The Grey Door Read online

  “Uh, oh.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do if Mom wants to come and live with me.”

  “Doesn’t she have anyone else?”

  “Aunt Noreen. Remember her? She’s cool, but I’m not sure they get along too well. You know Mom, rigid one minute, off the wall the next. She has depression issues. Of course, I can’t tell her anything. It scares me, Dr. Meltz.”

  “That she may have depression? Or that she may come to live with you?”

  Tears formed in Grace’s eyes.

  “That they are both going to die before I’m ready for them to.”

  Dr. Metz’s squeezed her hand to ease her pain. “Death isn’t exactly something we are in charge of,” he said. Grace rolled her eyes. “You’re parents are at that age when the body— Hell, we all get old, Grace.”

  “You’re not old.”

  “Huh! Tell that to my back at the end of the day. Tell my bladder I’m not old when I’m at a Kings game and I’m afraid I’ll wet myself before they make the next basket. Tell that to my ‘swanzenhagger’ when it won’t stand at attention without a pill that may stop my heart. It’s part of the process, Grace. You know that.”

  “I know. I do. I’m just not ready for anyone else to die right now. God, the thought of buying another black dress.”

  “Black dress?” Dr. Meltz looked puzzled.

  “It’s been a joke between me and Sal. When one of us would mention dying or— Never mind. It’s just a silly joke between us.” Again, Grace became misty eyed.

  “How is Sal?”

  Grace broke down in tears.

  “She’s eh…she’s lost so much weight. She’s tired. Her spirits are down. She thinks I don’t notice. She tries to act brave. She gave me the letting-go speech the other day.”

  “That must be hard for you. I know she’s a good friend.”

  “Yeah,” she cried openly. “Sal’s been like a mom to me for so many years. She took me in like I was family. I couldn’t have opened my practice without her help. Sal and John loaned me money to buy my house. I don’t know what I’ll do without her.” Grace’s voice dropped to a whisper. She cried until she was hoarse.

  The doctor handed her tissue and let her be.

  “My mom gives me orders. She has no faith in me. Sal listens,” Grace chuckled. “Then she tells me what to do.” She wiped smudged mascara from her eyes. “She knows me so well. I don’t have to speak. It’s spooky. You know?”

  “Yeah, I have a brother like that. It is spooky!” He waited until Grace blew her nose and collected herself before proceeding. Their time was about up, but he was curious. “You mentioned the dreams.”

  “Except for last night, they haven’t been too bad, lately.” Her dream wasn’t worth discussing. She couldn’t remember specific details. “I’ve been sleeping better. Actually, I’m handling everything much better. Work keeps me busy. Less time to think about Garret. I still miss him though. Sneaky and I seem to be bonding well. I’m learning to communicate with her better. Yeah, I’m doing much better.”

  “Good! Do you want to make another appointment?”

  “How about if I call you? I’m going down south, and as much as I enjoy seeing you, I like it better when we chat in your office at the hospital…about somebody else!”

  “We miss you there,” Dr. Meltz confided. “Becky has opened up. She’s going to be leading the group pretty soon.”

  “I’m glad. She was one of my favorite clients.”

  “Well, she wouldn’t be where she is right now if you hadn’t been persistent and one hell of a detective! My advice to you: you’re a great therapist, cut yourself some slack.”

  Grace began to glow.

  Dr. Meltz was Sal’s equal when it came to making her feel parented.

  “Advice taken. How’s your family?”

  “Still waiting on Willa.”

  “How many days overdue is she?” Grace could only imagine his family anxiously awaiting their new addition.”

  “Today’s the day,” he assured, “I feel it in my bones.” Just then, the doctor’s pager hummed. He checked the number. “It’s Spencer, Willa’s husband! Can you hang on a minute?” He dialed Spencer’s cell.

  Grace walked around the office until he got off the phone. She picked up a photo from his credenza. The caption engraved into the frame read, “OCH Golf Tournament, 1982.” Dr. Meltz stood beside her father, arm draped around his shoulder. One by one, she mentally identified her dad’s friends.

