The Grey Door

by Danna Wilberg

  “Don’t ever hang up on me! I am not some mental case you can cut off when time’s up! Do you know what that does to me?”

  “Save yourself some grief, Jess. Don’t call me anymore. Lose my number. Forget you know me. Go back to Jenna and leave me alone!” Grace hung up.

  Jess trembled. He balled his fists and pounded on the table. “Fuck you, Grace! Damn you to hell! You’ll see who you’re dealing with. I am not finished with you. You and that faggy, little, waiter boy of yours are going to pay!”

  He stormed out of the room, leaving his phone spinning on the table top. He reached into his closet and removed the box from the top shelf. He pulled out a .45 and set it down on his dresser. He reached into the box again. “There you are.” He slipped the object into his pocket.

  “Oh, Grace—babe—you’re going to be very sorry.”

  ***

  Grace dialed Paul. “About my behavior earlier, I didn’t show my gratitude. I didn’t like being caught in the middle. Jess had no right.”

  “I can take care of myself. No need to fight my battles. But thanks for calling. I thought maybe I overstepped my boundary.

  “You were fine. Jess was wrong to behave that way to my friend.”

  “Well, I’m glad I graduated to ‘friend’ status.”

  “I’m not shopping for a relationship, Paul. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes. You made yourself perfectly clear. I promise not to impose anything you’re not comfortable with. And I’m sure you’ll let me know if I get out of line.”

  “Count on that!” she smiled. She could imagine him smiling on his end.

  “So, is it too soon to ask you to my place for dinner?”

  “Who’s doing the cooking?” she asked, twirling a loose strand of hair.

  “Both of us!” Grace felt butterflies. “I require help in the kitchen,” he teased. “Italian okay?”

  “Sounds great. When?”

  “Fifteen minutes?”

  “No way.”

  “Just kidding.” A long pause had passed before he added, “How about twenty?” Grace’s skin began to tingle. The corners of her mouth lifted in earnest. She couldn’t stop herself from being attracted to spontaneity. It wasn’t her way. Maybe that’s why she responded so easily. She felt tempted to step into a role of living dangerously right now. She couldn’t explain why. Maybe she felt time had become her enemy. Maybe she had nothing to lose. “Yes.” The ticking clock forced her hand.

  “You’re agreeing to have dinner with me in twenty minutes?”

  “Oui. Or however you French fries say yes. What can I bring?”

  “Your appetite and your favorite apron. I like it messy.”

  Grace hummed as she added Paul’s address to her book. She ran upstairs to change her clothes, brush her teeth, and comb her hair. She checked her watch. Ten minutes to make it across town. She opened her bottom drawer and withdrew a small bundle. She carefully unwrapped the tissue paper protecting the red gingham apron. Her heart fluttered with excitement. Sugar said this would come in handy someday.

  ***

  Jess stayed out of sight until Grace left the house. He waited until dark before he snuck through the back yard. When he turned the key in the lock, Sneaky barked. “Fucking dog,” he muttered, pulling the stun gun from his pocket. He pushed, catching the resistance of the chain. Fuck! He fumbled in his pocket for another key. Entering through the front door would be a risk. A neighbor might spot him. Don’t be a pussy, he said to himself. She needs to be taught a lesson. He crept along the side of the house to the front door and let himself in.

  Good. The glowing nightlights dispersed along the floorboards would allow him to navigate his way through the house, but his first obstacle was the low growl he heard immediately upon closing the front door behind him. He held the stun gun, ready to shoot. When Sneaky lunged at him, he pulled the trigger. The dog yelped and backed away. “How’s that, bitch? You’re going down!” He checked the voltage on the gun, but before he could strike again, Sneaky had his kneecap clamped between her jaws. Jess silently screamed and punched the dog in the head. Sneaky collapsed, out cold. Jess wobbled into the kitchen to check for blood. Little flashes of light bordered his peripheral vision. He couldn’t afford to black out, not in her house.

