the same design over and over. I’ve always felt my creativity stunted here. Maybe this is my chance to go out on my own, start my own firm, do what I want.
My head held high and a renewed outlook filling me, I step out of the elevator and into the lobby, waving to the guard sitting at the security desk.
“You, too?” Oliver asks.
“Me, too,” I respond, my lips quirking into a half-hearted smile.
“Sorry to hear that, Lolo,” he says in his deep baritone, using the nickname he made up for me years ago.
“It’s okay. You should know by now I’m a fighter.”
“I know. I’ve seen the photos of you in boxing gloves on your Instagram. There’s no doubt in my mind you’ll get through this.”
“Thanks, Ol.”
Noticing a flicker, I glance over his shoulder to one of the half-dozen monitors spread out in front of him, most of them containing surveillance from various parts of the building. But the far one is connected to the computer, a news website showing a live broadcast from a church I know intimately.
“Do you remember that happening?” Oliver inquires, noticing my gaze drawn to the screen.
I swallow hard at the split-screen feed, one side showing the memorial currently underway, the other displaying archive footage of white-sheet-covered bodies being rolled out on stretchers.
I should have expected a few news outlets to cover the twentieth anniversary of the shooting. It was a pretty big deal back then. The first mass shooting since Columbine, this time at a church. It still catches me off guard, though. I didn’t think I’d see coverage of it here in Atlanta when it happened in Virginia. Or maybe I just hoped I wouldn’t.
“It was horrific. Some known white supremacist walked into the church during a choir rehearsal and opened fire. Killed twelve people, including the pastor’s wife. Luckily, the pastor and their daughter were elsewhere in the church and escaped. Sawyer Ross was one of the survivors, too. Do you know who that is? That television preacher and civil rights activist?”
I keep my expression even. “I’ve heard of him.”
“It was all over the news,” Oliver continues, not picking up on my unease. “Such a tragedy. A senseless act of hate. But you’re too young to probably remember.”
I nod. “Yeah.” I turn my attention from the screen, peering out the large floor-to-ceiling windows at the torrential downpour covering the streets.
“Pretty nasty weather, isn’t it?”
“Got to love Atlanta in the summer,” I muse, shifting through my bag for my umbrella, but it’s not there. Just my luck. When I don’t need it, I practically trip over the damn thing. When I do, it’s nowhere to be found.
“Take mine,” Oliver offers, grabbing the umbrella from the side of his desk.
“That’s okay. The garage isn’t far.”
“Are you sure?” He tilts his head. “I don’t mind. You can just drop it back to me tomorrow on your way into…” He trails off, realizing I won’t be back tomorrow.
“I’ll be fine. See ya around, Ol.” I continue past him, needing to get as far away from any mention of the infamous Virginia church shooting as possible.
Approaching the front doors, I hesitate when I see the rain is more like a waterfall, coming down fast and hard, the angry wind whipping around. I doubt even an umbrella will help in this weather. Maybe I should just wait for the storm to pass, sit with Oliver for a while. He wouldn’t mind. I’ve done it before.
But then I make out the familiar sound of my father’s voice coming from the coverage of the memorial. I can’t stomach watching that. Can’t face the reminder of everything I lost. Not only when that gunman opened fire in the church, but also five years ago when my own father refused to stand up for me at a time I needed him most.
“You can do this,” I murmur to myself, then open the door and step onto the sidewalk. A gusty wind blows back at me, causing me to lose my balance. I use the side of the building to steady myself, briefly reconsidering this decision, but eventually power through.
I rush down the sidewalk as fast as I can in my heels. The rain pelts me from all angles, scraping against my face, drenching my jeans and blouse. I hold my breath, as if that will make the rain not as bad, but nothing will help against the deluge coating the city.
Fighting to lift my head, I concentrate on the crosswalk signal, seeing the