Unbreakable

by Rebecca Shea

  “Nice to meet you, Jessica.” She smiles politely.

  “Thank you, it’s nice to meet you too,” I respond. Elaine is short. I mean everyone is short compared to me, but Elaine is really short. She maybe stands right at five feet.

  “Well then, let’s not pussy-foot around. Let’s get you set up so you can work!” Elaine exclaims. She may be small, but I can tell she’s fierce. I know I’m going to like her. I can’t help but smile as she’s shuffling papers around her desk and grabbing pens. I need good energy around me. Kevin shoots me an expression that says ‘good luck’ and wanders out of her office.

  “Tell me you like coffee Jessica, or you can’t work for me,” Elaine jokingly says.

  “Can’t live without it.”

  “Good. Initiation starts now. We’re going down the road to my favorite little coffee shop. You’ve got a five-minute car ride to tell me everything I need to know about you. Go.”

  Holy shit, this woman is nuts.

  “Well, I’m nineteen years old.”

  “Whoa, wait. What? Nineteen years old. Are you kidding me?”

  “No, I…uh…completed almost two years worth of undergraduate classes while I was in high school. I didn’t even know I was so far ahead.”

  She cuts me off mid-sentence. “So you’re an overachiever?”

  “Not sure I’d say an overachiever, but maybe a maximizer, is that even a word?” I say, shrugging.

  “Sounds like a vibrator. No, you’re an overachiever. I like you already, Jessie. Can I call you Jessie?”

  “I prefer Jessica,” I say, almost afraid to correct her. Maybe I should just let her call me Jessie, except I fucking hate Jessie. Dad is the only one allowed to call me Jessie.

  “Jessica it is.”

  Before I even realize it, we’d gotten in her black BMW 350 and are racing through the side streets of Wilmington. I know I have about two minutes to tell her everything she needs to know about me, and I do the Cliffs Notes version, excluding why I left California and the man who will always have my heart. Pulling into the parking lot of a small, local coffee shop, Elaine turns the steering wheel sharp and squeezes into the tiniest of parking spots. This woman talks and drives like she’s on speed.

  Before I can even exit Elaine’s car, I notice she is already speed walking to the front door of the coffee shop. “How do you like your coffee, Jessica?” she yells over her shoulder. I can hardly catch up to this ball of fire, and her legs are half my size.

  “Black with room for some creamer,” I reply.

  “Black huh? Just how I like my car, my men, and my coffee.” She says without missing a beat. I burst out laughing, I retract my earlier thoughts, I’m not just going to like Elaine, I’m going to love this woman. Big.

  I spend the rest of the day with some guy from IT. He’s been installing my computer for at least two hours, getting me access to printers, systems, and programs I’ll need for my internship. I’m starving, but I don’t know how much longer this dipshit is going to be, so I just sit here, watching him, like I have for the last two hours.

  I’ve raided the supply closet and set myself up with notepads, pens, scissors, a stapler, and an endless supply of sticky notes. I love sticky notes, as in have an obsession with sticky notes, all the sizes and colors. I catch myself, for the first time, feeling a little bit normal, a little less sad, and a small smile creeps across my face.

  “What’cha smiling at?” I hear a strong Southern drawl. Turning in my chair, I find the cutest blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl smiling back at me. “I’m Lindsay, the other intern,” she clarifies. “I’ve been here just a few weeks. What’s your name?” Her accent is thick. I like it.

  “I’m Jessica. Nice to meet you, Lindsay.”

  “Got any lunch plans?” she asks.

  “No, and I’m starving. What’s good to eat around here?” I ask, grabbing my purse off of my desk. Lindsay’s cube is directly next to mine, and she stops to grab her clutch and car keys.

  “There is a small deli across the street they have great salads and sandwiches. Or there’s Bar-B-Que.” She wrinkles her nose. I take it Bar-B-Que isn’t her thing.

  “A salad sounds great,” I say, eliciting a smile from Lindsay.

  “Well then, let’s go.”

