Chapter 6 - He Drove the Long Way So I Wouldn't Have to Ask
The parking garage under the foundation tower smelled like concrete and exhaust, and it was colder than the ballroom by twenty degrees. I wrapped my arms over the front of my gown as he led me to a dark gray sedan parked by a pillar. He opened the passenger door first and waited. He didn't touch me. He didn't rush me.
Inside, the seat was cold through the thin pleats. I pulled the door shut and the gala noise cut off all at once. My ears rang. On the dash, a small green light blinked. He started the car and turned the heater on low before he pulled out.
"I've got a blanket in the back," he said. "If you want it."
I shook my head. "I'm okay."
He nodded and backed out slow. Neither of us talked while he followed the yellow arrows up toward the exit. The attendant waved us through. Outside, the night was clear and the air coming through the vents smelled like wet leaves.
On the highway, he turned the radio on. It was low, strings and a piano, the same kind of orchestral music they'd been playing during dinner. It filled the car without pushing at me. I stared at the lights passing over the hood and tried to keep my hands still in my lap. My bracelet caught the dashboard glow every time we went under a streetlight.
"I'm sorry," he said after a while. "For stepping in back there. I didn't want to make it worse."
"You didn't," I said. My voice sounded scraped. "Thank you for — for getting me out of there."
He kept his eyes on the road. His hands were at ten and two, steady. "My name's Mark, by the way. Mark Ellis."
I nodded. "Claire," I said. It felt strange to say it out loud to a stranger.
He glanced over, then back at the lanes. "I do walk-throughs for the venue company. Not a cop. Not quite security. I check exits, radios, vendor lists. Event support."
That settled something in my chest. It explained why he'd been standing near the left edge of the floor, watching instead of drinking. Why he'd known when to move.
"Did you see them leave?" I asked.
He was quiet for a second. The turn signal clicked. "I saw her earlier than that," he said. "Backstage by the service hall. Around seven."
My fingers tightened on the fold of my dress. "Vanessa? The woman in red?"
"She had an organizer lanyard on," he said. "Black strap. She wasn't just a guest. She was signing the clipboard for the floral crew. Laughing with the stage manager like she'd been there all afternoon."
I looked out the side window so he wouldn't see my face change. An organizer lanyard. That meant she'd walked past the staff door, past the tables with place cards, past me getting my hair pinned in the dressing suite. She hadn't just shown up on Daniel's arm. She'd been let in.
"Are you sure it was her?" I asked.
"Red dress under an open coat. Blonde hair pinned up then, down later. Same woman." He paused. "I remembered because she shouldn't have had that clipboard."
I breathed out slow and watched my breath fog faintly in the cold air from the vent. The photo on my phone was in my clutch, the timestamp and the second glass. Now this. Staff access. It made the whole night tilt and lock into a different shape.
We crossed the river. The city lights thinned out. He didn't ask questions. He didn't offer ideas about Daniel. He just drove, and the restraint in him made it easier to sit upright and think.
When he merged onto my exit, he finally asked, "Where to? The house on —"
"No," I said quickly. Too quickly. I pressed my hand flat against my thigh. "Not there. Not tonight."
He nodded once, like he'd expected it. "Okay. Just tell me where."
I gave him the apartment address off Fifth, the one-bedroom I'd kept after we got married, the one Daniel called my office place. I hadn't slept there in months, but I'd kept the key on my ring and paid the electric. I'd told myself it was for late work nights.
Mark didn't comment. He put the address in and took the next left. The streets got quieter, houses dark, a gas station glowing on the corner.
In the parking lot behind my building, he pulled under the one working light and put the car in park. The engine ticked. For a moment neither of us moved. Through the windshield I could see my old second-floor window, dark, the blinds half open.
"Thank you," I said. "For the ride. And for telling me what you saw."
"You don't have to do anything with it tonight," he said. He kept his hands on the wheel, giving me room. "Get some sleep if you can."
May you like
I got out with my clutch and heels in my hand, gravel cold under my stockings. He waited until I was at the stairwell door with my key out before he pulled away slow, headlights sweeping once across the lot and then gone.
I stood there listening to his car fade, the pleats of my gown brushing my ankles. Staff access. My own apartment key in my hand.
