CHAPTER 6 JACKSON #2
Friendship is the furthest thing from my mind when I pull up into the station’s parking lot the next afternoon, Delilah’s car parked in its usual spot.
Meaning it’s parked halfway in my usual spot, the pale pink Volkswagen Beetle so far over the line I can barely wedge my car door open.
A half-torn sandwich wrapper catches my attention as I attempt to untangle my messenger bag from the front bumper of my car. I squint at it, then realize it’s a note. Taped to the passenger-side window of her car.
Try parking somewhere else next time, it says.
She even drew a smiley face at the bottom.
“I don’t know why you do this to yourself.” Aiden appears at my bumper and claps a heavy hand over my shoulder, dragging me forward from between the two cars. “You could park in a different spot.”
“I’m aware.” I crumple the sandwich wrapper in my hand. There’s something vaguely sticky on it. “But this one is mine.”
It’s the principle of the matter. Or something.
“Were you hoping to get stuck between the cars so you didn’t have to come inside?”
I keep my face carefully blank. “Maybe.”
The embarrassment of being pinned to my Honda Accord by Herbie: Fully Loaded might pale in comparison to whatever is about to happen in that booth.
Today we’re introducing the partnership between 101.
6 LITE FM and YBAL News on Heartstrings.
I had my hesitations about Delilah and me appearing on the romance hotline for the announcement, but Maggie insisted.
It’s our most popular show, Jackson. We’re more likely to get a higher reach, Jackson.
Don’t be absurd, Jackson. It’s not open for debate, Jackson.
I stare at the entrance of the station like I’m approaching the guillotine.
“It’s just a little case of stage fright,” Aiden assures me. “Once you get started, you’ll settle right in. You’re going to be fine.”
“Better than fine,” another voice adds. Aiden’s better half pops up behind him, the three of us forming the most unenthusiastic conga line this parking lot has ever seen. Lucie grins at me. “You’re going to be amazing, Jackson. This is exactly what you need.”
I readjust my bag. “Public humiliation?”
She laughs and I watch as the sound makes its impact against Aiden. He leans toward her, his eyes going soft. Tiny bluebirds start to circle around his head. Hearts float out of his temples.
I try to turn around and head back to my car, but Aiden loops one arm around my midsection and starts forcibly dragging me toward the station.
“Time to rip off the Band-Aid, bud.”
“Are we ripping Band-Aids?” Delilah appears at the edge of the sidewalk, slightly out of breath, her monstrosity of a jacket wrapped over her shoulders.
She looks even smaller than usual bundled up in the thick material, twin patches of pink on her cheeks.
Her eyes land on me and her smile twists into something mischievous.
“I call first dibs, if we're ripping stuff.”
Maybe a coffee spill does invalidate a Post-it note contract.
And here I thought we had a breakthrough at the café the other day.
“Delilah,” I greet.
“Jackson,” she replies with a laugh. “I was thinking. We should come up with a name.”
“A name?”
“For our segment.”
“It needs a name?”
She shrugs. “It would be nice, don’t you think?”
“Why don’t we just call it Jackson and Delilah Report on the Weather?”
“Oh wow,” she deadpans. “Did you come up with that on your own?”
I scratch at the back of my neck. I’m not going to be embarrassed about a perfectly reasonable suggestion. “What’s your idea?”
“Well, we have options.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a narrow, crumpled piece of paper.
It’s at least two feet long, so I assume she’s been to CVS in the past week.
“Snow Much Fun with Jackson and Delilah, Say It Ain’t Snow with Jackson and Delilah, We’re Off to See the Blizzard, Jackson and Delilah, Weather Together—”
“That one,” I say quickly. “That’s the one I want.”
“Great.” Her eyes cut to my side and her grin seems to double in size. “You must be Lucie.” She shuffles forward in her ridiculous coat. I also forgot Aiden and Lucie were standing next to us. “I’m such a fan. I listened to all your broadcasts last winter.”
Lucie presses her palms to her cheeks. “Are you kidding? I’m such a fan. I loved that piece you did on the Papermoon Diner.”
Delilah’s eyes brighten as she wiggles in excitement. “Oh, I loved that segment. That’s one of my favorite places in the city.”
“Mine too. My daughter loves the figurines. And the pancakes.”
And just like that they’re off. Lucie and Delilah descend into a rapid-fire conversation about local Baltimore oddities while Aiden and I stand stupefied at their side.
Aiden, I assume, awash with affection for the love of his life.
Me, drowning in trepidation at the nightmare that awaits me inside.
I might be looking forward to covering a major weather event, but I haven’t figured out how to pack away my anxieties on the how.
