But my heart never listened. That Friday, the sky had been heavy all day, like Portland was holding its breath. By 5:00, most people had logged off and rushed out, trying to beat the rain. I stayed back to check one more push. I could hear Emma’s voice in my head reminding me to always test twice before the weekend.
When I finally packed up, the office felt empty and hollow. The hum of the light sounded louder without voices to soften it. As I reached the lobby, the sound of the storm hit me first. Rain slammed against the glass doors in thick sheets. Street lights outside looked like blurry halos in the water.
Emma was standing by the doors, staring at her phone. Her dark brown hair was a little damp at the ends, a few drops on her blouse. Her badge still hung around her neck. When she looked up and saw me, her blue eyes softened. “Still here?” I asked. “Yeah,” she said with a tired sigh. “My car’s in the shop. Transmission problems.
I’ve been trying to get a ride, but no one’s answering. Ride shares are a mess.” I held up my keys. My old Honda’s downstairs. I can give you a ride. She bit her lip, thinking. You sure? I don’t want to be a problem. If I go home alone, I’ll just stare at my laptop again, I said. Let me at least feel useful. That got a small smile.
All right, she said. Deal. We ran through the rain to the garage, laughing as puddles soaked our shoes. My car wasn’t pretty. faded blue with a dent on the side, but it always got the job done. Emma slid into the passenger seat, and when I turned on the heater, the car filled with warmth and the sound of rain pounding the windshield.
We drove in comfortable, quiet, soft music played low. The city moved slow, headlights smearing across wet roads. I felt the week slowly slide off my shoulders. “Thanks again,” she said. “Feels like I’m always pulling you into extra stuff. You pulled me out for tacos that one time, I said. You saved my social life. She laughed.
