Unbreakable (24 page)

Alex

We drove in silence, in Cory’s truck, to Culver City. He wore a faint smile the entire drive, which wilted the closer we got to Georgia’s place. We pulled into the cracked lot of a dingy, olive green stucco’d complex: two-stories with rickety, rusted railings and a cement façade design dating back to the seventies.

“You’d better wait here,” Cory said, and stepped out of the truck, his expression the grim mask of someone about to go into battle.

I waited, surprised at how nervous I felt.
She’s just a kid. Relax.
But I’d never been good with kids. Or so my mother was fond of reminding me. Come to think of it, I’d never actually been around them enough to know.

I smoothed out the skirt of my blue designer sundress and checked my reflection in the rearview. My hair was too severe, I decided. I pulled it from the tight ponytail and let it fall around my shoulders in soft waves. I returned to the mirror to its position just as a little blonde girl came bounding down the cement stairs from a second-level apartment. My strange nervousness ratcheted up a notch. Calliope Bishop was the spitting image of her father. Her long pale hair was tied in messy pigtails and she regarded me with dark brown eyes and a crooked smile.

“Are you going to come out?”

I fumbled the door open. There was no sign of Cory or Georgia. Only Callie, blinking up at me, a doll clutched under her arm and a small duffel over her shoulder.

“Are you the lady my Daddy saved at the bank?”

“Uh, yes. I’m Alex Gardener.” I put out my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Callie.”

The little girl shook it with a giggle. “Alex is a boy’s name.”

“Callie!” Georgia and Cory approached, the woman fixing her daughter with a pointed stare. “That’s not polite.”

“It’s okay,” I said to Callie. “My real name’s Alexandra. Alex for short.”

“Like Callie is short for Calliope.”

“Exactly.” I turned to Georgia. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Not officially.”

“Not officially. Hospitals and hearings.” Georgia said, crossing her arms over her chest, precluding any idea of hand shaking. She was skinnier than I remembered, her arms bearing full sleeves of elaborate tattoos, her long blonde hair braided and beaded. During the hearing, Georgia had been across the courtroom. Up close, I was struck by the woman’s wild beauty. Her eyes were green and sharp with intelligence, and met mine with stony coolness, like chips of jade. “You put on quite a show.”

“Georgia,” Cory warned. “Don’t.” He took Callie’s bag from her and tossed it into the truck bed. “Let’s go, sweetie. Say goodbye to your mom.” But Georgia had already walked away. “I’ll bring her back tomorrow around four.” Georgia waved her hand over her shoulder, not looking back. Cory sighed and I quickly looked away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

I climbed into my seat, Cory to his, with Callie wedged between us in the middle.

“Seatbelt,” Cory told his daughter and I helped her to find the buckle.

“You’re lucky,” Callie told me. “Calliope is a stupid name. Alexandra is a pretty name.”

“I think Calliope is very pretty,” I said as Cory started up truck and pulled out of the apartment complex.

Callie narrowed her dark eyes on me suspiciously. “Every grown up says that.”

“Do you know who Calliope is?”

“It’s not a
who.
It’s a
what.
A giant music box. On wheels. With pipes.” She jerked her thumb at Cory. “Daddy’s grandma was named Calliope too, so that’s how I got stuck with it.”

I saw Cory bite back a smile.

“That’s true,” I said, “it’s a music box, of a kind. But in ancient times, Calliope was the daughter of Zeus—”

“I know Zeus! He’s the king of the gods! From Greek times. We learned about them during reading time at school.”

“That’s right, from Greek times,” I said. “Calliope was a daughter of Zeus and muse to some of the greatest poets, like Dante and Homer.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Homer Simpson?”

“Different Homer, honey,” Cory said.

“What’s a muse, anyway?”

“The muses were the sources of all knowledge. They gave inspiration to artists and scientists.”

Callie socked Cory’s arm. “You never told me Calliope was a muse! Or Zeus’s daughter!”

