Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(77)

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.