Unbreakable (17 page)

Alex

“So yeah. Thanks. Thanks very much.”

A beaming reporter faced the camera. “And there you have it. Humble words from a humble hero, but a hero, nonetheless. Frank? Back to you.”

I flipped off the TV and tossed the remote onto the couch. Almost two weeks without seeing Cory and I thought I had a handle on it. Sure, my sleep was erratic and I had found myself on the verge of driving to the hospital several times—I even made it to my driveway once before restraining myself—and now here he was, on a news report, interrupting my innocuous morning shows.

I checked my watch. My first appointment with Dr. Kinley was in forty-five minutes. Finally. It had taken weeks before his schedule had opened up enough to see me on a regular basis.
Thank God it did. He’ll tell me it’s just residue from the robbery. I need to hear it from someone besides myself. A professional.

I jumped into my Mini and even with Los Angles traffic being what it was, I was ten minutes early.

#

Dr. Kinley’s office was warm, simple, inviting. I had expected to lie on one of those long, armless couches, my back to the doctor, while he smoked a pipe and asked me about my father.

Instead, the kindly man—late fifties, with a neat salt-and-pepper beard—had me sit on the regular-looking couch in his office while he sat in the chair across from me. A coffee table lay between us, strewn with magazines, and his secretary brought me some water. The entire set-up resembled more closely someone’s living room rather than a therapist’s office. The only thing I’d gotten right was that Dr. Kinley used a notepad.

“So,” he said mildly and with a gentle smile. “Why don’t we begin with you telling me why you’re here?”

I told him about the robbery—a Cliff’s Notes version for now. “And now I feel like I can’t move on,” I finished. “I can’t let it go.”

“All of it?” Kinley asked. “Or is there a specific incident that stands out in your mind as particularly traumatic?”

“As traumatic? Um, no,” I said slowly. “I mean, I can’t sleep and I jump when I hear loud noises, and I don’t like standing in line at the grocery store anymore. I keep looking over my shoulder. But I know all that will fade with time. No, what I keep going back to is…”
Sleeping on Cory Bishop’s shoulder. Telling Cory Bishop my most personal issues. Fucking Cory Bishop on some stranger’s desk...
I glanced at the doctor. “You’ve heard of Stockholm Syndrome?”

“I have. Do you have feelings of sympathy to your attackers?”

“No, no. But it seems to me that there’s probably a similar disorder or syndrome or whatever you want to call it, when someone feels really…bonded to someone else who also went through the same ordeal. Isn’t there?”

“Are we speaking of…” Dr. Kinley consulted his notes, “Mr. Bishop?”

“Yes.”

“How is Mr. Bishop connected to your feeling that you cannot move on from the robbery?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” I said. “I mean, I think of him. Quite a bit. And I know I shouldn’t. I’m getting married, you see…”

“Congratulations.”

“Yes, thanks, and so it’s not really appropriate for me to be thinking about Cory…Mr. Bishop. But it’s just the trauma, right? In the bank, my idea of safety was tied up with being close to him. He kept me safe and then he literally saved my life. So what is that called?”

“What is what called?”

“What is the clinical term for when someone becomes attached to someone else in times of crisis?”

“Well, I hesitate to say there is one as particular as Stockholm Syndrome.”

I leaned forward. “But there is…
something
…right? Tell me it’s something I can get over or take a pill for
.
”

Dr. Kinley pursed his lips. “It’s quite possible that what you’re describing is a variant on Separation Anxiety Disorder. If you’ve developed an emotional attachment to Mr. Bishop during your time of crisis, you could be now experiencing anxiety related to being apart.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” I leaned back, absorbing this. “Yes, that’s probably it. I knew there had to be something. So how do I make it go away?”

The psychologist cocked his head. “Why are you so very eager for it to go away?”

“Isn’t that normal? To want to get well?”

“Let me rephrase: Why are you desperate to rush your treatment? It’s not wise to jump to a diagnosis without first—”

“Because it’s inappropriate,” I blurted.

“You have inappropriate thoughts about Mr. Bishop?”

“No, no.” And then…Cory’s hands sliding up my thighs in the dark of that office, his mouth on mine...

“
No.
I just meant I’m having a hard time concentrating on the things in my life I need to be concentrating on. My job. My
fiancé
.” I squared my shoulders. “I can’t sleep, doctor. I need to move on. So please tell me how I can cure this separation anxiety. Is there a pill or some sort of meditation…?”

Dr. Kinley glanced at his watch and smiled gently. “Ms. Gardener, I haven’t diagnosed you with Separation Anxiety Disorder. I haven’t diagnosed you with anything. I understand you’re in a hurry to get on with a ‘normal’ life. But you must be patient. This will take time. Okay?”

No, not okay.
But I sank back onto the couch, and nodded. “Yes, doctor.”

#

I drove back to the bungalow in more turmoil than before. It had been a huge relief to know there was a name for why I couldn’t get Cory off my mind, but how to cure it apparently was going to take more than one session.
I don’t have time to wait for Dr. K to slowly try to unravel this mess. I’ll do what I do best, and just handle it on my own.

I felt better at once…until I saw a tomato red pick-up truck parked in front of my house. A Latino man was leaning against it. Cory’s best friend, Victor Ruiz.
A stab of fear knifed my heart. I screeched into the driveway and tore out of my car.

“What is it? Has something happened? Is Cory okay?”

“He’s not hurt, if that’s what you mean,” Vic said.

I sagged with relief. “I saw that he got out of the hospital today even though it’s only been two weeks. When I saw you, I assumed he’d relapsed or hurt himself or…” I shouldered my purse, frowning. “Though of course, I don’t know why you’d come to tell
me
.”