  “Finally!” Dr. Meltz broke through her thoughts. “Willa’s in labor, Grace! I’m going to have another grandchild!” His face lit up with glee. “I feel incredibly blessed.” He opened his top desk-drawer and handed her a cigar. “So much for schedules! If you change your mind about making an appointment, I’ll call with an update,” he said, hurrying her through the door.

  Grace watched him turn a key in each lock. When she looked up, she noticed a red light blinking above his head.

  “Security cameras,” he said. “Got those installed last week. Might be something you want to consider.”

  “Good idea,” she said. “I’ll check into it.” When she wished him luck, an assortment of emotions rushed over her. A baby.

  ***

  To Grace’s dismay, she was craving a café mocha. Plain coffee wouldn’t do. The box sitting on her counter may have explained why, but it was too early in the morning for that. What she needed was more sleep and less caffeine. Besides, she could have sworn she felt cramps during the night. She pressed her fingers under her arm confirming the familiar tenderness. It’s just a mocha! I’m late because of stress.

  Grace stood in line, trying to decide on white or chocolate, grandé or venti, when she heard the slow whistle. She ignored it. She knew without looking who the whistle came from. After placing her order, she moved to the pick-up line. A tap on the shoulder came next. She froze. Is he following me?

  “Are you just going to ignore me? Pretend I don’t exist?”

  “Oh hi. Sorry. My mind must’ve been elsewhere. Busy schedule today. I’m running late.”

  “So, I should make an appointment if I want to talk to you? Is that it?” Grace saw the challenge in his set jaw and steely glare. She didn’t want a confrontation.

  “I’m going to be late for work, Jess. We’ll talk later, okay?”

  He leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “I figure with all the sleep you got last night that you would have been up with the birds.”

  Her eyes held his like a vice grip as she enunciated her words, “I’ve got to go.”

  He backed away. “Fine, I don’t need your—” He stopped talking. She was already through the door and in her car by the time he realized what hit him.

  Sal cheered when Grace arrived holding two cups. She sipped and chatted while Grace sipped and sorted through her messages.

  “John loved everything I bought yesterday. He insisted on a private showing. I swear, that man,” she blushed, “has the libido of a twenty-year-old! I told him it was a good thing I didn’t buy underwear!”

  “Next time, we’ll go to Victoria—” Grace’s laugh stopped short. “When did Jess call?”

  “Time’s on there. Since when can’t you read my writing?”

  “When?” Grace insisted, checking her watch, wanting to hear the time from Sal’s lips.

  Sal picked up the vibe.

  “He called right before you walked in. Said it was urgent. That’s why I put it on top. I marked it urgent, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, I ran into him a few minutes ago.” Damn.

  Grace dialed Jess’s cell phone but hung up before the call connected. No, I will not let him badger me.

  CHAPTER 6

  LENNY KIRSH

  L enny Kirsh hopped on the light rail in Rancho Cordova, a paper bag tucked inside his pea green jacket. He yanked his jeans up with one hand and took the last seat at back of the car. He faced the window, unscrewed the top, and took a swig. A paper bag concealed the
pint. He didn’t dare close his eyes. The car began to move. >Clack<, >clack<, >clack<. Lenny heard >bam<, >bam<, >bam
  ***

  Grace sat poised in her red chair. Lenny, a Vietnam vet diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, sat across from her, his face screwed into a hateful expression. The first half of their session was spent rehashing the ill effects of his deteriorating liver. Lenny had been self-medicating his illness with alcohol since 1966. He seemed to suck the oxygen from the room. Grace stifled a yawn.

  “Country’s going to hell in a hand basket!” Lenny cried, his balled fist pounding on the arm of the sofa.

  “You’re right, Lenny, things could be better. Let’s talk about you, shall we? I want to hear what you’ve been doing to keep busy.”

  “Can’t live on my damn Social Security. I had to get a part-time job,” he said, rubbing a week’s worth of chin stubble and creating a sand-paper sound. His hair was oily, but his clothes were clean and pressed. He smelled of nicotine and mouthwash.