  To say lunch was a whirlwind would be an understatement. Lindsay talked my ear off, but I actually enjoyed listening to her. She’s from here, born and raised. She went to college in Tennessee and graduated a semester early, this past December. She claims that Tennessee is where she got her Southern accent. Right. I love her spicy personality. She reminds me a lot of myself, not long ago. I want to be spicy again. I want to be fun, and friendly, and eager. We exchanged phone numbers, and I actually consider Lindsay to be my first friend in North Carolina.

  I loved hearing all about her, but the best part was that I didn’t have to talk about myself. I was going to have to do enough of that Friday night when I meet with Dr. Peterson, my therapist, for the first time. My computer is finally all set up, and I have a phone now too. Glancing at the time, I shut down my computer and walk to Kevin’s office.

  Looking up from his desk as I approach his door, Kevin gives me a warm smile. “So how was the first day?”

  “It was really good.” I catch myself smiling again. “Everyone has been very welcoming. I can’t wait to get started tomorrow now that I have a computer and a phone.” I think about the stack of notes Elaine had left on my desk while Lindsay and I were at lunch. I have a lot of research to do tomorrow.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Have a great night, and we’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  Offering a slight wave, I move back through the newsroom to head to Elaine’s office, but her light is already off. I remember our morning coffee and chuckle to myself. Grabbing my purse and keys, I would call my first day a success.

  Restless doesn’t begin to describe me right now. With my hand in a cast, thanks to my shitty temper, I now have a broken driver’s side truck window and a broken right hand. Being a firefighter requires the use of two functioning hands, so I cannot work for the next five, maybe six, weeks. So now, I get to sit on my ass and think. Fucking perfect.

  After having my window fixed, I find myself driving around Santa Ruiz endlessly. I don’t know where I’m going or why. I just drive. For the first time since she left, I might understand why she left. Everywhere I go, there is something to remind me of her. I wonder if that’s why she left, because she was assaulted with memories of us and her attack everywhere she went. Assault. That’s what fucking tore us apart. Everything was perfect until then.

  Pulling into the firehouse, I park and spend the next few minutes just sitting in my truck. Time escapes me most days. I am numb to the world that is moving around me. I lock my truck door, and walk into the bay where I see the two fire trucks and the ambulance that our station uses.

  Sitting down on the large leather sectional couch that is in the dayroom of the firehouse, I stare blankly at the TV that is looping infomercials over and over. The guys just left to go on a call, and Chief is in his office. Chief provides weekly updates on Jess’ case, he knows I’m still interested even though I don’t ask. He communicates frequently with the detectives and has promised to tell me if there are any developments, but we’ve yet to hear anything. Beyond work and our infrequent talks, he doesn’t speak to me about her, and I don’t ask.

  She’s been gone for six days, twelve hours, and thirty-seven minutes. I wonder if I’ll ever stop counting. At times, I feel like I’m losing my mind, and I question if I’ll ever be able to truly let her go as she asked me to do. I don’t even know why I’m here at the firehouse since I can’t work. Grabbing my sweatshirt, I pull my truck keys out of the pocket of my hoodie and kick the back door open.

  Slipping the keys into the ignition, I hear a soft knock on my driver’s side window. Luke is standing there and motions for me to roll my window down. Pushing the button, the window slowly falls, and Luke takes a step closer to the
truck, resting his forearms on the door. “How’s the hand?”

  “Sore,” I answer solemnly.

  “Hey, uh, Dad called. He said you were thinking about looking at a house? You know you can stay with me for as long as you want.” Luke’s voice sounds almost hurt, as if my desire to move is because of him, which it’s not.

  “Yeah, Dad found a great house down the road. Remember Old Man Jonson? It’s his old house, a foreclosure and the price is a steal, so I’m going to make an offer on it. He said it needs a lot of work, but he’s willing to help me do it once my hand heals.” Luke looks at me intently trying to read through the words I’m speaking.

