A Change of Heart (33 page)

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

C
ORY 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?”

“To some degree, yes. I should’ve been able to trust my commanding officer, and…and I couldn’t. He abused his position of power. I should’ve been able to count on the institution I’d pledged my loyalty and service to, and the army let me down.
Augh
.” She rubbed her temples. “The situations aren’t at all the same. Except for the trust issues, they’re nothing alike.”

Linda nodded. “I understand what you mean about trust when it comes to dogs. Do you see what happened to the TEDD as a betrayal of the bond he had with the handler?”

“Yes, but not so much by the handler as the army. His handler was really torn up about the whole thing. If he could’ve
prevented what happened, he would’ve. We could all see that. But the army views working dogs as equipment, nothing more. Equipment is expendable.
That
makes me angry.”

She snorted. “Just about everything makes me angry. I was raped by my commanding officer. Rather than prosecute the man who assaulted me, the army slapped me with a personality disorder diagnosis.” Her chest tightened. “The US Army discounted and discarded me like yesterday’s trash, after eight years of exemplary service on my part.”

She swiped at the tears escaping down her cheeks. “That’s about the same number of years they keep military working dogs, isn’t it? I guess they saw me as just another piece of equipment like that bomb-sniffing Labrador. These days, I’m just plumb full of rage when you get right down to it.”

“Understandable. Rage is a normal reaction to what you’ve been through. How are you dealing with all that anger?”

“At first I used it to motivate me to get out of bed.” She risked a glance at her therapist to gauge her reaction, finding nothing but calm acceptance. “It’s what kept me going through the whole legal process to put Staff Sergeant Barnett behind bars. I have no idea how to deal with all the rage now. It’s eating me up from the inside out. I can tell you that much. Honestly”—she heaved a shaky breath—“I’d like to chuck it.”

“Then that’s what we’ll work on first.” Linda set the legal pad and pen aside. “For the rest of our session, we’re going to practice some anger management and visualization techniques. Is that all right with you, or would you rather continue talking?”

“Techniques sound good. It’s hard for me to talk about this stuff. It’ll take awhile before I’m comfortable about opening up my can of worms.”

“Of course. This is a process, and I want you to feel
comfortable. Lean back and close your eyes. Take a deep breath, and let it out slowly, relaxing each part of your body as you do, beginning with the top of your head and working your way down.”

For the rest of the hour, Cory practiced everything the doctor taught her. When they were finished, Linda handed her a couple of brochures.

“The techniques we practiced today are all in here. Refer to them if you forget what to do. Pretty soon it’ll become automatic.” She wrote something down on a form and handed it to her. “We had great start today, Cory. By Monday I’ll have a group for you. Do your homework and start journaling like we talked about.” She rose from her chair. “Stop by the assistant’s desk on the way out, and she’ll set up your next six appointments.”

“I will. Thank you.” On the way to make her appointments, she stared at the brochures in her hand. She’d done it, taken the first step, and she felt as if she’d just finished her first marathon, all twenty-six grueling miles. She was exhausted, but in a good way.

Appointment card in hand, she left the building and headed for the parking ramp. Pulling out her cell phone, she called her mom, knowing she’d be waiting to hear.