White Trash Zombie Unchained (White Trash Zombie 6)

Something clicked into place in my brain. “Jane? You mean Jane Pennington?” How many other Janes could there possibly be who lived near Portia and whose fiancé had died in a plane crash? Or, in her case, pretended to die in a plane crash.

“Yes. The Congresswoman.”

“I know her,” I said. “Actually, I met her through Pietro, her fiancé. I dated his nephew for a while.”

Her face brightened. “What a small world! I liked Pietro quite a bit.”

“Yeah, he was cool.” Then, since I felt like I needed to add something nicer, I said, “He helped me out a bit with tuition.” Technically, the tuition had been covered by the bonus the Tribe had paid me for helping rescue zombies from Saberton’s New York lab, but “helped me out a bit” was a tetch more discreet.

“And now you’re an expert frog rescuer.”

“Go with your strengths, right?” I grinned and took a sip of hot chocolate. “You told me you didn’t start college until you were twenty-five. Why so late?”

“I got pregnant when I was sixteen,” she said with a wry twist of her mouth. “My parents sent me to live with my grandmother in Atlanta, and I was kept out of school—to avoid embarrassing the family.” She shook her head. “I was angry at my parents for sending me away, and furious when they told me I had to put the baby up for adoption or be cut off completely.”

“Wow, they sound like assholes.”

She grimaced. “It was a different time, and they did what they thought was best for everyone. I didn’t have a choice. But after I gave up my baby, I refused to return home. I lived with my grandmother and finished high school in Atlanta.” Her nose wrinkled. “I was nineteen by the time I graduated, thanks to missing a year of school. Then I was too proud to ask my parents for college money”—Portia rolled her eyes at her foolish younger self—“so I stayed with Grandma and found a job that helped pay the bills.”

“What happened at age twenty-five?”

Her expression softened. “I met Korbin Antilles. A lawyer, eight years older than me, and already on the fast-track to partner in the firm where he worked. We were married barely six months later, and I was in college the following semester with his unwavering support.”

“That’s a seriously cool story,” I said fervently. “Do you know anything about the baby you gave up?”

“I do,” she said, smiling. “About a decade ago he went looking for his birth mother and found me. He’s an engineer. Had a great childhood.” She turned her hands over and examined them. “Part of me wished I could have watched him grow up. But letting him go was the right choice.”

“You and your husband never had kids?”

“We tried for years with no luck.” Portia chuckled. “According to the doctors, my husband had slow and scarce swimmers. We discussed alternatives but finally decided having children simply wasn’t a priority for us.”

I can’t have children, I realized, and it felt like a blow. I’d never really thought about it before, but no way could a zombie carry a baby to term. And now that it was off the table, it had a lot more emotional weight.

Portia must have sensed my downward spiraling mood, because she steered the conversation to lighter topics, such as the new movie theater and the never-ending construction on 7th Street. By the time we got to the latest scandal involving the Chief of Police, I’d shaken off the brief funk and giggled with her about the goat and the alien sex doll found in his office.

All too soon, Portia glanced at her watch and sighed. “I have to go, and so do you.”

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nbsp; English class. Bah. “I really enjoyed this. We need to do it again.”

She glanced away, and for a godawful second I was sure I’d misjudged everything, and she was going to make an excuse about how busy she’d be for the next year painting her toenails and reorganizing her sock drawer and washing her hair. But when she looked back, there was only a gentle, faraway sadness in her eyes. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

“I hope we can,” she said, her voice ever-so-slightly rough. “I’d like that.”

Before I could say another word, she gathered up her purse and Mr. Fluffy and hurried out. It felt like fog had rolled in and masked her sunshine, and I wanted to chase her down to give her a hug and tell her everything was going to be all right. But, I didn’t. She’d think I was crazy, and besides, my gut was probably wrong.

I dropped a dollar in the tip jar and headed out. Portia waved as she pulled out of her parking space. I smiled and waved back—and kicked myself.

Dammit. I did trust my gut. I didn’t know why, but that lady needed a hug.

Too late now.

• • •

Unlike Dingle, the English instructor was a nice guy. Young, sorta cute in a nerdy way, but very unforgiving when it came to spelling errors or comma splices. I was starting to get the hang of punctuation, but spelling was my nemesis thanks to my dyslexia.

Fortunately, the universe gave me a break, and Mr. Worthing didn’t assign one of his dreaded in-class writing projects. I had too much on my mind to focus, plus I never earned better than a C minus on those stupid things because there was never enough time for me to make it coherent.