  He opened the cabinet above the stove and pulled a bottle of aspirin from the shelf. Something for the pain. This will have to do. The cap slipped from his fingers and bounced onto the countertop. As he reached for it, he noticed the brown bag with the pregnancy test inside. His fury rose. Fucking bitch! He saw red. Next to the phone, he saw the open address book. A heart was drawn next to the name “Paul,” and below, set in ink, was the entry of a nearby address. “You son-of-a—” Jess turned toward the growl in time to fend off another attack from the determined shepherd. He quickly wrapped a dishtowel around his forearm. “Not this time, bitch!” When Sneaky lunged, Jess managed the stun gun against her flank and pulled the trigger. The dog whelped. Jess limped to the backdoor, removed the chain from the lock, and took leave. After relocking the deadbolt, he slipped into the bushes and waited, making sure no one saw him limp to his car. When he got into the driver’s seat, pain seared up his thigh and down his femur. A warm sensation spread from his knee cap to his calf. I’m bleeding. “Fucking dog!” He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. “Fucking, fucking dog!”

  ***

  Across town, Grace pressed the doorbell outside the charming Craftsman style home. This time she leaned against a square pillar admiring deep-blue irises scattered among brightly colored trumpet flowers. Paul’s voice startled her.

  “Wow, you got here fast,” he said, opening the screen door and accepting the bouquet she offered.

  “Pour moi?” he asked, inhaling deeply. “You shouldn’t have.” His hand cupped her elbow. His grin was sly, his voice low and sensuous. “Entré vous,” he said, escorting her inside.

  Grace silently mused at his wardrobe change. She liked the way he looked in the navy scrubs he wore earlier. However, the faded jeans and sleeveless T-shirt suited him perfectly, along with the apron covered in Dalmatians wearing chef hats. Grace especially liked his bare feet and the feather duster tucked inside his back pocket. My kinda guy.

  Fern green walls and open beams made the foyer seem spacious. “I thought flowers would nice,” she said, following Paul through a carved-wood archway into a large room with vaulted ceilings. “Besides, one can’t dine on Italian cuisine without flowers. Roman law,” she added, recounting the points on the decagon skylight above her. She paused, hearing Paul’s muffled laugh coming from behind the beveled glass cabinet door that, when closed, sat flush with the wall.

  He held up a crystal vase victoriously before peeling the cellophane away from the bouquet. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a Swiss Army knife, and began snipping stems.

  Grace walked up behind him and peeked over his shoulder. “I didn’t notice your spectacular flower garden when I came to get Sneaky. Too agitated, I guess.”

  “Hummingbirds love trumpet flowers and eucalyptus trees,” he said turning to face her with gentle eyes. “Hummingbirds fascinate me, one of the reasons I became a vet.” Paul placed the flowers in a vase. He didn’t see her eyes grow large or the way she hugged the apron she was holding to her chest.

  Grace stepped back. Too soon. Garret’s passing left wounds on her heart that needed time to heal.

  Her peripheral vision reached the expansion of the room, gathering information. She was pleasantly surprised at the eclectic mixture of French Rococo and leather furniture. She followed Paul to the far corner of the room where two delicate glasses sparkled under recessed lighting over the wet bar. Her eyes slid to a slender brown Bordeaux bottle, uncorked and waiting. “Nice digs,” she said.

  “It’s a little mishmash,” he said, humbly. “I have a hard time letting go of things. Paul eyed Grace as he poured a small amount of wine into each glass and handed her one. “Saluté,” he said, tipping his glass t
oward hers. The connection rang out light and crisp, a sound expensive crystal makes when it resonates. He raised his glass toward the light. “Sangiovesé, from my swine outing the other day.”

  “Sorry to have missed out,” she said, examining the legs on the Side of her glass and the rich garnet hue before sipping. “Lovely. We’ll have to explore their tasting room.”

  “Meaning there will be another date,” he chided.

  “Friends go wine tasting, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do.” His smile stretched until his teeth became visible. “Get your apron on. Bring your wine,” he said, motioning toward the kitchen. “You can help me with the salad.”

  Grace needed only to follow her nose. The sauce bubbling on the stove sent aromatic scents into the air. Olive oil, tomatoes, basil, and a hint of oregano filled Grace’s nostrils. Her stomach agreed with her senses. Something delicious was in store. Steam rose from the tall cylinder on the back burner while Andréa Bocelli belted out the last high note of Au Revoir from Romantica.