“I didn’t know myself,” Cory laughed. “But that’s pretty cool, right?” He gave me an appreciative smile.

“Better than some stinky old rolling pipe organ, or whatever you’ve been telling me.” Callie bounced in her seat. “I can’t wait for school to start. I’m going to tell everyone that Calliope was a muse
and
a goddess!” She turned to me. “How do you know all that stuff?”

“I learned about it in college.”

“And when you go to college, you’ll learn just as much too,” Cory told his daughter, who rolled her eyes.

“Broken record,” she confided to me. “What about your name? Was Alexandra a goddess too?”

“No, if I remember it right, my name is more of a title.”

“What title?”

“I haven’t thought about it. Not in a long time,” I said in a low voice. “Uh, it means ‘defender of men.’”

Callie made a dubious sound. “Huh? You defend men? Like Daddy?” She laughed. “That’s silly.”

“Alex’s job is to help people when they have to go to trial,” Cory said. “Remember Judge Judy?”

Callie swiveled back to me. “Are you like Judge Judy? She’s the best. She’s tough but she always knows what’s fair. That’s your job? To make things fair?”

“Supposed to,” I said, smiling faintly. “Doesn’t always work out that way.”

Cory cleared his throat. “Are you going to help the nurses again, Callie? When we see Pops?”

“Of course! I’m a really good helper. Nurse Pauline always gives me stickers for doing such a good job.” Callie prattled on about how she helped hand out pillows or sort the mail for the residents of the group home.

I was grateful to Cory for changing the subject. I hadn’t thought about Munro vs. Hutchinson in what felt like ages. I marveled at how the excitement of keeping so many balls in the air had faded.

It all seemed so unimportant compared to what Cory had—a vivacious little girl and a father who needed him.

#

I watched as the New Horizons Home came into view. An elegant, five story complex in tasteful maroon and beige paint with sliding glass doors and nurses in neat uniforms pushing residents in wheelchairs or accompanying them on a walk in the late morning sunshine. It was obvious the home was a quality establishment, and if I had to guess, the monthly cost to have a family member here pushed ten grand.

I should have felt glad that Cory had been able to provide his father with this kind of end-of-life care, but instead my heart sank a little. Their business must have been taking off if by selling it he could afford this place.

Inside, Callie skipped ahead and Cory strode the carpeted hall with easy familiarity. I felt like an interloper. The home was neat and clean and staffed with professionals, but there was an intensely personal aura permeating the air, as thick as the scents from the flower bouquets that decorated tabletops and sideboards. Here, family members were living out the last years—sometimes months—of their lives.

At the elevator, I took Cory by the arm and leaned close. “Maybe I should wait in the car.”

Cory frowned. “Why?” he asked then he understood. “No, it’s okay. I get it. It’s sort of like being in a hospital, right?”

“No, it’s not that,” I said. “I just…he doesn’t know me. Your father. I’m not family.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if he’ll know me either.” Cory ran a hand through his hair. “Every time I come here, I wonder if this is going to be the day where there’s…nothing, you know? If I’ve run out of time.”

“Run out of time?” I prodded gently.

“To make him proud,” he said quietly. He shook his head. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put this pressure on you. It was a boneheaded thing to ask. I see that now.”

I realized then that Cory had been fighting all of his battles alone, and he was weary of it. I remembered what he’d said in the bank, about wanting a partner to face the challenges of life, together, hand in hand.
But I’ve pledged my partnership to someone else.

“Wait a second, Callie,” Cory called, as Callie bounded into the elevator. “Alex is going to wait in the lobby…”

“No,” I said and slipped my hand into his. I smiled up at him.
I can be his partner today. Just for today.
“Let’s go.”

His smile was beautiful, his eyes soft and warm. “Thank you.”

Callie peeked her head from the elevator. “Are you guys coming or what?” She saw our linked hands and her eyes lit up. “Oooooh. Daddy has a
girlfriend
.”

