Unbreakable (16 page)

“Did something happen?”

I told Lilah about the incident in the kitchen and the subsequent argument. “He was relieved, Lilah.
Relieved
. I could see it.”

“He’s gay,” Lilah said. “Right? I mean, that’s the obvious answer.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“For the same reason I don’t think he’s ever had an affair on the side: because I can’t picture Drew being passionate with
anyone.
Man, woman, no one.”

Lilah nodded, mulling this over. “Okay,” she said finally. “What about your job? How bad does the Munro stuff hurt?”

“Not as bad as I would have thought, to be honest. I’m glad that someone else is taking it. To have to do all that work all over again…And it was…”

“Unethical?”

Like Cory, Lilah would be a juror I’d dismiss in a case where David was going to get screwed over by Goliath.
Like Munro vs. Hutchinson.
But Lilah waved her hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to give you a hard time. I want you to feel better.”

“I know you do. Anyway, it’s not ideal. My status at the firm has plummeted, but I’ll deal with that when I get back.”

“Or quit,” Lilah said.

I smirked. “I may have a bit of PTSD but I’m not stupid.”

Lilah shrugged. “Just throwing that out there. And speaking of PTSD, what about the robbery? You keep saying you’re okay, and then you jumped a mile over some broken dishes.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Absolutely not. But how bad is it?”

“I can’t sleep,” I admitted. “I was so used to having Cory’s shoulder as my pillow.” I froze. I hadn’t meant to say that. Or to talk about Cory ever again. “It’s nothing. Shades of Stockholm Syndrome, but it’s gone now. I said goodbye and that’s…it.”

“Stockholm Syndrome is when a hostage starts to grow attached to her kidnapper, not to her fellow hostage.”

“Okay, fine. Give it another psycho-babble label. We bonded over the shared, terrible experience. But now it’s over.”

“And you’re not going to see him again?”

“Why would I?”

Lilah crossed her arms over her blouse. “Is it because he’s broke? Or that he’s in construction and not law? That he’s not
of our stock
?”

“Of course not,” I said, genuinely affronted. It was my first genuine emotion all lunch. “I just think it’s healthier for me to leave the entire robbery behind. I have to move on. To let it go.” I addressed Lilah’s dubious stare head on. “I’m going to marry Drew. We’ll work out our…personal issues and then we’re going to get married. And I can’t do that with Cory in the picture. He’s too…distracting.”

Lilah’s eyes widened and she set down the coffee cup she’d been about to drink from. “Oh my God, you are blushing.”

“I don’t blush.”

“I know, but you just did. What happened?”

“Nothing happened! I told you, I said goodbye. Okay, if you want to be technical about it, I…kissed him goodbye. Happy now? You’re as bad a gossip as Antoinette.”

“I don’t gossip, I plumb the depths. You like this guy, don’t you?” Lilah held up her hand before I could protest. “Don’t split hairs with me, counselor. You know what I mean. Of course you like him; he’s a nice guy, risked his life to save yours, blah blah blah. But you
like
him, like him. Don’t you?”

“Wrong.”

“You just said he’s distracting. How can he be distracting if you’re never going to see him again?”

“Because…” I toyed with my pen. “My brain is stuck in the bank and he was there. Talking to the F.B.I. helped but I still think about him…about Cory. A lot. Maybe Antoinette was right. I need to see this therapist. So I can move on.”

Lilah nodded. “Come on. The waiter’s giving us dirty looks for hogging the table.”

We left the restaurant and stood together under the awning out front while the valets brought our cars around. Lilah turned and took me by the shoulders. “I love you,” she said, giving me a fierce hug. “And I want you to know that it’s okay.”

“What’s okay?”

“To let go.” Lilah released me and looked away. “It’s hard at first. When I divorced Ted, I was a pariah. I still am in some ways.”

“No, Lilah—”

“
Yes
, Alex. Rashida won’t even look me in the eye and if Minnie gives me that lower-lip pity pout one more time I’m going to sock her one.”

“Has it been…hard?” I asked and then muttered a curse. “Of course it has. And I’ve been a terrible friend, wrapped up in my work.”