  He nods his head as he listens to me explain my reasoning, or better yet, excuses for buying this house. Luke knows why I’m trying to buy this damn house, because it’s what I was going to do for her. It was what I was trying to do for us. It was why I was busting my ass working sixty plus hours a week for the last few months, to save for the down payment. It’s why I fucking left her that night, and she ran alone. It’s my way of holding onto some piece of what I had and wanted with her.

  “Let me know if you want any help, you know, working on the house,” he offers with a stiff smile.

  “Thanks man. Catch ya’ at home in the morning,” I say, shifting my truck into reverse and leaving the firehouse. Luke stands there with his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie and watches me pull out of the parking lot.

  I’m edgy and irritable while looking at the house, I’m glad I came alone. My stomach is in knots as I walk from room to room, surveying the condition and what needs to be done. What kills me is that this house is perfect, would be perfect, if she were here. This bungalow is bigger than most on our street. It’s four bedrooms and two baths, with a huge kitchen and large living area. Every room I walk in, I envision what Jess would say or point out. I love this house, or maybe I’m in love with the idea of what this house should be.

  “Faster,” I tell myself. “Push harder.”

  I run as fast as my legs will carry me. My lungs are burning, sweat is running down my face and into my eyes, making it hard to see, but I push myself hard these last few miles. I never enjoyed running until we started training in the police academy. I enjoy physical pain. Not excruciating pain, but I enjoy stretching my body, and mind to their furthest limits.

  Slowing to a walk, I wait for the rest of the group to catch up to me. I’ve been running with this group for about six months. Some people join the group to meet people; I joined so that I could push myself harder and run faster than all these assholes. I’m competitive, I hate losing.

  Chuckling to myself, I realize the point of joining a running club is to actually run with other people, and yet I’ve left these people a half mile behind me. Pulling the Harley Davidson key from the chain around my neck, I insert the key and flip the switch. I push the starter, and turn the throttle and let my Night Train roar to life. This motorcycle is my pride and joy. It’s black on black, and loud as hell with its Samson boneshaker exhaust pipes. Every woman that sees my bike wets herself. I pull the throttle and spit gravel behind me as I take off toward home.

  I park my baby in the garage, and shut her off, hanging my helmet from the handlebars. My sister’s car is in the driveway. She must have just gotten home from work. Even though she’s my little sister, four years younger than me, we get along fine. She’s been living with me since she graduated from college, but I’ve always taken care of her. Opening the door from the garage that leads into my kitchen, I hang my key on the hook that is on the wall next to the door and kick off my tennis shoes.

  I shrug off my grey sleeveless shirt and bunch it into my hands as I walk to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. Turning the shower on, I remove the rest of my clothes, tossing them into the black wicker hamper that stands at the corner of my bathroom and step into my tiled shower. I adjust the showerhead and place my head directly into the stream of warm water, washing away the dirt and sweat from my run. I grip the handle, and adjust the water temperature so that it’s as hot as my skin can handle.

  The water feels good and helps relax my tense muscles. Closing my eyes, my mind instantly wanders back to Jessica. It’s been six days since I met her, and I need to devise a plan to see her again, to talk to her, to make her mine. I shampoo my hair, and finish my shower. Drying off, I wrap a black towel around my waist, tucking in the corner so that it stays in place, low on my hips. Stepping into the walk-in closet that is attached to my master bathroom, I pull down a pair of black jeans and a gray button down dress shirt. I layer a white t-shirt underneath and roll the sleeves.

  I toss some gel in my short hair, the style is messy, and it takes me just a few minutes to get ready. I opt not to shave tonight, leaving my face a bit scruffy, as it’s been a full day since it’s seen a razor. I’m just going to dinner with my sister, and she doesn’t care that I haven’t shaved.

  “Laaaannnnddooonnn,” I hear her yell for me from the living room.

  I open my bedroom door, and head down the hallway and into the living room where she’s laid out on the couch, still in her work clothes with her feet propped up on the arm of the large brown leather sectional couch.

  “Make yourself comfortable why don’t you,” I grumble. I like having my sister here, but I love giving her a hard time.

