Grand Avenue (36 page)

“Isn’t anybody going to answer that damn phone?” Dr. Marcus’s naturally gruff voice growled from one of the back rooms.

Chris nodded, thinking that the doctor was beginning to sound more like his patients every day, but she made no move to pick up the receiver. What for? She already knew who was on the other end.

“Answer the damn phone. Answer the damn phone,” came the cry from the middle of the cramped waiting room.

“Be quiet, Lydia,” Chris shushed the majestic white cockatoo who sat atop her large cage. Lydia was the office mascot, a cantankerous parrot who’d been brought in for a checkup six months earlier and then abandoned.

“Be quiet,” the parrot repeated. “Be quiet, Lydia.” The large bird began pacing back and forth across the top of her cage, her head bobbing up and down to an invisible beat.

“What’s she doing?” a young girl asked from the row of black leather chairs against the wall. The girl, whose small, upturned nose was overrun with freckles, was maybe eight years old. She sat rocking a small gray kitten in her lap, a look of adult worry already settled into her child’s face. Her mother sat beside her, her head resting against the pale pink wall, her eyes closed beneath a painting of a frolicking dolphin.

“Just getting some exercise,” Chris told the red-haired little girl, trying not to picture Montana at that age.

The youngster was instantly on her feet and at the side of the cage.

“Careful, she could bite,” Chris warned.

The girl took an instant step back, pale green eyes as big as saucers, protective arms automatically shielding her kitten from harm. “Will she bite Fluffy?”

She’d eat Fluffy for breakfast, Chris thought but didn’t say, amazed at how early the protective impulse started, at how instinctive it was. Once again, she tried not to think of Montana, but as usual, her daughter was everywhere, her image filling each empty chair, her shadow covering the windows like heavy blinds, her eyes absorbing the light from the street, her mouth sucking the air from the room like water from a straw. Chris felt dizzy, faint, as if she couldn’t breathe.

“The phone!” Dr. Marcus barked again.

“The phone,” Lydia repeated, head bobbing for emphasis. “The phone. Answer the damn phone.”

Chris closed her eyes, trying not to see her daughter behind them, and swallowed a deep breath of air, feeling it stab at her chest like a paring knife, as she lifted the receiver from its carriage, then dropped it back down without bringing it to her ear.

“How come you did that?” the little girl asked, green eyes growing wider, overtaking the rest of her face.

“It was a wrong number.”

“How do you know?”

Chris smiled, said nothing. What was there to say?

“Is it going to be much longer?” the girl’s mother asked, eyes still closed.

“Hopefully not.” Once again the phone began its persistent ring. “The doctor had an emergency this morning,” Chris continued loudly, trying to block out
the sound. “A dog got hit by a car. That backed everything up. I’m sorry,” she apologized to the other two people waiting, an elderly man holding a shaking German shepherd over his shoulder like a baby, and an old woman with white, curly hair singing softly to her overweight Persian cat. Neither seemed unduly concerned. Probably they were used to waiting. Dr. Marcus ran a thriving practice. It was always busy. Probably the reason the boyish-looking veterinarian had hired her, despite her lack of experience.

Chris felt lucky to have gotten this job, wanted desperately to hold on to it. What had she been thinking of earlier? If she wasn’t careful, she’d get herself fired. She’d have to call Emily Hallendale later and apologize for her rudeness. She couldn’t allow herself to become so distracted. She couldn’t jump every time the phone rang. Nor could she refuse to answer it. She reached for the phone, hesitated. Please don’t let it be like the last time, she prayed, as she did every morning before leaving her small basement apartment to go to work. Please don’t let Tony find me. Please let him leave me alone.

But of course he always found her. And she knew he’d never leave her alone. No matter how many times she moved—four times in the last six months. No matter how many times she changed her phone number—half a dozen times at least. Still, he found her, followed her, harassed her at home and at work, to the point where she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t cope with even the most menial of tasks, so that her hapless employers ultimately had no choice but to let her go. “We’re sorry,” they told her, having
reached the limits of their understanding, exhausted their patience. “We know it’s not your fault. But we have a business to run.”