“Yes, you were busy,” Lilah said with a dry smile. “You’re always busy. And I don’t mean you’re too busy for me. You’re too busy for you. Which is why I don’t think it’s a bad thing that you’re off work for three weeks. And while I don’t think it’s okay that you kissed another man when you’re still engaged to Drew, I think maybe you should think about how it made you feel. See? You don’t need Antoinette’s therapist, you have me.” Lilah grinned. “Tell me, how did it make you
feel
?”

Cherished. I felt cherished by Cory. But oh, Lilah, I didn’t just kiss him.

But I couldn’t tell her that. Telling anyone brought it into this life, made it real. Made me a disloyal cheater and that was something I never thought I could be.

The valet pulled up to the curb with Lilah’s BMW. She paused before climbing in. “When I divorced Ted, people—including my own mother—told me I was insane for letting such a catch get away. Never mind that ‘catch’ cheated on me with an intern two months after our wedding. It wasn’t Ted whom they cared so much about. It was the lifestyle they told me I was crazy to discard. The mutual friends, the social appearances, the security of our dual incomes…” She met my eye. “If you think it’s important, Alex, I can tell you right now, it’s not. Nowhere near as important as being happy. And alone and single and a pariah, I’m damn happy.”

I watched my friend drive away.
Happy
.
I’m happy with Drew
.
We have some…intimacy issues to work out but otherwise…

I tipped the valet and climbed behind the wheel of my Mini. The memory of Cory’s kiss was as fresh in my mind as if it had just happened. I couldn’t remember any of Drew’s kisses. Not one.

“I also can’t remember feeling this dissatisfied with Drew until
after
the robbery. It’s the trauma of it and nothing more.” I pulled the therapist’s card from my purse and dialed the number before activating the car’s Bluetooth.

“Dr. Kinley’s office. How can I help you?”

Make my life go back to the way it was.

“Yes, hi, I’d like to make an appointment,” I said. “As soon as possible.”

Cory

I stood in the hospital bathroom, shirtless. The fluorescent lighting stole the color out of the roses around the face of the Santa Muerta
tattoo—Saint Death, in Mexico—that covered the muscle of my left shoulder. Georgia always thought it was morbid, but I loved it. Santa Muerta reminded people of their own mortality.
Then again, so does being shot
, I thought.

It was the scar on my chest I studied closely. A white circle over my right pectoral that was the circumference of a straw, where an EMT had stabbed me. I’d been drowning in my own blood until then. Nearly dead.

I turned and glanced over my shoulder. The tattoo on my right shoulder blade was vibrant, but my eyes were drawn to the white horizontal seam beneath it, halfway up my back where they’d pulled a bullet from my lung and replaced part of two ribs with metal rods. Hard to imagine it was only two weeks ago.

I inhaled deeply, but slowly. Carefully. No pain. It was, but for those white scars, as if I’d never been shot at all. And now they were letting me go.

I put on a white sleeveless undershirt and a plain t-shirt over that. My jeans felt a little looser, but wearing them was infinitely better than having my ass hanging out of a hospital gown. I ran some water through my hair and glanced a final time at my reflection.

“I’m the same guy.”

Only I wasn’t. The nurses said everyone called me the Hero of United One. It made my stomach churn.

“You saved fifty-three people!” they constantly cooed at me.

I couldn’t tell them the truth. That I wasn’t thinking of fifty-three people that day. That my distracting Dracula long enough to let the cops do their job was a happy coincidence. The police saved the hostages. I had only ever intended to save one.

Just one.

But she was gone and all I had to show for it were two shiny white scars and a mountain of debt.

Now Georgia can take Callie to the moon for all I’ll be able to stop her.

And then there was Georgia. Prior to the robbery, she’d had a strange grip on me, pulling strings to get what she wanted, hooking me on her line, using Callie as the bait. Now, when she’d come to visit me over the last two weeks—only twice, only once with Callie—her tossed off comments about my job, my living situation, my good-for-nothing boss meant nothing to me. I let it all slide, my thoughts occupied by the memory of Alex sleeping in my arms at the bank and that sudden, stolen interlude in the office when she’d been mine completely.

Almost as potent was the memory of her kiss in the hospital. It was supposed to have been a peck on the cheek. I would have bet my truck—my most prized possession—on it. But I had turned or she had—I preferred to believe it was the latter. That kiss…

Such a contrast to the hard, emotionless kisses Georgia gave me whenever I was stupid enough to allow myself to spend the night with her. If she kissed me at all. It had been ages, now that I thought about it.

