“I thought all the career girls wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw.”
She rips off another strip of chicken and shakes her head. “I don’t want to cut my couch in half to get it in my apartment.”
“Is it a nice couch?”
“Not particularly. But it’s mine.”
“Fair enough.”
She wipes her fingers and seems to be done. “After my parents passed, I wanted to be close enough to drive to Savannah.”
“You could’ve gone to Atlanta.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Have you been to Atlanta lately? It’s a mess. The traffic is a nightmare, the people are rude…”
The food truck closes its window with a loud, metallic roar, causing us both to turn and look. I check my watch. “It’s ten.”
“Oh.” Her hand is on her chest. “I guess it’s time to head back. My car’s still at the office.”
She could come back to my place…
We stand and toss our trash before walking to the curb. In the car, she’s quiet again. The stereo system plays country music softly, and the streetlights glide in white stripes across her legs and hands. I want to reach over and touch her, but I don’t.
My jaw tightens, and I’m frustrated I got so close to her. I’m frustrated she pulled away. I should have been the one to see it was a mistake. Too many people telling me what I should be doing, how I shouldn’t be alone. I need to keep my own counsel on these things, especially in view of the past.
“Didn’t Taron leave?” Her voice pulls me out of my reverie, and I blink up ahead, seeing his dark gray Tahoe.
“Yes.” I parallel park behind it in front of our building then get out and walk around, helping her out and walking with her into the lobby.
Taron is there, pacing, his eyes panicked. “I tried calling you.”
Lifting my phone I see four missed calls. “I left it in the car while we ate. I didn’t check it—”
“We need to go.” He glances at Raquel briefly then pulls me closer. “It’s Marley. I got a call…”
My stomach plunges, and I’m moving with him before he even finishes speaking.
“Is everything okay?” Raquel calls from where I left her standing by the elevator.
I pause, remembering how I’d intended to walk her to her car. “Can you get home okay?”
She gives me a small smile. “I’ve done it every day since I started.”
Nodding, I hold up a hand. “See you tomorrow.” Then I follow Taron out the door.
We’re in his truck, and he does a wide U-turn across four empty lanes of traffic. I’m holding onto the dash, gripping it hard. “What happened?”
“Police called.” His voice cracks, and I feel my insides slipping.
“And?”
He clears his throat, focusing on the road ahead. “They got a call through general dispatch. A male reported an apparent drug overdose at Marley’s address. He gave them my number to call.”
“General dispatch?”
“It’s like he wanted it to take as long as possible for help to arrive.”
“No.” It’s a sharp groan from the pit of my stomach. My stomach that is turning in on itself, pulling my insides with it. “Is he—”