Her first job had been as a waitress in a fifties-style diner. Tony found out where she was working and began following her to and from the restaurant, sitting quietly at a table in a corner during many of her shifts, watching her every move, looking at her with that eerie little smile on his face, that awful gargoyle grin that said he had big plans for her later on, until she could barely walk from one table to the next without tripping or spilling something.

She was fired after three months.

(“We’re sorry. We know it’s not your fault …”)

Barbara next suggested Chris try for a job in a high-rise building with a security guard. Chris finally found such a job, as a receptionist with an advertising agency on the twelfth floor of a fourteen-story building with round-the-clock security, but was let go four months later after Tony started bombarding the office with nuisance phone calls. (“…  but we have a business to run.”)

Chris secured a restraining order against Tony. It had no effect. Nor did the second one she waved in Tony’s face as he was trailing her home from work one evening. Restraining orders weren’t worth the paper they were written on, he told her. Bullets were stronger than paper; fists carried more weight than judicial pronouncements. If anything, the restraining orders succeeded only in making Tony angrier and more determined than ever to make her life a living hell.

“You may have to shoot him,” Vicki stated simply,
as Chris searched Vicki’s face for signs she was joking, finding none. “Don’t worry,” Vicki assured her. “I’ll defend you. You won’t serve a day in jail. That’s a promise.”

Was that the answer? Chris thought now, wondering whether she could do it. He’s taken everything from me: my children, my home, my peace of mind. And even that wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.
I’ll dance on your grave
, he’d told her once.
I’ll dance on your grave
, the phone was telling her now.

“Aren’t you going to answer the phone?” the little girl was asking.

“Answer the phone,” Lydia repeated loudly. “Answer the phone. Answer the damn phone.”

“For God’s sake, Chris. What’s going on out here?” Dr. Marcus said, exiting the inner office and coming up behind her. He grabbed the phone from its carriage, took a deep breath. “Mariemont Veterinary Service,” he purred.

“Thank goodness,” Chris heard a woman exclaim. “I’ve been calling for the past half hour. I kept getting disconnected.”

“We’ve been having problems with the phones,” Dr. Marcus said quickly, small beagle eyes shooting Chris a puzzled glance. “What can I do for you?”

Chris sank back in her chair, looked blankly toward the window, listened to the doctor’s calming voice as he removed the pencil from between her fingers, jotted down the woman’s name in his appointment calendar. How long before she lost this job? she wondered.

“Yes, Mrs. Newman, I agree it sounds worrisome. Bring Snuggles in around four o’clock and we’ll try to
fit you in. And I’m sorry you had all that trouble with the phones.” Again Dr. Marcus looked questioningly at Chris. “Is there a problem?” he asked softly.

“Problem?” Lydia screeched from the top of her cage.

“No, Doctor. I’m sorry. There’s no problem,” Chris answered.

“The phones are working okay?”

As if on cue, the phone started ringing.

“Answer the phone,” Lydia instructed clearly. “Answer the damn phone.”

Chris felt all eyes on her as she picked up the phone. “Mariemont Veterinary Service,” she said crisply.

“Hello, bitch,” the familiar voice said.

Chris paled, dropped the phone to the desk.

Dr. Marcus quickly retrieved it, lifted it to his ear. “Hello? This is Dr. Marcus. Can I help you?” There was a second’s silence. “Certainly. We see all kinds of dogs here. When would you like to come in?” The doctor flipped impatiently through the pages of the appointment calendar. “Next Tuesday at ten o’clock would be fine. And your name please? … Smith? Well, that’s easy enough.”

Was it possible she’d heard wrong? Chris wondered. Was her imagination getting the better of her? Was she hearing things that simply weren’t there?

“And the dog’s name? … Montana?” Dr. Marcus repeated, as a sharp intake of breath pierced Chris’s heart. “Interesting name. Don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” He hung up the phone, stared down at Chris, who was having renewed trouble breathing. “Can I talk to you for a minute please? Excuse us
just a second,” he apologized to those waiting. “Are you feeling well?” he asked, leading Chris into one of the examination rooms. For a minute, Chris thought he might use the stethoscope around his neck on her.

Chris leaned against the tall steel examining table in the middle of the small room, said nothing. What was there to say?

“Chris, what is it? Are you feeling sick?”