#

The doors opened on a hallway where nurses padded past, each wearing the maroon uniform. They congregated at a station at the end of the hall. Callie led us the opposite direction, to room 414, where the door was already open.

“Pops? Ready or not, here we come!”

Cory smiled, watching his daughter. “The nurses always know we’re coming,” he told me. “They try to prepare Pops, but like I said, it’s always a crap-shoot how lucid he’s going to be. He may be rude to you…or not even acknowledge you’re there…”

I gave his hand a squeeze. “Cory, it’ll be fine. I can handle it.”

He squeezed back. “I don’t doubt it.”

The room was small but Walter Bishop had it all to himself. A single bed, a table, and a dresser were the only furnishing, and a door to the right revealed a small bathroom. Cory’s father sat in a plush chair near the window, which offered a view of the 405 freeway and parts of the UCLA campus. He was a gaunt man with wispy gray hair, and a stern expression on his features that looked chiseled in. His dark eyes stared at nothing in particular and his plaid button down hung loosely over his bony shoulders and narrow chest.

Callie bounded up to him and kissed his cheek. This seemed to jar him from his stupor.

“Eh? Callie, girl! How’s my Callie girl?”

“Fine, Pops. Daddy’s here and he brought his
girlfriend
,” Callie laughed, drawing out the last word in that same playground singsong voice as she had at the elevator.

Cory rolled his eyes—for my benefit, I thought—and released my hand. He crouched down in front of his dad’s chair. “How you doing, Pops?”

“Same shit, different day,” Walter replied, giving his son an appraising glance. “What’s with you? Win the lottery? Why are you grinning like a fool?” He waved a hand. “That’s because you are a fool. Selling the whole business. For what? So I can get my ass wiped by a
quality
nurse with
quality
nappies? Horseshit!”

Callie giggled. “You said a bad worse.
Twice
.”

“Cool it, Pops,” Cory said. He got up and leaned toward me. “Typical opening act. Don’t pay any attention.”

I smiled and nodded but I could see it hurt Cory nevertheless.

“Hey, Pops, this is my friend, Alex.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bishop,” I said, stepping forward and extending my hand.

“Eh?” Walter glanced at my hand then peered at my face, confused. “Georgia, for chrissakes, I know who you are. You changed your hair but that don’t fool me. I’m old but not stupid.”

“That’s not Georgia, Pops,” Cory said but his dad waved him off.

“So you’re back, eh?” he snarled at me. “Surprise, surprise. Do you love him yet? No? How about if he cuts his veins open for you? How about then?”

“Okay, that’ll do,” Cory said firmly. “Callie, why don’t you go see if you can help Nurse Pauline. I think I saw her at the station when we came up.”

“Okay!”

Cory looked to me apologetically. “There’s a little café for visitors downstairs if you want to grab a coffee…?”

“She just got here!” Walter thundered. “And I want an answer to my question.”

Cory clenched his jaw. “Pops, this is not Georgia. This is Alexandra. You’ve never met her before.”

Walter Bishop turned his eyes on me and sat back in his chair, his confusion falling away to leave his eyes sharp and bright, like a crow’s. “Alexandra. Huh. So what do you want?”

“She doesn’t want anything,” Cory said. “Just to meet you, but you’re being a rude bastard and embarrassing the hell out of me.”

“Oh, so I embarrass you now, eh?” Walter said and winked at me. A glint of mischief gleamed in his eye and I found myself liking him at once. I pulled up the chair across from him.

“See how he mouths off to his old man?” he confided. “Disrespectful. You look like a fine lady. I hope you’re teaching him some manners.”

I heaved a dramatic sigh. “I’m trying my best, sir, but it’s not easy.” I snuck a glance at Cory and smothered a laugh at his floored expression.

“Sir? You hear that?” Walter glared at his son. “Why don’t
you
run along and bring the girl a coffee yourself? And get me a candy bar, while you’re at it. The fascists here won’t ever oblige me. Me. A dying old man.”