  “Doing what?” Grace began to write.

  “Driving a shuttle bus for a retirement home not too far from here.”

  “How’s that going for you?”

  Lenny smacked the arm of the sofa so hard that Grace flinched. “Okay, I guess. A lot of those people need help getting up the steps though. I hurt my back last week.” He massaged the bulge near his left kidney and winced. “There’s this one lady that pisses me off. She’s out of her flippin’ mind. She keeps callin’ me Le-roy. I tell her, I say, ‘Ma’am, my name is Leonard, not Leroy.’ She looks me straight in the eye and says, ‘Whatever you say, Leroy.’” Lenny’s eyes grew large. “I want to push her outta the bus face first and watch her suffocate in her goddamn wrinkles.”

  “Where do you think this anger is coming from?”

  “You call that anger? I get pissed because the old bat’s disrespecting me! I told her what my name was, nicely the first few times. She doesn’t care.”

  “Do you think you could have ignored what she said?”

  “She’s lucky I only cussed her out! I better not lose my job ‘cause of her. I just started workin’ there.”

  “With that said, what do you think you can do to help manage your anger better? Or, as you put it, getting pissed off when and if it happens again.”

  “I don’t know. I try not to get mad. Figure they’re old, but hell, I’m old too. Show me a little respect.”

  “I imagine a lot of them have some degree of senility?” Grace speculated.

  “Oh yeah. Some of them old farts don’t know where they’re going once they’re on the bus. It’s kinda sad. One guy is an Auschwitz survivor. He always gets on the bus with this haunted look on his puss, and when we get to the store or wherever, he tugs at my sleeve and asks, ‘They find my family yet?’ Then he shows me his tattoo and says his family has numbers like his. I humor the guy. I say we’re still looking. He nods and says, ‘Good.’ Then he shuffles along.” Lenny drummed his fingers, reached for his shirt pocket, and patted his smokes. A moment later, he removed a cigarette, tapped it on the wristband of his watch to pack the tobacco, and placed it behind his ear.

  “I’m gonna be one of those poor suckers one day, Grace. I hope to God that I don’t get on the other end of some joker who’s havin’ a bad day.”

  “We all have bad days, some more than others.” The voice inside her head concurred. “Do you think you have more bad days than your share, Lenny?”

  “I get impatient sometimes, yeah.”

  “How do you deal with your impatience?”

  “I yell a little, I guess.”

  “What’s a little?” she asked, her curiosity peaking.

  “Well, some of those people are just so damn pokey! They think I have all goddamn day to wait!”

  “Yes, we all slow down eventually.” Is this what she had to look forward to with her folks? Some idiot who yells at them because they can’t step it up? Having to fear some minimum-wage bully? And how would she know? She’s here; her parents are there.

  “Tell me something Lenny, you mentioned losing your job. Do your employers know that you yell at these people?”

  “Hell, most of them yell more than I do!”

  “I see.” Grace wanted to scream. “Do you think there is a way to deal with these people more effectively? After all, the stress can’t be good for either one of you.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t be yellin’. I had a drill sergeant that about drove me crazy, I mean really crazy. That bastard yelled right in my face for twelve solid weeks. He screamed ‘til he was hoarse. I can still smell his rotten breath in my nose, and it’s been thirty-eight years, two months, and twenty-seven days since I told that bastard to stick his one-handed push-ups up his ass.”

  “What happened?”

  “First, he dug his heel into my instep. Then he kicked my ass. He tried to have me court marshaled for insubordination. He was a mean son-of-a-bitch, but one night he saved our butts when Charlie attacked.” Lenny scratched his chin and stared at the floor. “I guess we all turned a little mean from that war. You did what you had to do to survive.”

  “That must have been a harrowing experience. Tell me more.”

  “It’s over Grace, Nam is over. But we didn’t learn a damn thing, did we?”

  Grace didn’t reply.

