"You’re here because your mom asked you to be?" she asked, pointing to the carpet.
Tom nodded. "I told Mom it’d be weird for me to check on you. After everything."
He was correct. If there was one thing that could’ve made this more awkward, that would be the thing.
"Uh-huh." Darla forced a smile. "I’m fine, though. Tell your mom hi, and thanks for checking on me."
She didn’t have anything else to say, so she turned on her heel and let her hips sway as she sauntered to the elevator. Tom may have been the one to walk away from their engagement, but this time, she got to be the one who left.
She’d already cleared out her locker into the bag slung over her shoulder. The next stop was the parking garage. She sighed inside.
Then she’d figure out what came next.
She jabbed the elevator button with fierce determination, the bright light illuminated under her thumb. She climbed into the cab and waited while the hum of the elevator’s motor kept her company. When the elevator doors opened at the parking garage, it was quiet there, too. She walked with a steady staccato rhythm, the soles of her shoes slapping the cold concrete.
Almost to her car, the flash of a camera behind Dr. Bentley’s green Jeep Cherokee burst through the precarious wall of just-keep-going she’d been holding onto.
"Holy crap," she whispered to no one but herself, and took a step backwards, her heart beating too fast.
"I was hoping to catch you, Darla." The camera dude hurried towards her, just like in the movies. But this wasn’t a movie. This was her life. "I’m from theTribune."
"No," she said. "You can’t." Because this was a parking garage, and she didn’t need to add any fuel to any of this publicity fire that might cost her a job.
The publicity fire that Mach had set.
Dammit. There she went, gritting her teeth again.
It wasn’t that she was angry at him. She was just mad at the situation he’d created for her.
Maybe this wasn’t his fault, but the date had been his idea. His brainchild. And now his brainchild had cost her overtime, and break time with her girls, and the ability to approach Dr. Anthony in person about a Frontline reference. Email and phone calls didn’t have the same personal touch as a face-to-face request.
Gah. She needed to do something. Many things, actually.
First thing? Lose this guy. So she waved goodbye as she hustled to her car, and let herself in. Then she made the decision that it was time to go have a chat with Mach. Which, of note, would have been easier had she actually taken his phone number.
She turned on her cell to do some googling, but the pinging started right away and she noped right out of there, tossing it back in her purse.
The only information she had, really, was the neighborhood where he lived.
That would have to be enough. She’d simply go there, convince the guy at the gate to let her in, and then knock on doors until she found the right house.
She rolled up to the gate as though she was supposed to be there—her aged VW notwithstanding. She’d call it vintage, but really, it was just old. The guard leaned out his window, frowning at her through tinted shades. Darn, he didn’t have a name tag.
"Hi." She smiled so he could see she wasn’t there for nefarious reasons. "I’m here to see Mach. He’s with Dimefront. He lives in this neighborhood. Mach Powers. You probably know him."
Nonplussed, Gate Guy snagged a clipboard. "What’s your name?"
"Oh, I’m not on the list or anything." She pointed to the list as she spoke, trying to take a peek, but Gate Guy wasn’t having it.
"I just need to talk to Mach," she continued. "He mentioned he lives here. And I’d like to have a conversation with him." About how his life choices were now bleeding into her life.
Gate Guy blinked hard. "I’m still going to need your name."
"Darla." She waited.
He checked the list, which was silly because she wasn’t on it. "Last name?"
"It won’t be there either, so why does it matter?" she asked, already defeated.
