A Change of Heart (Perfect Indiana#3)

by Barbara Longley

  “He was in a world of hurt last Monday. I convinced him to take a much-needed break.”

  “Oh.” Just what she needed to hear.

  “Do you remember that morning we talked by the river?”

  She nodded.

  “You said the more you felt for Ted, the worse your nightmares got.” He fixed her with his legendary commander stare. “Can I assume that you have more than friendly feelings for him?”

  Her cheeks heating up, she nodded again.

  “When Ceejay and I first started dating…No. Wait.” He straightened. “I need to back up. The day my platoon got hit by the suicide bombers, my driver died. The nightmares I had always began the same way, with my driver, Jackson, pointing out the civilian truck heading toward us and voicing his concern. I relived the bombing over and over, and it always ended the same way. I’d see Jackson in pieces on the ground, and then the parade of dead would begin.” He shook his head, his expression turning inward.

  “Once I began dating Ceejay, the dreams got worse. She’d take Corporal Jackson’s place at the wheel of the Humvee, and there was nothing I could do to stop what I knew would happen next. I saw the woman I loved mangled and dead night after night.”

  “That must’ve been rough.”

  “It was. I think it’s fairly common that the people we care about get tangled up in our dreams. They’re a big part of our present, and we’re still trying to come to terms with our past. I’m guessing the same kind of thing is happening with you. Ted’s image gets transposed into your horrors. Am I right?”

  “Yes, and I hate it! I hate how what I feel for him gets so…so defiled. When I’m with him, everything is great, and then we say good night, and…and then I’m alone to face the fallout.”

  “I didn’t get my first decent sleep until the night I held Ceejay in my arms. I didn’t begin to heal until I let her in. Maybe it’s the alone part making things worse for you, and not the being-close-to-Ted part.” He stood up. “Just something to think about. Talk to Ryan. He swears Paige is his own personal superhero, because she keeps his nighttime demons at bay.”

  Cory’s mouth closed tight, and her mind, already on overload, spun out of orbit. She didn’t know what to say. Could it be she’d had things all wrong?

  “I’m going to go make a few phone calls to the VA center. I should have some news for you by lunchtime.”

  “Thanks, Noah,” she managed to croak out. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Think about what I said.” He stopped by the door. “Everyone here is on your side, Cory. You know that, right?”

  For the third time since they’d come upstairs, speaking was beyond her. And once again she nodded.

  “Later.”

  The sound of Noah’s footsteps receded, and she turned back to her desk. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, not the insurance plans laid out before her or the monumental decision she had to make. Not even thoughts of Ted brought her back into focus. She’d waited so long for the day the army admitted they were wrong, and now they had. Instead of jumping up and down for joy, she felt empty. Numb.

  No, not numb. Still, like the time she’d been mesmerized by the river’s endless, hypnotic flow. Something precious had been restored to her. She’d been exonerated, and eight years of her history had been returned. Now the real work could begin at last. It would happen. Just like Ted said it would. She’d start therapy and get better, because no other alternative was acceptable.

  She should’ve trusted Ted, and if she somehow got another chance, she would. Shaking herself out of the stillness, she straightened her spine and went back to work. The rest of L&L’s staff and Perfect’s independent businesses were depending on her to get their health insurance up and rolling. She wasn’t about to let them down. Shoot. She never did get that second cup of coffee. A smile broke free. Coffee could wait until lunch—she glanced at the wall clock—which was only an hour and a half away.

  By the time Noah returned, she’d finished with the first bids.

  “Hey, good news,” he said. “You have an appointment with Dr. Linda Siverson-Hall Friday morning at eight. She wants you to get in for a physical beforehand. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting in for that this week.”

  “Wow. How did you manage that?”

  “She’s a friend. Linda runs a few women’s groups, and they all followed your case. She would’ve found the time regardless, but her regular Friday morning appointment had to go out of town for a funeral. She said she’d be happy to take you on, and the two of you can figure out a regular time once you meet.”

