GRACIE, THE INVISIBLE DOG

by

LYNNE MURPHY

When Paula Sinclair’s doctor told her she was losing her eyesight, after the initial shock, her first thought was, “Maybe now Boyd will let me get a dog.”

Her diagnosis hadn’t come as a surprise. For some time, people had seemed to appear out of nowhere into her line of sight, popping up beside her desk at work, or unexpectedly crossing her path on the subway platform.

“Loss of peripheral vision,” Dr. Greenberg said. “One of the effects of retinitis pigmentosa.“

The doctor went on to explain that there was no treatment for RP. The vision loss would continue, and then, perhaps many years from now, she might go completely blind.

“No family history of the condition?” the doctor asked. “If it’s hereditary, it usually shows up earlier. You’re what, 49?”

“Fifty,” Paula said. “Both my parents are gone, so I can’t ask them. But I never heard anyone in my family mention this.”

“You may have a mutant gene. We can send you for testing, in case there’s new research that can help. In the meantime, there are agencies in Toronto, the CNIB for example, that have visual aids. It’s best to be prepared.”

That was when Paula thought about getting a dog.

She had grown up with dogs, but her husband, Boyd, had never liked them. He thought they were dirty nuisances. “Always having to be walked and have their messes cleaned up.”

Paula wondered if he’d had a bad experience with a dog as a child, but there was nothing he could remember. He just didn’t like “those beasts.”

So, during their almost 30 years of marriage, Paula had contented herself with pet cats, one after the other. She was in mourning right now for Sukey, a bad-tempered Siamese, who had allowed them to live in her house for the past 16 years. But a cat wasn’t a dog.

When she told Boyd about the diagnosis, he began making plans. Boyd loved making plans. And lists. She found them everywhere in the house. On the fridge door, on his bedside table, beside the phone.

“Braille lessons,” he said, writing it down. “Talking books. Get rid of clutter you might trip over. Call Salvation Army pickup. What else can we do right away?”

“I was thinking about a helper dog,” Paula said diffidently. “Of course, I may not need one for a long time yet.”

“Oh, you might never need one,” Boyd said. “I’ll be retiring from the bank in seven years. If things progress slowly, like Greenberg said, then I’ll be at home with you, and I can be your eyes.”

Paula wondered why she wasn’t more grateful for this suggestion.

Paula called her daughter, Sophie, in Montreal, to give her the bad news. She tried to make light of the diagnosis, stressing what the doctor had said about “many years.”

But Sophie understood how devastating the prospects were, and they both cried a little. She also understood about the longing for a dog. She had adopted a stray, Callie, from a shelter as soon as she’d left home and had her own place.

“Good luck talking Dad into coming around,” Sophie said. “He’s more likely to let you get a helper horse.” She promised to come home soon for a visit, but without Callie.

Paula’s best friend was also sympathetic. Joyce, a librarian, enjoyed doing research, so she started looking into guide dogs right away.

“What kind of dog would you get if you had your choice?” she asked Paula one Saturday morning as they drank coffee in Joyce’s kitchen.

They usually met for coffee at Joyce’s when Boyd was home, and Boyd was nearly always home on Saturdays. In summer, he worked in the garden, and in winter, he worked on the house. Joyce’s yappy little terrier, Fergus, was not welcome at the Sinclairs’, and Joyce hated to be parted from her dog on her day off.

“A golden dog. A retriever or a Lab. Female. And you know what? I’ve always wanted to call a dog Gracie, after Grace Kelly.” When Paula was younger, someone had told her that she looked like Grace Kelly, and she’d had a soft spot for the actress ever since.

“You and your old movies.” Joyce looked up from her iPad. “Yes, it says here short-haired dogs are the best because they’re easier to groom. And they need to be a good size, but not too big to control. I can see Gracie now, Paula, trotting proudly along, showing you the way.”

“So can I,” Paula said wistfully.

Paula had always talked aloud to Sukey when she was alone in the house with her, saying things like, “Time I started dinner, Sukey.” She began picturing a dog sitting on the floor at her feet, watching her every move. One day, she found herself talking to Gracie as she had to Sukey. She shook her head. Better not let Boyd hear her. He’d think she was losing it.

As Dr. Greenberg had predicted, Paula’s vision continued to deteriorate, though slowly. Over the next few years, Gracie became more and more real to her. When she and Joyce were together, they indulged themselves, creating a dog with personality and quirks.

Gracie had a past. Some of her former owners had met unfortunate ends, such as walking in front of a bus or backing into a buzz saw. Gracie never explained what they were doing in that sawmill.

“She loves hospitals,” Paula reported to Joyce. “I took her with me when I went for my mammogram this week, and she followed the woman ahead of me in for her test. Well, you should have seen the look of horror on Gracie’s face when they came out of that room.”

“I bet she tried to stop you going in,” Joyce said, entering into the fantasy.

“She did. It was all I could do to get away from her and have my mammogram.”

