CHAPTER 21 JACKSON #2
“I was just bringing it back inside.” Mark rubs his hand over his head. “Our broadcast has been canceled this morning.”
“I’m sorry. It sounded like you just said our broadcast is canceled.”
“That is what I said.”
She snorts. “I’m so glad you finally feel comfortable enough to joke with me after three years but now is not the time.
” She reaches down and grabs the bag too.
“I’m not sure the deck will be a good choice for today’s shot.
How about we go down the path a little bit.
There’s a grove of trees that should shelter us from the worst of it. ”
Mark darts a quick glance at me, then back to Delilah.
“I’m not joking about the broadcast, Delilah.”
“You are.”
He shakes his head. “I just got a call from the production team. They won’t be tapping us in. We’re not broadcasting this morning.”
Delilah looks out the window where the snow is falling in earnest. “But this is—” She has to pause to take a deep breath. “It’s the whole reason we’re here, Mark. The snowstorm. The historic snowstorm. The one that is happening. Right outside.”
“I know,” he says.
“Last night we got almost a foot and a half. There’s so much more coming. They’re cutting our footage now? It’s just getting good.”
“I know,” he repeats.
“Who made this decision? Who canceled the broadcast?”
Mark just stares steadily at her, his jaw jumping. We both know the answer to that question.
Delilah huffs. “He can’t—he can’t cancel the fucking news, Mark. What are they going to report on back in Baltimore? The Trash Wheel again? Maybe the goose migration?”
I lightly touch the small of Delilah’s back and she exhales a harsh sound. Something that sounds suspiciously like this motherfucker.
“What did the production team say?” I ask.
Mark rocks back on his heels, reluctant. He keeps shooting Delilah concerned, apprehensive glances out of the corner of his eye like he expects her to start wielding the aux cords as a weapon. Delilah notices his hesitation and wilts like a flower.
“Don’t spare my feelings, Mark.” She yanks off her beanie and shoves it into the same pocket she put her snow goggles. “I’m going to find out whether you tell me or not.”
Something in his face turns faintly pitying, and my stomach free-falls.
“Delilah,” I try, “maybe we should have some coffee over—”
She reaches up and puts her palm over my mouth without looking away from Mark.
“Tell me,” she demands.
“They switched the segment to snow preparation. Keith says the city is their main focus, not—” He swallows, cutting a look around the small lobby.
Lottie is still placing out the rest of the breakfast items. A few wayward truckers are huddled at the window, staring out at the storm.
“Not a bunch of snow in some backward backcountry. He also said he wants someone more professional on the news.” He scratches his jaw. “Leon is going to do the report.”
Delilah stares. “Leon is going to do the report,” she repeats, her voice sounding like she’s just done several laps around the perimeter of the lake. She drops her hand from my mouth without looking at me. “Leon is going to do the weather report?”
Mark nods.
“Leon is—Leon is going to do the weather report,” she says again, a different inflection, sounding out the sentence, picking up speed in some parts and slowing it down in others.
“Leon is going to do the weather report. Leon is going to do the weather report. Leon—who I believe has a degree in political science and public communication—is going to do the weather report.” She bares her teeth in a snarl. “Leon is more professional than me?”
Mark reaches out and offers her a short, awkward pat. “I know, Delilah.”
“It’s my weather report, Mark.”
He pats her again. “I know.”
“Can he do that?” I ask. “We have a partnership. Doesn’t he have to ask for permission from Maggie?”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen.
“Yeah, Keith can make that decision without consulting your people. The anchors dragged their feet, but ultimately, it’s Keith’s call.
He got full control of content decisions with his last contract negotiations.
Production said he used your—ah—moment the other day as justification. ”
So much for Keith taking it in stride.
Delilah blanches. “Of course he did.”
She turns toward the window and scrunches her nose, her teeth working at the corner of her bottom lip.
She’s trying to compose herself, pack it all away.
She does that a lot. Hides behind her smile and her sunshine personality.
She uses them to distract from all the bits she thinks will be too ugly for everyone else.
But I don’t want her to hide from me.
“What am I supposed to do?” she whispers. “Jackson.” She grips the sleeve of my jacket. “What am I going to do?”
I get that heavy twinge in the middle of my chest again. The one that feels like a rope, being pulled taut. The twist of a key in a rusty lock.
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Half of me is so mad I want to call Keith and give him a piece of my mind. The other half wants to hide.” Her eyes dart to Lottie at the breakfast table, to Mark fumbling around in his backpack by the door, and then finally, back to me. “I’m so embarrassed,” she whispers.
“Why?” I ask, just as quiet.
“I thought I’d have a real chance with this coverage.
I thought I’d get to prove myself. But Keith has been waiting for an excuse to discredit me, and I handed him one on a silver platter.
” Her voice breaks and that feeling in my chest strains and buckles.
She takes a trembling breath. “My grandpa watches every afternoon, Jackson. I don’t know how to explain this to him in a way he’ll understand.
” She rubs at her nose. “I don’t want to disappoint him,” she adds in a whisper.
I finally let myself cup her shoulders, squeezing firmly. “You’re not going to disappoint him.”
“He’s going to look for me and I won’t be there.” Her chin wobbles until she firms it. I shake her shoulders.
“You’re going to be there.”
She blinks at me, face crumpling in confusion. “How?”
I glance at Mark evaluating his supplies by the door. The cords, the wires, the backpack. We have everything we need. Delilah and I are already prepped. We have our notes and, for once, my anxiety is nowhere to be found.
“How do you feel about a hostile takeover?”