  He handed her a slip of paper with the appointment date and time and a couple of phone numbers scribbled across the bottom. “Call the second number and make the appointment for your physical. Then let’s head to the diner for lunch. You can share your good news with Jenny and Harlen.”

  “I will. I owe you, Noah.”

  “No, you don’t.” He shrugged. “It’s all part of the mission. Come downstairs when you’re ready. We’ll wait.”

  “I will.” She picked up her phone and entered the number to make her appointment. Her insides had turned to jelly. Relief and elation chased around inside her like a dog after its own tail. Ted would be gone for two weeks. That stung, but she planned to make good use of the time. She’d take her first steps toward getting better, and hopefully those steps would lead her back to him—unless he’d finally given up on her and planned to use the two weeks to move on.

  Ted took in a lungful of pine- and loam-spiced air and tilted his head back to stare at the clear blue sky above the tops of the conifers and hardwoods surrounding him. The pine needles covering the path were so thick his footsteps barely made a sound. He’d taken several hikes this past week, and this trail was his favorite. It led to a small waterfall where one of the lake’s feeder streams hit a stone outcrop, dropping off to the boulders below. The stream looped through the hills and back around to the lake, and the trail meandered along beside it all the way. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely as hell.

  He was supposed to be figuring out what he wanted to do, and everything he did led his thoughts back to her. Hiking through the woods would be great if Cory was here to enjoy it with him, but she wasn’t. Vacationing would be great if he had her to share it with, but he didn’t. In fact, he hadn’t spoken aloud since his last trip into town two days ago.

  Only Thursday, he hadn’t even been on vacation for a week, and already the silence had him climbing the walls. The trail took him to a path beside the lake, leading him back to the Langfords’ summer home. He decided to do some fishing off the end of their dock and turned his steps toward the garage.

  He glanced at the neat pile of split firewood stacked under the eaves for protection from the rain and snow. He’d done that. Swinging the garage door up, he surveyed his handiwork inside. All of the tools he’d found scattered under piles of junk were now hanging on the hooks where they belonged. Sports equipment, all sorted, now sat on the metal shelves taking up the back wall, and he’d packed all the miscellaneous stuff lying around into stacked boxes. The vintage Indian motorcycle he’d uncovered was now parked out of the way.

  He walked over to the motorcycle and ran his hand over the gas tank, thinking about what it would take to restore the old bike to its former glory. He’d ask Noah whom it belonged to and see if they might be willing to part with it for the right price. He’d swept, burned rubbish and filled the kindling bin to overflowing. The kayak hung from the rack where it belonged, and the canoe rested on its side tucked underneath. You could put a vehicle inside the garage now if you wanted. He didn’t. Eyeing the fishing rods and reels without a spark of enthusiasm, he grunted. “Screw it. I don’t want to fish.”

  He racked his brain for something to do. Movie in town? Nope. Shop? Definitely not. Restaurant for dinner with all the old folks who came in for the early-bird specials? “Hell no.”

  What did he really want to do? “Face it. You’re an Indiana farm boy, and
a homebody to boot.” He’d had enough vacation. Time to go home. He closed the garage door and fished the key from his pocket to lock up. Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he headed back to the house to see if he could trade in his return airline ticket for an earlier departure.

  Once he’d made all his travel arrangements, he called his folks. Ted pressed his cell phone between his ear and shoulder while stuffing clothes into the washing machine off the kitchen. No sense in going home with a pile of dirty laundry if he didn’t have to.

  “Hello?”

  He straightened and grabbed the phone. “Hey, Mom. Is Dad nearby?”

  “He’s in the barn. Did you try his cell?”

  “Yeah, I did. He didn’t answer.”

  “Oh.” There was a pause on the line, and he heard her moving around. “I see his phone right here on the kitchen table. Huh, didn’t even hear it ring. I’ll bet he turned it off again. Do you want me to go get him, Teddy?”