I’m a radio meteorologist who loves data but hates talking for longer than fifteen seconds.
It’s why reporting on the forecast has always suited me best. I aggregate the data, I prepare my script, and I read from my notes.
There’s not a lot you can screw up with “chance of showers, don’t forget to bring your umbrella.
” I’ve found comfort in the predictable.
I tend to lose the plot when I need to speak on the fly.
I try to breathe through the inevitable panic, but it’s like fighting gravity.
The voices around me slowly slip into something monotone and fuzzy.
My ears fill with cotton balls. My throat grows thick.
I’m aware that I’m panicking over something trivial, but I can’t control my reaction.
There’s so much that can go wrong. I don’t know how to hold myself steady.
The group shifts. Aiden and Lucie twist their fingers together and head into the station. Delilah trails after them. I catch her bicep with my palm before she can get too far, more of an impulse than a conscious thought. I gently guide her back to me.
She looks up at me with wide brown eyes, the remnants of her amusement still caught around the edges of her mouth. It evaporates as her face softens with concern.
“What is it?” she asks. Her eyes narrow. “Is this about the sandwich wrapper?”
I shake my head. “I don’t care about the sandwich wrapper.”
She arches one delicate eyebrow.
“Okay. I care a little bit about the sandwich wrapper.” I pause. “But I need to talk to you about something. Before we head in.”
“Why do you sound so ominous?”
I swallow and it feels like I have an entire shovel wedged in my throat. “I should have told you when we were at Skullduggery, but I didn’t know how.”
She blinks. “Are you dying?”
“No.”
“It sounds like you’re dying.”
“I’m not dying.” It sort of feels like I might be dying.
Her eyes brighten. “Have you killed a man?”
My mouth is so dry, I’m unable to summon the appropriate words.
“Oh god,” she says, her smile slipping off her face. She leans closer. “Have you killed a man?”
“No, nothing like that.” I glance at the door to the station, the cracked pavement beneath our feet, the sky. I wish for one of these things to swallow me whole. “I have a problem.”
“Okay.”
“I have a problem, specifically, with speaking.”
Delilah’s nose scrunches in her confusion. “You’re speaking right now.”
“No, I mean, on the radio.”
She stares at me. “I’m not really following what’s happening right now. You’re a radio weatherman, Jackson. Speaking on the radio is your job.”
“I know.” I pull in a deep breath through my nose, then release it in a cloud of white. Like an emotionally destitute dragon. “I have trouble with stuff that’s not the weather.”
“Ah. Are you talking about that cute thing you do where you ramble?”
I frown. “It’s not cute.”
“You did it the last time you had to cover Heartstrings. You went on about snow lightning for, like, twenty minutes.”
I did and then I emerged from the booth on wobbly legs, sweating like I just ran back-to-back Ultraman marathons.
“You’re very passionate about weather phenomena, Jackson. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
She tries to move past me toward the door, but I hook her arm again and reel her back. She tilts her head to look at me. “You’re serious about this.”
“I am. I think we should consider the possibility that Keith’s big setup was asking you to do this with me.”
Maybe Keith partnered Delilah with me because he knows I’m the disaster. Maybe he’s counting on me to mess up the broadcast and drag Delilah down with me.
Delilah pauses, turning the idea over. I flex my fingers and roll my wrists, trying to get the prickly, uncomfortable sensation vibrating just beneath my skin to disappear.
“No, I don’t think so,” she finally says. “Keith isn’t that observant. Or clever. To be honest, I doubt he’s ever noticed your weather rambles. Or listened to your station.”
“Weather rambles?”
Her head tips to the side. Some chocolate-colored waves slip over her shoulder. “What would you like to call it?”
“What’s it called when someone drives their car directly into a ravine?”
Delilah laughs and some of my cotton-ball-feeling clears. “Thelma and Louise? Are you going to Louise us into a canyon, Jackson?”
“It was Thelma’s idea to drive off that cliff.”
Delilah snorts. “Remind me not to let you drive during our road trip.” She curls her fingers around my wrist and tugs. “Come on. Inside we go.”
I resist. “I’m not sure I want to.”
Like I summoned her with my reluctance, Maggie appears, banging through the door of the station. She sticks her head out and bellows across the parking lot, “Jackson! Delilah! You’re on in twenty minutes!”
Delilah waves in acknowledgment and yanks on my wrist again. I continue to pretend my feet are planted in the cement.
“It’s okay,” she says. She turns back to look at me, hair whipping across her face, her brown eyes lit up gold. I wonder what it’s like to feel that easy. That comfortable.
“You have nothing to worry about,” she says. Her hand is still around my wrist. “I’ll be with you the entire time.”