  A tinge of sadness crept into Grace’s heart while lathering her hands with lemongrass soap. She had imagined copper pots suspended over a six burner stove and preparing dinner with the man of her dreams once before. Garret. She dried her hands, picked up a paring knife, and began quartering black olives. She scooped the pieces into a bowl and tried to push the memory away.

  “Tell me about your trip,” Paul said, sensing her sudden mood change.

  “My dad’s illness is irreversible. Mom’s going through a transition; she’s determined to move on. His name is Tom. What can I say?”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  Grace’s eyes rested on Paul’s. He held a half-peeled onion in his palm. He genuinely cares. She turned her attention to a basket of grape tomatoes. She rinsed them in the vegetable sink, patted them dry, and sliced one in two. “Tom seems nice. I don’t think I’ll ever call him Daddy.”

  “Good,” Paul chuckled. “Save that one for me.” Grace threw a tiny tomato, hitting Paul on the chin. He laughed harder. Grace pretended to search for something bigger to throw.

  “No! Not that!” Paul shielded his face from the green pepper. “I apologize. I shouldn’t make light. It must be hard for you. What else did you do at Mom’s?” The way he said Mom’s felt intimate to Grace. He didn’t know her, her family. Yet for some odd reason, she knew he would eventually. It felt right.

  Dinner was divine, two hours of eating, drinking, talking, and sharing dreams. They laughed and kidded with each other so easily. For two hours, Grace forgot her troubles. She floated through time on a wave of peace and fulfillment she never expected to experience again. And just when she thought the evening couldn’t get any better, he brought out his Scrabble game.

  Two more hours passed. At eleven-fifteen, she finally conceded the round to Paul and negotiated a rematch.

  “Only if you promise me you’ll make it tomorrow.”

  “We can’t see each other for at least a week,” she said. “Otherwise that would be considered dating. We’ve already stretched the boundaries with a lovely Italian dinner.”

  “You’re the one who brought the flowers!”

  “You bought the wine.”

  He pulled her close. She expected a kiss. Instead, he gave her a hug. “I’ll walk you to your car.” He broke a rose from the bouquet and handed it to her. “To remember our evening.”

  CHAPTER 17

  LOOSE CHAIN

  G race drove home, but Paul remained in her mind. Minutes later, she walked into her house calling for her dog. “Sneaky.” Strange. The dog always greeted her at the door. “Sneaky?” Fear welcomed her instead. Her heart picked up its pace. Within seconds, it felt as though the organ would pummel her insides. Flip the damn switch.

  Light illuminated the kitchen. At first, her mind didn’t compute what she saw—Sneaky lying in the corner, convulsing.

  She reached for her phone. “Paul! Oh, God, please come. It’s Sneaky! Please hurry!” she begged. She slumped beside the dog and sobbed. She could feel swelling around Sneaky’s jaw. Dried blood caked near the tooth that hung loosely from the dog’s gums. Grace looked around, trying to get a sense of what could have happened. A scream caught in her throat when her eyes settled on the back door. The chain.

  She swore she hooked it before she left the house. She tried to remember the sequence of events. She always came through the garage. You let the dog out before you called Paul. “I locked the door,” she whispered. Did you fasten the chain? She couldn’t remember. She watched the minutes tick by. Waiting.

  Vigorous raps on the front door released her from her torment. She scrambled to her feet. “Paul?”

  “You okay? What happened?” he asked, rushing through the door. “Where is she?”

  “In here,” Grace led him into the kitchen. “I don’t know. She was lying there when I came home.” The knot in Grace’s throat made her sound hoarse. “Is she going to be okay?” She prayed to God, please don’t let her die.

  Paul lifted the dog’s eyelid. Then he raised her head, examining the swelling around the jaw. He gingerly pulled back the skin around the dog’s mouth, revealing the broken tooth and the surrounding edema. He looked around the kitchen. “Either this dog took a bad spill or she’s was hit…really hard.” Grace held her stomach. She wanted to throw up.

  Paul pulled the stethoscope from his bag and listened to Sneaky’s heart, lungs, and abdomen. “When did you feed her?”

  “When I brought her home from your house, around five fifteen.”

  He felt her glands, he explored her long fur, looking for lumps, contusions, or puncture marks. He started to turn her over but stopped.