“Cory’s fine. He’s at my house as we speak, getting stuffed full of tamales by my wife and being used as a jungle gym by my kids. He thinks I had to run to a job site. I didn’t want him to know I was here.”

“Oh,” I said. “Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry to track you down like this, but he needs help. Badly.”

Vic explained how Cory’s landlord evicted him for failure to pay rent, despite the fact he was a hostage in a bank at the time.

I shook my head, disgusted. “He told me that might happen. I didn’t believe it then and I can hardly believe it now. Where is he staying?”

“On my couch until he gets a new place. And he can stay with us until…whenever. Forever. My door is always open to him. And I know every single guy on our crew feels the same way. He took a bullet for you? We’d all take one for him. He’s a good man and doesn’t deserve half the bum rap Georgia’s giving him.”

“Is she still going to try to move Callie away? After all that’s happened?”

Vic nodded solemnly.

“Cory got out of the hospital
this morning
,” I said, aghast.

“I know it. I also know that he’d rather eat nails than take a handout, so he’ll be off my couch and in his own place by next week. But no way can he find a place good enough for a kid before the hearing. Not with an eviction hanging over his head.”

“When is the hearing?”

“Two days. Friday, ten a.m. Superior Court. I’m worried he’s going to lose big. He’ll have to move to Sitka and he’ll never get his GC license.”

I sat back in my chair, biting my lip.
No, no, no. This is the exact opposite of what I need right now.
“What’s a GC license? General Contractor?”

“Yeah, and he’s got the brains for it. And if Cory could get his license, we’d all jump ship to work for him like
that
.” He snapped his fingers. “He just needs the chance.”

“I’m not the kind of lawyer he needs,” I said slowly. “There’s a family law attorney in my firm. Maybe I can call him and get some advice.”

Vic’s jaw clenched. “Would that guy work for free? Because on top of everything else, Cory’s got about $250K in hospital bills. He’s royally fucked, is what I’m trying to tell you, and he doesn’t need some guy who’s only doing
you
a favor. Cory needs the best to help him. That’s you. Isn’t it?”

The truth of the situation cut through the knots and tangles in my heart like a sharp knife. “Yes,” I whispered. Then louder, “
Yes
, I’ll help him. Jesus, he saved my life. Whatever he needs. Whatever I can do.”

Vic’s friendly face broke out into a relieved smile. “
Gracias.
I mean it, thank you. Thank you.”

I nodded, slipping easily into my killer sharkskin. “Georgia’s not taking Callie anywhere.”

#

Back home, I paced, gnawing at my lip now, deep in thought. My bluster with Vic ebbed when it became abundantly clear that I had no idea how to go about doing what I’d promised.

Hal Bennett was the family law attorney at Lawson & Dooney, but I couldn’t recall a time in which I hadn’t seen Hal chugging Maalox and chewing Tums like they were candy. He was perpetually swamped and the chances of him being able to look at Cory’s case
and
be free in two days to attend the hearing
and
do the whole thing pro bono—because I refused to let Cory wrack up a bunch of attorney fees on top of everything else—were slim to none.

“I have to do it myself,” I muttered, wandering my bungalow as twilight fell outside the windows in coppery hues. I wasn’t well-versed in family law. Could Georgia just take Callie out of state? I seemed to recall from my law school studies that it wasn’t easy, especially when the father wasn’t abusive or a criminal. But with no immediate place to live, I wasn’t so sure about Cory’s chances.

And that hospital bill.
That was the real bitch. I could advise Cory to declare bankruptcy and then nearly laughed out loud at the thought. I knew he’d rather walk through fire than surrender his debts. It would destroy his credit for years.

I thought about asking my father to help and rejected that as well. It would hurt Cory just as much as it would help him if one person just swooped in and took all that off his hands. His pride and sense of integrity would never recover and I couldn’t do that to him. There had to be another way.

A slow smile spread over my face. “He wouldn’t let any
one
person help him,” I murmured. An idea unspooled and its perfection nearly made me shout for joy.

I fished my cell phone out of my bag but before I could make my call, it rang with a number I didn’t recognize.

“Hello?”
“Alexandra Gardener?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, I’m Nicole, one of Cory Bishop’s nurses. You left a hat here and he wanted me to let you know we had it.”

“A hat…?” I had to think for a minute before remembering I’d worn one of Drew’s old hats the first time I visited Cory in the hospital. “Oh right.”

“I don’t normally call patients’ friends over such a silly thing, but you two just seemed so darn cute together.
Attached
, last I saw…” I could hear her smile knowingly.

I cleared my throat. “Listen, Nicole, you’re actually just the person I need to talk to.”

“Oh yeah? Shoot, honey.”

I told Nicole a few details of the plan, and she was on board before I’d even had finished.

“This is wonderful,” she cried. “The girls and I had started one of those…what’s it called? Kickstarters? But we’ve been too busy to really get the word out. This should do the trick…”

“It’s perfect.”

“You got that right!”

We ironed out a few more details and I hung up, highly satisfied. I next tracked down Carol, Gil, and Tanya. Talking to them was more difficult than I had anticipated. The sounds of their voices alone tried to suck me back into the bank. But I powered through and told them the situation. It warmed my heart to hear they were all more than willing to do whatever it took.

“We’re not going to let him down,” Carol promised.

After, I called Vic and gave him a much more black and white version of the plan.

“He’ll hate that,” Vic said, though I could hear the relieved smile in his voice. “He might hate
us.
”

“Let him,” I said, smiling too. “It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

I got off the phone with Vic after the man promised to give me a progress report the next day. It was a long shot, but I felt optimistic for our chances.

“One down, one to go…”