Diana Rowland - Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues

“Very good.” He beckoned to the door, and I made my escape.

We didn’t stay much longer. Marcus’s parents had already left by the time we came out of the meeting, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk to anyone else who wanted to pin me down and ask me about my education and career goals. My goal right now was to stay alive, to survive. Pietro pulled Marcus aside at one point, and I escaped to the bathroom, lingering in there long enough, hopefully, to avoid having to talk to too many people, but not so long that people would wonder if I was sick. Or, I realized later, doing drugs.

Unfortunately, as soon as I came out of the bathroom I damn near ran smack into Sofia in the hallway.

“Angel, I’m so glad I ran into you,” she said with an earnest look. “I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier.”

I fixed as polite a smile on my face as possible. I wasn’t going to make any sort of scene or be a bitch. At least that’s what I told myself.

“No, not at all!” I replied. Hell, I might have even gushed it. “Don’t be silly. It’s fine ,” I insisted.

She shook her head. “No, I mean it. I spend most of my time in a lab which means my social skills sometimes leave a lot to be desired. And I realized that I probably…”

“Made me feel like an inadequate moron?” I finished.

She flushed. “God. Yes. I swear it wasn’t my intent.”

I wasn’t sure if she really was as remorseful or uncomfortable as she appeared to be, but I went ahead and took satisfaction in it anyway. “It’s cool. I know what I am.”

Sofia smiled uncertainly, clearly not sure how she should take that. “Oh. Okay, well, again, I’m sorry.”

I gave a stiff nod. “Sure. I’ll even accept it.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Thing is, you’re right. I don’t have shit in the way of education. I had a crap family life, and there was no one to tell me to finish school and go on to college or any of that stuff. And there sure as hell wasn’t anyone to help pay for it. But it doesn’t matter. I’m working to improve myself, and I don’t need anyone telling me that I need to do it. Just me.” And my probation officer. But I didn’t plan on adding that little detail.

She blinked, silent for several seconds, then smiled in the first unguarded expression I’d seen on her. “Now I’m wondering if Marcus is good enough for you.”

“I think we’re more than good enough for each other,” I said.

She dug in her purse and fished out a business card. “Look, here’s my contact info. Maybe we can meet for coffee or something someday? Start over and get off on a better foot?”

Not in this lifetime , I thought, but I simply nodded and took the card. “Sure. I, uh, hang on.” I dug in my purse for a scrap of paper and scrawled my number on it, all the while wondering why the hell I was giving her my info. I really didn’t want to have happy girl-chat funtime over lattes, but it probably would’ve been insanely rude not to reciprocate.

Thankfully, Marcus rounded the corner at the end of the hall and spied me. “Hey, I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said. “You ready to go?”

“If you are, sure,” I said instead of the “fuck yeah!” I wanted to say. I flashed a polite smile to Sofia. “So nice talking to you.” Then turned and walked off with Marcus without waiting for a response.

I held off until we were back in the truck before turning to Marcus. “Have you asked Sofia what she knows about that security guard who died?”

“I did,” he said, then glanced at me with a smile. “I promise, I did.”

“And?”

“She didn’t know him. It’s a big lab. Lots of people work there. Sorry.”

I gave a stiff nod in response. “What was all that business about with your uncle?” I asked as soon as we were back in his truck.

“What was what all about?”

Oh, I was so not playing that game. “Why’d he have to talk to you again?”

Marcus gave my knee a squeeze. “Just some family stuff. He was asking me how school was going and when I was going to graduate. Stuff like that.”

He was lying to me. I couldn’t explain how I knew, but there was something about his answer that was off. Maybe they did talk about school, but there was more.

“You never told me you were going for your masters,” I said, deciding to change the subject for now. “Where’d you go to college?”

“University of Louisiana, Lafayette. Started out as a criminal justice major then switched to sociology.”

“So you always wanted to be a cop?” I asked.

“Actually, I was going to go to law school,” he said with a self-conscious shrug while I blinked in amazement. “But then my mom developed breast cancer, and I decided to stay closer to home and put off law school. Joined the sheriff’s office and been there ever since.”

“Sorry about your mom,” I said, uncertain what else to say.

He gave me a smile. “Thanks. She’s good now. They caught it early, and she’s been clean for seven years.”

“Why are you going for a masters? Or are you going to go to law school now?” Was that the same as a masters? I didn’t know much about how all that worked. I sure as hell wasn’t ever going to go that route.

“My uncle’s idea, actually,” Marcus said. “He thinks I should eventually go into politics, and he thinks going federal could be a good start.”

“Oh. Okay.” I paused. “Is that what you want to do?”

I wasn’t surprised when he shrugged. “Sure, I guess. I mean, I can’t see staying a cop for the next twenty years.” He glanced my way. “And, as my uncle pointed out, I have certain skills and abilities that could come in pretty handy in federal law enforcement.”

Do you do everything your uncle says? I thought, but bit back the urge to say it out loud. I was silent for several minutes while I turned the events of the evening—hell, the entire past couple of days—over in my head. I also considered everything that Pietro had said, but also things that hadn’t been said.

“Why didn’t you tell your uncle about me thinking the guy from the lab was maybe a zombie?” I finally said. “I felt like an idiot in there.”

He sighed. “Angel, I’m sorry. I knew what his reaction would be. I was really hoping you wouldn’t bring it up.”

Well you could have fucking told me that , I thought but, once again, held it in.

We were almost back to his house when I turned to him and asked, “Why was it so important that I figure out the whole zombie thing on my own?”

“Excuse me?”

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted to say. “Okay, so you made me a zombie, and then left the brain smoothies for me at the ER, and got me a job, and then left a note telling me to give in to my cravings.”

His forehead puckered into a frown. “Right.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me, ‘Hey, this is what happened, and you’re a zombie now, and this is what you need to do’?” I knew what the answer was, but I wanted to hear him admit it.

A pained look flashed across his face as he pulled into his driveway. “Angel…you were a mess. In so many ways. Making you a zombie wasn’t just about saving your life. It was about…about getting you to get control of your life again.” He looked over at me. “And it worked. Right?”

“Oh, I don’t deny that. But I want to make sure you understand what you did. Yes, you had the best of intentions, and yes, it all turned out well and yes, you saved my life in a number of ways. But you basically put me in a rehab program against my will.” He opened his mouth, but I held up my hand. “Hang on. I’m not saying what you did was wrong, and I’m not mad about that. I swear, I’m not.”