  “Taser burns.”

  “Stun gun?”

  “Look, here. Her fur is singed.”

  Grace bent closer, still unable to believe what she heard. “How? Who?” Her head snapped toward the door. She rose to her feet and ran to check the lock. “The chain was off the hook when I came home.” Grace’s ears began to ring.

  Paul remained calm. “We can call 911 from the road. We need to get her to the hospital…now.”

  “Is she going to be okay?” Grace whimpered as she opened the door. Paul carried the dog to his truck and deposited her gently on the seat, Grace slid in beside Sneaky.

  “Tasers affect the nervous system. They flood the muscles with energy at a high-pulse frequency. This makes the muscles work rapidly. The rapid work cycle depletes blood sugar by converting it into lactic acid in a few seconds. That’s what makes it hard to move. In the meantime, the tiny neurological impulses that travel throughout the body to make other muscles move are interrupted. That’s what causes disorientation and loss of balance.

  “How was she when you found her?”

  “It looked like she was convulsing. Twitching and jerking.”

  “Could be from the blow to her snout. Her incisor was torn from the gum tissue. Got any ideas who would do such a thing?”

  Grace froze. She wasn’t prepared to answer that question. She had been avoiding the idea that someone wanted to hurt her. Candy was sick. Disturbed. “No,” she said, her reply barely audible. She flipped open her phone to call 911 and stopped. Jess’s number flashed on the screen. She couldn’t catch her breath. She sucked in air in short gulps.

  Paul slammed on the brakes.

  “Talk to me Grace!” He slapped her face in gentle, rapid movements. “You’re having a panic attack,” he said firmly while checking her pulse. When she began to exhale, he checked her eyes. “Breathe. C’mon, sweetheart. That’s it. Deep breaths.”

  When Grace pulled herself from the abyss and air flowed into her lungs, the realization of where she was and what had happened filtered through her foggy state. Her chin began to tremble. Her eyes flooded with tears. She twisted the sleeve of Paul’s T-shirt in her hand and pleaded, “Please…save my dog.”

  ***

  “I have been holding. Yes, Paul Fortier. F-O-R-T-I-E-R,” he repeated. “I�
�d like to report a break-in. Yes, a break-in. We don’t know if anything was stolen. No. I’m not sure of that either. I’m calling on behalf of Grace Simms, she’s the owner of the residence. She’s unable to speak for herself at the moment. Her dog was beaten and shows signature burn marks caused by a stun gun. No, Miss Simms wasn’t at home when it happened.” He felt a rush of gratitude. “Somebody broke into her house; they beat her dog. Fortier, with an F Yes, like Nick, only spelled differently. C’mon, you’re supposed to be professionals. Are you listening to me?”

  Paul took a deep breath and blew. ”I’m sorry. I am at the animal hospital with Miss Simms; it’s been a long night.” He peeked around the corner where Grace curled up in a chair with her eyes closed. “Yes, Miss Simms asked me to make the call. She’s in speaking to the veterinarian about her dog.” He lied. Paul gripped the phone and switched ears. “Me?” He turned to press his free palm to the wall. “I’m a friend.”

  ***

  Jess grimaced while the doctor injected Lidocaine into his knee. “How did this happen again?”

  “Fell off my bike.”

  “Looks like a dog bite to me.”

  “What makes you say that?” Jess looked innocently at the man tending his swollen knee.

  “The contusions on either side of your kneecap—they’re spaced like teeth marks.”

  “Nope. Don’t go near dogs. Don’t like ’em,” Jess replied, avoiding eye contact. “Gravel, maybe? Damn, it hurts. Did I mention how embarrassed I was? I just bought that bike, too. Nine hundred bucks down the crapper.”

  “Nothing’s broken,” the doctor said. “Stay off of it as much as possible for the next couple of days. Ice it twenty minutes every four hours. The pain should subside in a few days. Here’s a script: Tylenol with codeine for the pain.” He tore off the original copy, handed it to Jess, and shook his head. “Never seen a bike injury like it. Mind if I have my nurse take a photo? I’d like to be able to reference your progress. It’ll only take a minute.” He stepped toward the door to call a nurse.