They both laughed. That day, when Paula was leaving after her latest visit and had said, “Come on, Gracie,” Joyce had looked down to make sure she didn’t catch Gracie’s tail in the door. “I’m getting just as silly as you are, Paula,” she said.

Sophie was another big fan of her mother’s invisible companion, but she had been warned not to talk about her. Especially after Callie sent her love to Gracie in an email to Sophie’s parents, and Paula had to explain that to Boyd. He was not amused. Boyd had no time for whimsy.

“Imaginary animals—that’s bordering on second childhood, Paula.”

“Gracie isn’t imaginary. She’s invisible.” Even as she said this, Paula knew it was a mistake.

Boyd was enraged. “You and Sophie are being foolish,” he shouted. “There is no such thing as being invisible.”

He stalked off, but later that day, over dinner, he tried to offer a compromise. “How about we get another cat?”

Paula thought she heard a growl from under her chair. “I don’t know if I want the work of another cat,” she said quickly.

That was the day Boyd started Paula nagging to take early retirement. It made her nervous. She had worked as a paralegal at the same small law firm ever since Sophie had started kindergarten. Her employers were proud of the “family” atmosphere in the office. They provided the aids she needed to work, such as magnifying screens for her computer.

“Take early retirement or disability,” Boyd said. “Maybe I could take early retirement, too. That way, I would be here to drive you whenever you go out. You aren’t really safe on transit.”

Paula couldn’t repress a shiver. She didn’t want to be driven anywhere until it was absolutely necessary. And then, she heard a growly voice, down near her knees, say, “Mr. Bossy Pants.”

Before she had time to think, she said, “Gracie!” She looked up at Boyd, who was staring at her.

“You aren’t talking to that imaginary dog again, are you?” His shock was evident in his tone of voice. “Paula, this is beyond a joke. You need to see a specialist.”

“I don’t want to retire, Boyd,” she said, trying to ignore the slip she had made. “I enjoy getting out and being with people every day. And I’m fine on the subway now that I have my identity cane. People make way for me.”

She hoped this would divert his attention from Gracie and start a discussion of her cane. Boyd didn’t like her using it when they were out together. He claimed people stared at them. Paula took it with her anyway, in case they became separated in a crowd and she had to manage on her own.

But Boyd was not being sidetracked.

“A therapist. You need a therapist.” He took out his notepad and began to write. “I’ll phone Greenberg and see if he can suggest someone. Or maybe I should go with you to your next appointment. Yes, that would be better. We can get these things ironed out.”

“I don’t want to retire early,” she told Joyce the Saturday after this argument. She was almost tearful. “Boyd is just concerned for me, I know that, but my work is important to me. And to be stuck at home all day with him hovering over me, organizing my time…” She shuddered. “Today, he’s putting Braille labels on all the cannisters and the cupboard doors. I haven’t even learned Braille yet. But he has.”

“He needs another interest in life,” Joyce said. “I guess he can’t work in the garden today, with the rain.”

“He was desperate for something to do. So he got out the label maker this morning, and he’s having the best time. Kept showing me each cannister as he labeled it. I guess I should be grateful that he cares about me so much.”

There was a derisive snort from near the floor. Joyce didn’t react, but Fergus pricked up his ears and gave a little yip.

“And he’s insisting on seeing Dr. Greenberg with me next week. To ask about therapy. Joyce, I don’t need therapy. I’m dealing with this the best I can. On my own.”

“And you have Gracie,” Joyce said.

Boyd took the day off from his job at the bank to accompany Paula to her appointment with Dr. Greenberg. He was not happy with how the visit went. The doctor told him Paula was coping very well with her disability, and he wasn’t worried about her state of mind.

“Your wife is an independent woman,” he said. “I admire her spirit.”

On their way home, on the subway platform, Boyd was fuming.

“I don’t care for that man,” he said. “I think you should change doctors. He hasn’t helped you at all. Your eyes keep getting worse. And he doesn’t seem to recognize your mental problems. It’s not normal. An imaginary dog, for God’s sake. You have to get rid of this obsession, Paula.”

There was a snarl from near Paula’s knees. Then everything happened at once.

The train rushed into the station, and Boyd stepped forward. Suddenly, he glanced behind him, a startled look on his face. His knees buckled, and he fell forward onto the tracks in front of the oncoming train.

Brakes screeched, and people nearby began screaming. And Paula thought she heard a voice she knew saying, “Effing control freak.”

#

After Paula had been checked at the hospital for shock, Joyce came to take her home. Sophie had been notified, and was on her way to Toronto. The two women sat in Paula’s kitchen, drinking tea with lots of sugar in it. Fergus had come with Joyce, but he seemed nervous, and just wanted to sit in her lap instead of exploring the house.

“The police told me that a man on the platform across from us thought he saw a gold-colored animal standing behind Boyd just before he fell,” Paula said. “Of course, that’s ridiculous.”

From under her chair came a steady panting. Gracie was laughing.

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