CHAPTER 22 JACKSON
JACKSON
Delilah stands in the middle of a snowdrift, powdery white up to her hips, her face almost completely obscured by the snow that’s falling in heavy, wet clumps.
“If we time it right”—Mark yells—“you’ll come in right in the middle of Leon’s report.
I’m going to patch into the broadcast using the livestream, and Gary in production is going to push us through.
He says thanks for remembering his wife’s birthday, by the way.
She loved the flowers.” He unloops another cord, tosses it in my direction, and types furiously into his phone.
“Everyone is aware of what’s happening. Gianna is running interference with Keith, in case he tries to put a stop to anything. ”
“How does she plan on doing that?”
Mark’s smile is an even split between delighted and diabolical. “She’s got a list of options.”
“She’s not going to get arrested, right?”
“Honestly, it’s difficult to know for sure.”
Delilah presses her gloved hand to her forehead and mutters something up to the sky.
“I was particularly fond of numbers three through seven,” Mark adds conversationally. “On her little list. You know she keeps it on her phone? Says she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment.”
“That sounds about right.”
Delilah had been surprised when Mark offered to help.
Then cautious, when he walked us through the rough outline of the plan to get her on the broadcast she’d earned.
She didn’t want to step on any toes. She didn’t want to make a fuss.
But then Mark turned his phone around to show her the string of text messages from the station—the production team, Gianna, the anchors, and Leon—all variations on the same theme.
Let’s fucking do it.
With a particularly enthusiastic set of knife emojis from Gianna. Apparently, she’s been working in the wings on this contingency plan for quite some time.
“We’ve got about three minutes until we need to go.
Remember, you’re dropping in during the morning broadcast you were supposed to have.
Do everything exactly as you originally planned, and the viewers won’t know the difference.
You’ve earned this, Delilah.” Mark hefts his camera over his shoulder.
“You guys ready?” A smirk curls his mouth.
“Or do you need to go disappear to your special place for a minute?”
“Do you want to make sure our mics are off if we do?” Delilah fires back. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that you’re the one who failed to tell me I was wearing a hot mic.”
The smirk drops from his face. “Got it.”
“I thought so.” Delilah huffs, then looks to me. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’m ready.”
I’m not even nervous. Maybe it’s the thrill of our deceit or the unrelenting desire to wipe the fractured, devastated look off Delilah’s face, but my stage fright is nonexistent.
She told me during our very first broadcast that I should picture my sisters.
Pretend I’m talking to them. But now I’m just talking to her.
Delilah. The woman standing right next to me with her shoulder pressed to mine.
I pull the matching pair of goggles Delilah brought me out of my pocket and slip them over my head. “What about you? You ready?”
She watches me settle the dumb goggles over my face, her eyes just a shade too wide. A trembling smile tugs at her bottom lip.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’m good.”
“Good,” Mark shouts over the wind. “Because you’re live in three, two—” He motions with his hand and the little red light on the camera blinks on. My stomach swoops but Delilah presses closer to my side.
“Hello, Baltimore. I heard we had some technical difficulties this morning, but Jackson and I are happy to give you an update on the winter storm whipping through Western Maryland.” A particularly ferocious gust of wind rolls against us and I grab Delilah’s arm, holding her steady.
“Wind and precipitation are picking up. Jackson, what would you say the wind gusts are up to?”
“Uh, high?” It’s not my usual stage fright, but the sheer force of the winds coming at us. I adjust my grip on Delilah, then move fully behind her when she slips again. “The goggles were a good idea.”
Delilah barks out a laugh. “Breaking news, Baltimore! Jackson Clark thinks I have good ideas.”
I look down at the top of her head, but she’s already dropped it back against my shoulder, grinning up at me. I see my own blurry reflection in her goggles. Streaks of gold and blue and white.
“I always think you have good ideas.”
“News to me,” she says.
“Good thing we’re on the actual news, then.” She laughs again. “Should we talk some more about the weather?”
All of her is still leaned up against all of me, my arm around her waist as I try to hold her steady. I’m sure we’re pouring gasoline all over the rumors that are twisting up around us, but I don’t care.
Delilah smiles at me. “Yeah, Jackson. I’d love to talk about the weather with you.”