  “No, just tell him I’m cutting my vacation short. I’m flying home tomorrow afternoon. Will one of you be around to pick me up from the airport?”

  “Is everything OK? You’ve only been gone a week.”

  “Everything’s fine. I just decided to take the rest of my break at home. Everything I like to do with my time off is there. I want to work on my truck.” The truth was, a vacation like this would be great if he had someone to share it with. Since he didn’t, home was where he preferred to be. He’d had enough of rattling around alone in the Langfords’ huge summer home. All it did was bring everything his life lacked into sharper focus.

  “We’re not busy. I’ll make sure your dad has his cell phone with him. Call when you land.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ve missed you and Dad. Can’t wait to be home.”

  “We’ve missed you too, honey. How about I cook your favorite dinner Friday night to celebrate your homecoming?”

  “I’d like that.” He grinned so hard his face hurt, and love for his family filled him with warmth.

  “See you Friday, Teddy.”

  “Later, Mom.” He hit End Call and tucked his phone into his back pocket. He’d done a lot of thinking, and he’d come to a few conclusions. One, leaving Cory without a word had been petty and immature, and his actions filled him with guilt. Two, everything she’d done pointed to the fact that she somehow felt he needed to be protected—from her. That had to stop.

  He’d bared his soul, told her she was the one, and she’d flat-out shut him down. Had she done so because she didn’t feel the same about him as he felt about her? Or had she done it because of her misguided notion that she had to protect him? As much as he’d like to believe her reaction had more to do with the flashback than it did with him, he couldn’t be sure.

  They needed to talk. At the very least, he owed her an apology for leaving the way he had. She’d be at Paige and Ryan’s housewarming on Saturday. Should he go? Did he really want to have it out with her there? No. She wouldn’t appreciate it, and he didn’t want an audience. He’d spend Saturday tinkering with his newest restoration project. Assembling and organizing the parts he’d located for his old Ford appealed to him right now. Could it be he had some of his cousin Ceejay’s OCD tendencies? A family trait, perhaps? What would the Langfords think when they found their storage garage in perfect order, their kindling bin full to the top, and all of their firewood cut and neatly stacked? He shook his head.

  He wouldn’t tell anyone but his folks he was home. Continuing the break would do him good. Hadn’t he promised Noah he’d come back to work refreshed and less surly? Sunday he’d call Cory and arrange a time to talk. His heart and stomach fluttered at the thought of facing a final rejection. One way or another, things would be resolved between them.

  He lowered the lid to the washing machine and turned it on. Making a decision had given him an appetite. He walked out the back door and took the path to the front, heading for the Jeep. A bar and grill in town advertised live music every evening. A burger and a beer and some local flavor sounded good.

  By Friday afternoon he’d be home, and sometime during the next week he’d have a come-to-Jesus meeting with Cory. He had a plan. For the first time all week, he was certain about his course of action. Not happy, but certain, and that would have to do for now.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CORY PAGED THROUGH A WAITING room magazine without really seeing any of the images passing before her eyes. She had no idea what to expect when it came to seeing a therapist, and her nerves were stretched taut. She’d had her physical on Wednesday, and had already picked up her prescriptions. Even though she’d started taking the pills, she didn’t feel any different. Not yet, anyway, but she’d been warned it might take a few weeks. Bummer.

  Was instant relief too much to ask after months and months of crap? Months, dammit.

  Her thoughts turned to Ted. He’d be gone for one more week, and that gave her time for another therapy session. It gave the meds more time to kick in. Would he talk to her when he got back? Probably not. His silence this past week had to mean he’d come to his senses and washed his hands of her. Her chest ached. No surprise, since her heart was breaking.

  She missed him. A lot. Truly, she’d rather be talking to him this morning than to some stranger. Not healthy, though. She didn’t want him permanently cast in the role of sounding board for her issues. Wouldn’t it be nice to come to him whole, to be the one to lift him up now and then when he hit a rough patch? A heavy sigh escaped. Why even think about it? She’d already driven him away.