But Alex…her mouth had parted for me, her tongue stroking mine until I was hard as a rock and desperate to have her again for one more night. No, every night.

I brushed those kinds of thoughts aside, buried them deep with every other thing I wanted from life but could not have, could not work for. Alex was gone. That kiss had been goodbye, and even so, she was from another world. A world of money and privilege, and expensive lunches and cars. She was grateful to me for saving her life, and that was it. She’d gone back into her cushy life and there was nothing I could do about it.

“You have bigger things to worry about,” I told my reflection.

And that was true enough. As I’d suspected, my landlord had evicted me from my cruddy little apartment in Culver City. And cruddy though it was, it had had two bedrooms, one for Callie when it was my weekend to have her. Now it was gone, those weekends gone with it.

I put my hand to my chest, wincing, a pain almost worse than being shot.
My girl…

I emerged from the bathroom. Vic Ruiz was scanning the room for stray items to toss into a duffel. “About time. Thought you fell in.”

“Hey man,” I said. “Thanks for getting the guys to salvage my stuff. And for letting me crash at your place for a few days. I appreciate it.”

“
Por nada,
my friend. Carla’s happy to have you. She’s going to feed you until you burst. Be warned.”

“I won’t be there long enough, but she’s welcome to try.”

“When’s the hearing?”

“Friday.”

“In two days? How you gonna find a new place by then?”

“I won’t, but I can ask the judge for more time.”

“You think he’ll give it?”

“I don’t know.” I sat in a chair and pulled on my work boots. “Randall says he’ll put me back on the job on Monday, so I’m still employed—”

“Whoa, whoa, you’re going to work on
Monday
?” Vic shook his head. “I was here when the doc gave you your marching orders, remember? You’re supposed to rest for at least another two weeks.
At least
.”

“I feel fine,” I said, tying up my boot. “And I have to work. The judge might give me a break on finding a new place, but without a job, there’s not even the prospect. Not to mention I have a shitload of bills to pay.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I can’t lose Callie,” I said. “I mean, I’ll probably get my ass handed to me on Friday, but I have to try.”

Vic ran a hand through is dark hair. “I hear you, man, but damn. You got
shot.
”

“And now I’m better. To be honest, I’m more shocked Randall saved me a spot on the crew.”

“He came to see you?”

“Yesterday. Said he signed off on my journeyman hours to. To the state.”

Vic made a face. “Yeah, so he said. Watch out, man. I’ve worked for Randall longer than you. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. The only reason he don’t mess with my hours is because he’s screwed over every other decent electrician in the city. Aside from you.”

“Nah,” I said. “I’m okay.”

“Okay? You’re good at everything. You’re gonna ace that contractor’s test. Aces.”

“Yeah, well, I need my own place to study up.”
Does it matter? Why am I still trudging on, as if I have a chance?

“And you need Randall to be telling the truth about turning in your papers. And when you do make GC, we’re all going to come work for you.”

I clasped hands with Vic, not trusting myself to speak, as my friend pulled me in for a hug.

“I’m glad you’re okay. We all are. You’re one of the good ones.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks.”

I thumped Vic on the back and scanned the room one more time for anything else that belonged to me. There wasn’t much to begin with. My bloody shirt and jacket had been thrown out. Vic had brought me a change of clothes from my stuff before my landlord had a chance to sell it all. An agent from the F.B.I. had come to question me a week ago and had returned my wallet—with my last paycheck intact—the keys to my old F1-50 pickup, and my watch. There was nothing else.

“This yours?” Vic held up the baseball cap Alex had worn that first night.

“Oh, uh. Yeah.” I stuffed it in my bag.
My souvenir,
I thought bitterly.

Georgia appeared in the doorway, Callie at her side.

“Daddy!” Callie rushed to me, blonde hair flying, and I knelt to hug her close. “You’re going home now?”

“Yep. Just waiting for the nurse to come in with the last paperwork.”

“Are you coming to Sitka with us? Mommy says it’s pretty there.”

“I’m sure it is.” I exchanged looks with Georgia over Callie’s head. She shifted in the doorway, something like a shrug, and looked away.

