right. You’re not. I’ll bring the boxes in from the garage.”
They worked side by side folding jackets, sorting shoes, and gathering books. When the last box was packed, Grace looked around. Her father’s office looked small and cheap.
“When are they coming out to tear down the paneling?” Grace asked.
“Tomorrow morning. I’m having the room painted too. They said they could have it done in one day.”
“What’s the hurry, Mom?”
“I want to get on with my life.”
“Was it that bad?”
“Who said it was bad? Why does everyone assume when you move on that you’re leaving something terrible behind?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m a realist, Grace. Maybe if you were more like me and less like your father—”
“Like Daddy? How am I like Daddy?”
“You always think you can fix things.”
“I thought that was being an optimist.”
“Great. Be an optimist then. Accept that Tom and I are going to be wonderful together.”
“I have no problem with you being happy, Mom. I’m concerned with you moving at warp speed.”
“Life is short. Why drag my feet?”
“How would you feel if I came to you and said, ‘Mom, I’ve met someone. We’ve known each other three weeks, and we’re getting married.’”
“I’d say, ‘Wonderful. It’s about damn time.’”
Grace threw her dust cloth on a pile of books and stormed out of the room. She gathered her clothes and toiletries and shoved them into her suitcase. She caught her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look like a psychotherapist. She looked like a teenager throwing a tantrum. Her mother knocked lightly. Grace smoothed her disheveled hair and opened the door. “What, Mom?”
“Grace Lynne, let’s not fight. I didn’t ask for your father to get sick. It happened.”
“I’m not blaming you for Daddy’s illness. I’m not blaming you for being happy.”
“Then, what?”
Grace sank onto the bed. She stared at her mother, trying to identify and name her feelings. Was she hurt? Disappointed? Scared? “I don’t know, Mom. Since I went away to college, it seems that you and I moved to two different worlds. I don’t understand what happened.”
Frances slipped her hands inside the pockets of her jeans. She focused on the floor, moving an invisible object with her toe, back and forth, back and forth. Grace could hear the traffic noise from the highway bleed through the silence. “Your father wasn’t—” Her eyes lifted to meet Grace’s. “No marriage is perfect. That’s all I have to say. Yes, I’m in a hurry. I have a lot of lost time to make up for.” She turned and left the room.
Grace laid back, her arm shielding her face. Tears ran into her ears.
The doorbell rang.
Grace heard muffled voices. One
was her mother’s. The other sent chills up her spine. She tore out of the room.
“What are you doing here?”
“Grace. Babe. You’re making a scene. Fran, you’re looking marvelous.” Jess hugged the woman and turned to Grace. “I’m seeing a client in Pasadena. I thought I’d surprise you.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Sal told me.”
“Jess, please come in,” said Frances. “Grace Lynne, get Jess a beer. It’s got to be a hundred degrees out there already.”
Grace removed caps off of three beers. Her mom waved Jess into her father’s seat. It almost seemed like an act of defiance on her mother’s part. She always liked Jess. She doesn’t know him like I do.
“How long are you going to be here?” Grace’s voice sounded hostile.
“A few days.” Jess drew a long pull from his beer. “Why? Want to see the sights?”
“No thanks. I’m leaving this afternoon. I have clients. You know me. Work. Work. Work.” But Frances wouldn’t have it.
“Grace, I’d like you to stick around another night. Jess can meet Tom. We’ll have a nice intimate dinner– the four of us.
“Mom, no. Jess has—”
“Thank you, Frances. I’d love to stay.”
“It’s all settled then. You like ribeyes?”
Grace shuddered. Jess eyed her contemptuously while her mom reached in the refrigerator. “My favorite, especially if they’re cooked rare,” he said. “I like my meat bloody.”
CHAPTER 16
LOST DOG
T hat evening, once dinner dishes were cleared from the table and dessert was served, Frances and Tom insisted on playing cards. “C’mon Grace. How ’bout a hand of rummy. Show Jess how good you are.”
Grace resented the remark. She was better than cards, better than Jess, better— alone. But when her mother added, “Grace tells me you’re getting divorced, Jess. Is that right?” Grace wanted to sink into a hole.
“Yes, unfortunately, we gave it our best,” he replied with sincerity. “Grace has been a godsend. I don’t know what I would have done without her.” He leaned toward Grace, putting his hand on her knee.
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