  “Corinna Marcel?” A woman in her late thirties or early forties stood before her. She held a folder with Cory’s name on the tab.

  “Yes.” She tossed the magazine onto the end table and stood up.

  “I’m Dr. Siverson-Hall. Let’s go back to my office.” She gestured toward the corridor behind the medical assistant and started walking.

  Cory studied her. She had reddish, chin-length hair with lighter highlights. Trim and fit, she had great posture. Military issue? “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Siverson-Hall.”

  “Call me Linda.” Her therapist opened an office door and waited for Cory to precede her into the room. “Everyone does.”

  “OK. I go by Cory.” She looked around the small office and swiped her sweaty palms over her jeans. The doctor’s framed credentials hung on the wall behind her desk, and a bookshelf holding a bunch of thick reference books stood against the opposite wall. A comfy upholstered chair had been set next to the desk where a box of Kleenex rested on the edge. “I bet you go through a lot of this.”

  “What’s that?” Linda took the seat at her desk and swiveled the chair around to face her.

  “Tissue.” Dr. Siverson-Hall exuded calm professionalism, which should’ve helped her nerves to settle. It didn’t. Cory took her place in the chair. “I was referring to the box of Kleenex.”

  “Ah.” Linda smiled slightly as she opened the folder she’d been holding and began to glance through it. “Yes. We do go through a few cases.”

  “Noah said you’re familiar with my case, but I think there’s more to what’s bothering me than just…I’ve been having flashbacks and nightmares that have nothing to do with my assault.” She swallowed against the constriction in her throat. “This is harder than I thought. I don’t know where to begin or how this therapy stuff works. Have you ever been deployed?” OK, that was totally random, but she really wanted to know.

  “I have. Three tours as psychological support staff for our troops—once to Iraq and two tours in Afghanistan.” She smiled again and reached for a small picture frame sitting on the far corner of her desk, handing it to her. “I traveled with a therapy dog named Buddy. Once the army retired him, my husband and I adopted Buddy. He’s a sweet dog.”

  Cory stared at the picture of Linda clad in army-issue desert gear and crouched down on the ground with her arms around a medium-size tan-and-white mutt. They were surrounded by desert and soldiers. “Then you know.
” She handed back the photo. The sudden sting of tears burning her eyes took her by surprise. The load of the tension that had been pressing on her left in a rush, leaving her almost limp. “I want to get better. I really, really want to get better. What do I need to do?”

  “You’ve had your physical?”

  “Yes, and the doctor gave me a prescription for anxiety and another for the nightmares.”

  “Good. We’ll work on some coping techniques, talk a lot, and I’m going to start you in group therapy. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds great.” Overwhelming relief flooded her system.

  “Today is more an intake session than a work session. I want to see you once a week for the next six weeks to start. Would Monday afternoons work?”

  “Starting this coming Monday?” Only a couple of days away, and she’d already have her second session.

  “Yes, if you’re available.”

  “I am. My employer is very flexible when it comes to employees getting help. For the most part, we’re all veterans.”

  “I’m familiar with Langford & Lovejoy.” Linda’s expression filled with warmth, and the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes creased. She leaned back in her chair and reached for a pen and legal pad from her desk. “You mentioned you didn’t know where to begin. Why don’t we start with whatever comes to your mind, and we’ll see where it leads.”

  “OK. You said you traveled with a therapy dog, and that made me think of something that happened a couple weeks ago.” She swiped her palms against her denim-clad thighs again. “I had a flashback about a military working dog traveling with the supply unit I was with. He inadvertently triggered an IED he’d located. I saw that dog get blown to bits.” She launched into a description of the incident. “My friend thinks I had that particular flashback because I felt a sense of betrayal on the dog’s behalf, like he trusted his handler and look where it got him. She said I was comparing my situation with the military working dog’s.”

  “Can you expand on that? Do you see the situations as similar?”