Vic cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m gonna split, man. See you in a few.” He nodded at Georgia.

“Thanks again, Vic.”

“
Least
I can do,” he said, and went out.

Georgia crossed her arms. “You’re going to live on Vic’s couch?”

“Until I get a new place, yes,” I said, while Callie climbed onto the chair by the window and peered down at the view below.

“The hearing’s Friday.”

“Yeah, it is,” I said in a low voice. “So until then, you need to stop telling Callie she’s moving. It’s not done yet, Georgia.”

“It will be. Especially once the judge hears you have no place of your own.” She bit her thumbnail. “Not to mention your medical bills.”

I winced, wounded that after everything, she’d use that. “Really, Georgia? Yeah, fine. Go ahead. Give your lawyer something else to nail my ass to the wall with.”

“You said
ass
,” Callie laughed, still watching the window. We were on the fourteenth floor, the entire city stretched out below.

“Why are you being so cold?” Georgia asked, hugging herself.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re so bound and determined to…” I glanced at Callie. “We’re not going to do this now. We’re not. And you’re not moving to Sitka.”

“We’re not?” Callie asked, turning. “But Mommy said—”

“Mommy has to wait and see, baby,” I told her. To Georgia I said, “I still have my job, and soon enough I’ll have another place. I—”

A nurse breezed in with a clipboard full of discharge papers and a plastic baggy with two orange plastic pill holders in it. “Here we are.” She handed over the paperwork for me to sign. I did so while Georgia shuffled impatiently at the door. When I finished, the nurse went over the doctor’s instructions again.

“You’re to rest for two weeks, minimum, and if you find yourself short of breath, or with sharp stabbing pains in your chest, call 911 immediately. These are your prescriptions: the blood thinner you won’t need a refill for, but the painkiller you can have refilled once should you need it.”
“I don’t need it at all,” I said.

The nurse smiled. “You say that now, but in the middle of the night you might be glad to have it. Okay, that’s it.” The nurse started to go, then turned back. “I just wanted to tell you that we’re all so glad you’re doing so well, and to thank you for what you did at that bank. We’d have seen a whole lot more of those hostages in here had it not been for you.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, well…”

“Daddy’s a hero!” Callie said.

“That’s right, sugar,” said the nurse as she left the room. “He absolutely is, and none of us here are going to forget that anytime soon.”

Georgia hauled herself off the wall. “Come on, Callie. Time to go. See you Friday, Cory, and just…be ready. Things might not go your way.”

“Yeah, Friday, Georgia.” I turned to Callie and engulfed her in a big hug. “I love you, baby.”

“Love you too, Daddy,” Callie said. She pulled away and went to take her mother’s hand. “Oh, and I almost forgot. They’re waiting for you.”

“Who is waiting for me?”

“The people with cameras. They’re out front because someone told them you’re leaving today.”

Shit.
I forced a smile. “Thanks, baby.”

“Sure, Daddy,” Callie said as her mother pulled her out the door. “Don’t say anything stupid!”

#

There were only a half a dozen reporters waiting out front. I could see them from the front desk. My truck had been driven to the outdoor parking lot; I had only to go down a small flight of stairs to reach it and make my escape, but it was impossible.

I turned to the receptionist at the desk. “This belongs to Alexandra Gardener.” I handed the baseball hat to the woman. “In case she comes looking for…it.”

I turned and strode to the front doors. Immediately, I was bombarded with questions. I held up my hands for quiet and found six handheld mics under my chin and four cameras trained on me.

“Uh, yeah, I’m not going to answer any questions,” I said. “I’d just like to get home and put all this behind me. But I do want to say thanks to the staff of doctors and nurses here who got me back on my feet. So, yeah. Thanks. Thanks, very much.”

I pushed past the reporters, ignoring their questions, and jogged across the parking lot. I locked himself into the safety and comfort of my old truck, but thankfully no one followed me. I heaved a sigh. It seemed like years instead of weeks since I’d been behind the wheel. I started the engine and it revved and growled perfectly despite its age.

I glanced at the hospital. Once I left, Alex wouldn’t know how to get in touch with me…should she want to. Which she wouldn’t.
Why would she? It’s over. It’s all over.

“Okay,” I said. “Time to get back to work.”