Talk about a guilt trip.
The elevator jerks to a stop on the second floor, and a few seconds later, the door slides open. There’s no one in the hallway when I step out into it, which is surprising given that there are plenty of offices on this floor, along with the employee locker rooms.
But we are between shifts, so that might explain it. I knowInever come down here after my shift, preferring to either head home or over to Calliope’s with some of my coworkers.
It’s better this way, though, if Jenna’s as upset as I’m thinking she is. We can have some private time to talk things through, hopefully get her calmed down, and if she wants, maybe I can convince her to eat something after.
Assuming it’s about Greg, that is.
With each step I take towards the locker rooms, my curiosity grows greater. What else could it bebesidesGreg?
Unless.
Did she get fired?
The thought comes to me just as I reach the locker room door. Hand on the door handle, I freeze before opening it.
What if she got fired?
Could she?
Jenna’s a little scatterbrained, but I can’t imagine her doing anything bad enough to get fired for. And I haven’t heard anything about layoffs, not in my department at least.
After another moment’s thought, I put the idea aside.
No. It has to be Greg.
I turn the handle and push the door open while running through possible scenarios in my mind. Greg broke up with her. She caught him cheating. Or, God forbid, he turned violent and hurt her.
Setting my shoulders, I enter the locker room with my bestyou can tell me anythingexpression.
The room is arranged with an open space right when you enter, with a little wall sticking out to add extra privacy. So when I first walk in, all I see is an empty counter—otherwise known as the emergency supply counter, where people will donate extra boxes of tampons, spare deodorant, and assorted toiletries. Just past the dividing wall, I get a glimpse of a long row of lockers gleaming dully beneath the overhead lights.
And no sign of Jenna.
But if she’s crying, she would probably be in the back corner, where no one coming in could see her. As I move into the locker room, I pitch my voice low as I call out, “Jenna. Are you in here?”
She doesn’t respond. Or at least not loud enough for me to hear her.
“Jenna?” I walk around the divider wall to inspect the first aisle of lockers. But there’s no one. Not even a stray towel on the bench running between the lockers or a set of shoes beneath it.
I cock my head, angling my right ear in the direction of the showers. Still nothing.
A niggle of unease works into my belly.
“Jenna?” I raise my voice. “Are you here? Are you okay?”
Nothing.
My pulse jumps. The palms of my hands go clammy.
I haven’t felt this weird prickling sensation since that awful day in the hospital when the doctor gave us the news. I remember seeing his face and justknowingnothing would be the same again.
I’m getting the same feeling now.
“Jenna?”
I peer down the first aisle of lockers again, as if Jenna will magically appear from thin air.