She saw the concern in Dr. Marcus’s gold-flecked brown eyes and recognized it as the same look she’d seen on the faces of the men who’d fired her from her previous jobs. In another week or two, concern would give way to practicality. “I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have to do this,” she could already hear him say, “but I have a business to run.”

“Maybe you should take the rest of the afternoon off. Kathleen can take over the front desk.” He motioned with his square jaw toward the back rooms where his nurses were tending their patients. “Go home, get a good night’s sleep, and hopefully you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Chris shook her head. Tomorrow morning would only be worse. Today was just the beginning. The first new day of Tony’s well-orchestrated campaign of terror. The first day of the rest of her life, she thought, and almost laughed. Tony was diabolical. He’d given her almost three months this time, three months to learn the ropes, relax, feel comfortable in her new environment. Two full weeks longer than the last time. Two weeks in which she’d gradually stopped jumping at the sight of her own shadow, two weeks in which she’d
begun to feel like a human being again, to feel something approaching hope for a normal life.

And then the phone had started ringing as soon as she’d walked into the office at eight o’clock this morning. “Mariemont Veterinary Service,” she’d said brightly. The sun was shining. Spring was a week away. It was a time of renewed optimism, new beginnings.

“Hello, bitch,” came the shattering reply.

“I probably shouldn’t come in tomorrow,” Chris said now, pushing the reluctant words out of her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. She loved her job, adored the animals. She’d even been thinking of trying to save enough money to go back to school, become a veterinary assistant.

Who was she kidding? she thought bitterly. She was almost forty. It was too late for her to go back to school, too late to become anything other than what she was, which was nothing. Hadn’t Tony been telling her that for years?

“You think you’re coming down with something?” Dr. Marcus extended his hand, felt her forehead for signs of a fever.

“I’m not sick,” she said, tears falling the length of her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can work here anymore.” She might as well be the one to say it, she thought. Spare the good doctor the discomfort. Save him the trouble. She was only hastening the inevitable.

“What’s the matter, Chris? Is there something I can help you with?”

“Thank you, Dr. Marcus. No, there’s nothing you can do.” There’s nothing anybody can do. “Please understand. It’ll be better for everyone if I leave.”

Chris watched indecision flicker across the doctor’s quizzical face. Should he comfort her, try to find out what was wrong, or leave well enough alone, accept that she was trouble he didn’t need, let her go before she caused him any further inconvenience?

“As you wish,” he said after a lengthy pause.

Chris smiled sadly. It was better this way. She’d find another job, hopefully buy herself another month or two before Tony resurfaced. Maybe it was time to consider moving to another city, starting a new life.

A life without her children.

A life without her friends.

Except she didn’t have any children. Not anymore. Rowdy had kicked her the last time she’d tried to take him in her arms. Wyatt refused to talk to her, to even look at her. She hadn’t seen Montana in almost two years.

No, she had no children.

And her friends were busy with their own lives. Vicki’s practice was thriving; she was growing more famous by the day; Susan had recently published several articles in the
Cincinnati Post
, and had been asked to be the keynote speaker at a symposium dealing with sex and the workplace; Barbara was busy making plans for a fall wedding.

Barbara, Chris thought, and smiled despite her tears. She wiped the tears away, the memory of the touch of Barbara’s lips against her own still fresh despite the passage of time. Was it possible Tony had been right about her all along? That somewhere in his warped and twisted mind, he’d hit on a truth even she hadn’t been aware of?

Chris shrugged. What difference did it make? Clearly, Barbara suffered from no such confusion. She was getting married in six months to a wonderful, caring man. Whatever awakening Chris had experienced that night in Barbara’s bedroom, the epiphany was hers alone. The kiss she and Barbara had shared had been as brief as it was unexpected. But it was that kiss, more than anything, that had sealed Chris’s fate. She’d crossed a line, she recognized; there was no turning back.

She’d surprised everyone, Tony especially, herself most of all. In the beginning, everyone had expected Chris to go back to Tony. Initially he’d acted contrite, sending truckloads of flowers, apologizing often and profusely. It was only a game, he’d tried to convince her. He was preparing to open the door when she’d disappeared. Surely she could see the humor in the situation. Surely she’d be able to laugh off the episode later.
Hey, remember the time I threw you out in the freezing cold in your Wonder Woman outfit?