Page 28 of Gray Area

After helping me to buy a new doorknob and deadbolt, my Dad follows me to Vivian’s apartment. It is close to 9:30, and I hope she hasn’t left for work early. You know, so her apartment is safe.

Dad and I park on the street, and when my father gets out of his own car, he looks around curiously. “You have afriendthat lives here?” he asks.

The neighborhood where Vivian lives is bad, but I think it is even worse in the daylight, if that is possible. Because while Vivian’s building is still the one in the worst shape, the ones surrounding it aren’t winning any beauty pageants either.

“Yeah, a friend from class,” I say.

He looks around warily but holds his arm out, silently inviting me to lead the way. As I go in and climb the stairs, I feel my temper rising that this slum hole piece of shit is where Vivian lives. I assume it must be dirt cheap, and she must not have very much income for her to live here. I can’t imagine this place is safe for a lot of men I know, let alone two young women, however sexist that may be.

We start up the stairs, and I notice that I walk up them easier than my father. I can tell he is pushing himself to get up them, and I file that away in theto be discussed laterarea of my brain. I need to focus on the task at hand right now. When we get to thethird floor, I lead the way to Vivian’s door, the snowman wreath like a beacon of happiness among the rubble around it.

I knock on the door and hear footsteps, then the sound of something being moved, and Vivian opens the door to peek out.

“Oh, Declan,” she says, sounding a little surprised. Her reaction confuses me. I told her I was coming back, so why is she surprised?

“Hi,” I say as she opens the door wider.

She looks beyond me to my father, then her eyes flick quickly back to mine, hers now filled with concern. “This is my dad. I brought him to help me install the new knob.” I watch as the fear leaves her eyes and she relaxes.

“Nice to meet you,” Vivian says politely to my father, holding out her hand and giving him a small smile.

“I’m Jude Falco,” my father introduces warmly, taking Vivian’s hand in his.

“Vivian,” she says.

“Nice to meet you, Vivian.” My father turns to me, smiling like a fool. And I know what he is thinking, like he’s put all the pieces together and this fix-it job for a friend makes total sense now. “Should we get to work, Dec?”

I nod, ignoring my father’s obnoxious smile, and we turn our attention to the door. We use the chair that Vivian has positioned behind the door as a table to lay out the equipment.

“I really appreciate this,” Vivian says, standing behind us. “I can pay you for the new knob if you tell me—”

“It is all taken care of,” my father interjects. “Don’t you mention anything about money again. We are happy to do this.”

“Okay,” Vivian says with a shy smile, seeming to take it much easier when my father says it than she would if I were to say it. And that is annoying.

Vivian walks into the kitchen area, which is only about six feet away from us, to leave us to work. I unscrew what is left of the doorknob on the door and remove it.

“A friend, huh?” my dad says softly to me as he opens the packaging on the newly purchased knob.

“Yes,” I reply tightly.

“Sure,” he says, nodding and desperately trying to hold back a smirk.

“You got something to say, old man?” I ask him, purposely ignoring his stare.

“Not a thing,” he says, but I can see him still smirking from the corner of my eye.

We work in silence after that. It is pretty straightforward, but there is a part I am having trouble pinning together. I am about to slam the stupid fucking thing together when my dad takes it from my hands.

“Sometimes, you need to just stop and look at things a different way, Dec,” he says. He picks up the two pieces and spins them a quarter of an inch, sliding them together easily and then screwing it in the door. “You have a bad temper.”

“So?”

He gives me a look—the Dad look—that shuts me up and tells me to slow my roll. “So nothing. I had a bad temper—”

“Had?” I interrupt in disbelief.

“Yes, had,” my father says through his teeth, giving me a stern look. “But I have found over the years that in most situations, if I slow down and look at it from all different angles, I’m not so mad, or angry or frustrated. And sometimes the alternate perspective makes me happier.”

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