  “We don’t belong in third-world countries, stickin’ our noses in everyone’s business. The president don’t care. He’s lining his pockets. He thinks he’s some kind of hero because he’s in charge. He’s gonna kick some butt, teach the people over there a thing or two about freedom. Who’s gonna protect us from government terrorists?” Lenny’s sermon escalated into a rant. “He’s the damn terrorist! He terrifies me!”

  “I’m interested in what you have to say, Lenny, but I hear better when you speak in a normal tone of voice. Most people do,” she added.

  “Not those old folks. Half of them can’t hear worth squat.” He took the cigarette from behind his ear and packed it again until it cracked in half. He stuffed it back into his pocket.

  “And the other half?” Grace tried to coax Lenny into a better frame of mind before they ended their session. She didn’t want him leaving half-cocked.

  “Yeah, I suppose I’m pretty loud to the ones who wear their hearing aids!”

  “Kind of like those loud speakers at Home Depot?”

  Lenny chuckled. She watched the color return to his hands as they relaxed in his lap. His jaw loosened. His eyes lost their wild, crazed look. Until next time, she thought.

  ***

  Between sessions, Grace called her mom.

  “I’d like to come down next weekend. Is it okay, Mom?” A sharp tone pierced a pregnant pause. “I won’t be home. I’m chairing a bone-marrow-donor project that weekend at the hospital.”

  “Maybe I can help.”

  “You would come and help?”

  “Of course! I’d love to,” Grace said.

  “Okay, let me call Lucille. She’s the co-chairman. I don’t think there will be a problem. We can have dinner afterwards, make it a day. Do you have plans for Labor Day?”

  “I was supposed to go to Catalina. I didn’t commit.”

  “With who?”

  “Jess. You may remember him.”

  “He’s married, isn’t he?”

  “He’s getting a divorce.”

  “Gee, that’s too bad but good for him. He’s still young. Couples shouldn’t stay married if they’re not happy.”

  “You and Dad, you were happy, weren’t you, Mom?”

  “Grace Lynn, talk to your Dad about that. Not that he’d remember,” she said bitterly. “I have other things to think about.”

  “Mom, how about if we talk about this when I come down to see you. I didn’t mean to start—”

  “There never is a good time to talk about unpleasantries!” sh
e said, clearly upset.

  “Is everything okay, Mom?”

  “My life is…changed. I think you’re right. Now isn’t the time to talk about it. How is Sal by the way?”

  “She’s doing all right,” Grace reported. “We went shopping. She needed a new outfit. We’re going to go see Cats.”

  “Cats? You’ll love it. It’s a shame that you and I didn’t get the chance to see it together.”

  “I think I was at the hospital visiting Daddy. You took that friend of yours.”

  “Yes, you were probably busy doing something.”

  “Yeah, probably.” Grace wasn’t in the mood for a guilt trip. “Oh, I think my next client just came in, Mom. How about if I call you later when I get home?”

  “No, that’s okay. My programs are on tonight. We can talk when you get here.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Love you.”

  “Bye, Grace.”

  Grace felt something like hunger pangs after speaking to her mom. Churning acid gnawed at her stomach. She hated the thought of going to see her parents. She ended the call and listened for a dial tone. Going to Catalina with Jess wouldn’t be such a bad idea if only— Don’t make him part of this. She replaced the receiver on the hook.

  ***

  Sal stopped typing when Grace came out of her office. “What’s the matter, Grace? You have that something’s-wrong look on your face.

  “I just got off the phone with my mom. I’m going down there next week.”

  “Ah, that explains it. How is Fran?”

  “She’s fine. She’s busy doing her volunteer work at the hospital. Dad’s driving her nuts. His Alzheimer’s is worse. Mom wants me to help get rid of some of his things.”

  “Naw! He’s that bad?”

  “Yes. He has other problems…” Grace’s voice faded. She thought about Lenny. She would talk to her mom about the rest home where her Dad was living. They specialized in Alzheimer patients. Still, that didn’t mean there wasn’t cruelty going on. Unpleasantries. Sal was talking, but all Grace could hear was high-pitched ringing in her ears.