  “Looks like I already have doesn’t it?” she fires back, causing me to stifle a laugh. She’s a firecracker. We are definitely from the same bloodlines. Neither of us will take shit from anyone. I love that she’s feisty. I worry less about her every day.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she shoots back. “Oh, I invited a friend. Don’t know if she’ll come, but heads up in case she does.”

  “She better be hot,” I grumble, knowing I sound like a complete asshole.

  “She’s stunning.” My sister tosses over her shoulder as we’re walking out the door.

  I made it through my first week at the news station. To say I’m exhausted would be an understatement. Most of my time was spent learning the ins and outs of the news business. I spend hours every day, watching news feeds, assisting reporters with research, listening to scanners, and even learning how to edit. I’ve filled two entire notebooks with chicken scratch, tips, and how-to’s. I know this experience will prove to be invaluable.

  It’s only four o’clock, and I have my first appointment with Dr. Peterson at five. Shutting down my computer, I stand and lean over the short cube wall that separates my cubicle from Lindsay’s.

  “Hey, I have to take off a bit early today. Have a great weekend. I’ll see you on Monday, right?”

  “Like hell I’ll see you Monday. Girl, you’re coming to dinner with me tonight. No way are you spending the weekend alone. Remember, I am your only friend in Wilmington.” She smiles and bats her eyes.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be good company tonight, Linds. I have an appointment, and I’m, uh….”

  Jumping up from her chair, Lindsay cuts me off mid-sentence. “Just come to dinner. It’s just dinner. And regardless if you’re good company or not, I don’t want you to spend your first Friday night in Wilmington alone.”

  “It’s not my first Friday in Wilmington,” I remind her as I smile at my sweet new friend. “Plus, being alone is okay, you know.”

  “No, it’s not. I’ll text you the address of the restaurant. Be there,” she says, flashing me a huge smile.

  Grabbing my purse, I just shake my head and smile at Lindsay. “Bye Linds,” I say over my shoulder.

  “See your sweet ass tonight, sister!” she yells back over hers. All I can do is laugh.

  I pull into the parking lot of the small single-story office building, my stomach is in knots, and my hands are sweating. With a deep breath I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the headrest in my car, I tell myself to just breathe. Take three deep breaths. Three deep breaths. I repeat this to myself over and over. Reaching for the door handle, I pull the latch and
push the door open. With a step out onto the black asphalt, I place both feet on the ground and will myself to take the small steps to the front door of the office building. Three deep breaths.

  Step-by-step I get there. My heart is racing, and my stomach is in knots. I can almost taste the bile that is trying to make its way up my esophagus. I want to throw up, but the dry knot in my throat won’t let me. Pulling the door open I step inside to the cool air-conditioned office. It’s quiet, and there is a small front desk with a stack of clipboards. There is a note instructing clients to fill out the paperwork attached to the clipboard, so that is what I do.

  Taking a seat in a chair in the far corner of the waiting room, I start answering all of the questions on the intake sheet I question if I should answer them honestly or lie. Lying seems easier right now, but I know she’ll see right through my lies, so I answer them honestly. Signing my signature on the last page, the office door that is adjacent to the waiting room opens. Out of the office walks a middle-aged woman with light brown hair and dark eyes. She steps out and looks around the waiting room.

  “Are you Jessica Harper?”

  “Hi. Yes,” I barely announce, standing up to meet her. My mouth is still dry, and my hands are shaking. I’m a ball of nerves.

  “Come into my office, Jessica. I’m Dr. Peterson.” She reaches out her hand to shake mine, and I take it, shaking hers back before we walk into the small office. The office is modern and bright with a small love seat and two larger plush chairs, all cream colored. She has an entire wall of books, and every shelf is full.

  “Take a seat where ever you’d be comfortable, Jessica.” Nodding my head at her, I take a seat in one of the plush cream chairs that sits across from the chair she sits in. We’re facing each other with no barriers between us. Dr. Peterson is flipping through all the paperwork I’ve filled out, stopping to read more thoroughly on a couple of different pages.