CHAPTER 32 DELILAH
DELILAH
I see the Post-it note on my driver’s side door as soon as I leave the station.
A standard-issue pale yellow, the corner of it lifting in the wind that whips through the parking lot.
There’s still snow on the ground from the storm, but it’s been packed down by cars and boots in the handful of days since we got back.
I peel the note off my window.
Lunch? it says, in Jackson’s neat, careful handwriting.
I smile. “Is that a threat or an invitation?”
Jackson hums from behind me, leaning up against the bumper of his Honda with his arms crossed over his chest. “Why is it always one or the other with you?”
I stick the note in my pocket. “Maybe it’s both?”
“Can it be both?”
I shrug. “I’m not even sure what we’re arguing about anymore.”
“Oh. Is this arguing?” He pushes off the back of his car and saunters closer. He stops right in front of me, so close I need to tip my head back to watch his face. He has a subdued smile, his eyes tell the truth. He’s happy to see me. “Hello, Delilah.”
I’m happy to see him too. “Hi, Jackson.”
He spares a quick glance at the station, then shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “How’s your grandpa doing?”
“Better. Thanks. He’s getting discharged this afternoon. I’m going to go over there and pick him up before the evening report. What about you? How are the girls?”
A smile lifts one edge of his mouth. “They’re good. Though I’m not convinced spending so much time with Aiden was in their best interest.”
“Oh?”
“Bad influence,” he says. “I can tell you about it at lunch.” He hooks one finger in the opening of my jacket, using it to pull me closer.
I didn’t bother zipping it up all the way before I left the station, and his knuckle brushes against the very practical and professional silk blouse I have on underneath.
He releases a sigh that sounds like it’s come from the very center of his being.
Blue eyes find mine. “We aren’t working together anymore,” he says.
“No. We are not.”
I’ve felt his absence like a shadow. I keep almost turning during my weather reports, looking for someone who isn’t there.
Jackson’s face finally loses the tension, his mask slipping. He looks earnest. “Maybe we could—”
“Delilah! Jackson!” Maggie bellows our names across the parking lot, a bucket of ice water over both of our heads. I try to take a step back, but Jackson still has his finger hooked in the front of my jacket.
I arch an eyebrow. He gives me an arch look back and doesn’t let me go.
“What?” he yells over my head.
Maggie is shivering in her patent leather boots, her arms curled around herself. “Can you come inside? I need to talk to both of you.”
Jackson mutters an expletive under his breath. “Is it important?”
“No, Jackson. I want to talk about the weather.” Maggie’s face darkens. “Do I ask you for unimportant things?”
Another expletive, more emphatic this time. He peers down at me, frustration in the lines of his face. “We don’t have to go in.”
I glance over my shoulder at Maggie, shivering at the entrance of the radio station. “I think we do, actually.”
“We could make a run for it,” he says, wistful. “Get in my car. Drive to the border. Never come back.” He pauses. “Make out.”
“A beautiful dream.” I pat his chest, already turning and tiptoeing my way across the pockets of ice. “You seem to have a Thelma and Louise fixation.”
Jackson grips my elbow and gently helps me over the worst of it. “That’s not my fixation,” he murmurs.
“What?”
“Never mind.” He sounds so forlorn it makes me laugh. Like his very favorite toy has been ripped away.
We finally manage to make our way over to Maggie, her palm propping open the door to the station. A wave of warmth curls around me, and I sigh gratefully.
“Come on,” she says, angling her head toward the hallway. “Let’s talk in my office.”
We follow dutifully behind her, Jackson’s hand at the small of my back the entire time.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Maggie keeps her face neutral, her hands folded together on top of her exquisitely organized desk. “I’m offering you a job.”
“I have a job,” I point out. “It’s right across the street.”
“You do have a job,” Maggie agrees. “And it’s a shitty one.”
I glance at Jackson. He’s staring at Maggie with his hand under his chin, his elbow on the arm of the chair. He doesn’t look confused, but he does look wary. Hesitant.
“Am I—” He swallows heavily, a quick look cut in my direction. “Am I being fired?”
Maggie is the picture of controlled patience, even though we’ve been asking the same questions in a roundabout loop for the past seven minutes.
“No,” she says. “As I’ve explained, you’re being promoted.”
“To what?
“Production director. But we can discuss specifics in a moment. I want to talk through the Delilah offer first.”
Jackson and I speak in unison. “I don’t understand.”
Maggie’s mouth twists. “Yes, that’s very clear.
” She tugs open her top drawer and pulls out a single stick of Big Red gum.
“I don’t see a reason to put an end to a good thing.
The two of you have amazing chemistry. Your broadcast numbers are some of the strongest we’ve seen since Aiden and Lucie.
Delilah, if you come work for us, you’d have your pick of airtime and segments.
Jackson could hop on with you to do the weather, then spend the rest of his time in his much-preferred background role. ”
“I am—” Surprised feels like too small of a word. Gobsmacked, maybe? “How long have you been thinking about this?”
Maggie leans back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. “Awhile.”
I let that sink in. “I’m not sure what to say. No one’s ever tried to poach me before.”
Jackson makes a rough sound next to me. When I glance at him, he shrugs.
“Sorry, but that’s surprising to me.”
“Really? You think people are lining up to hire the girl who face-planted at the horse track?”
Jackson’s gaze is steady. “I find it odd that people aren’t lining up to hire the girl who laughed after she face-planted at the horse track, then delivered a flawless report on race times and track conditions.”
My cheeks warm.
I let myself picture it, for a fraction of a second.
Coming to work without anxiety churning in my gut, wondering what clown show I’ll be put on next.
Hoping for the best, but bracing for the worst. A little desk in a little office.
Headphones over my ears and a microphone in front of my face. Jackson. Right next to me.
It’s a beautiful, tempting solution.
But it won’t work.
“I’m so sorry, Maggie, but I’m going to have to pass.”
The silence is almost a sound. I don’t think Maggie is used to people telling her no.
“I can raise your salary,” Maggie counters, eyes sharp. “I can double your pay. Easy.”
I laugh. I’m not exactly rolling in the Benjamins over at YBAL. “I have no doubt about that.”
“You’ll get to report on the weather. No goose migration. No . . . reproductive habits of bats.”
My smile falters. I forgot about that segment at the Baltimore Zoo. I went immediately home and showered for close to an hour. I swear I still feel their leathery wings flapping in my hair.
Beneath the cover of the desk, Jackson’s hand slips over my knee.
“It’s not about the nature of the work,” I say, feeling like I need to put a stop to this before Maggie starts offering all of the stars in the sky and a lifetime supply of Chaps sandwiches.
I’m not sure I’m strong enough to withstand it.
“But ultimately, I want my career to be in television. Not radio.”
“You’ll have the same opportunities here,” Maggie counters. “Better, even.”
“I know, it’s just—” I say slowly, feeling like my heart is on a crank and I’m the one twisting the lever, holding it out and hoping that they’re careful with it.
“My grandpa set his life around the morning and evening news. I would eat my cereal to the intro music and do my homework to rush-hour traffic. We’d watch the five-day forecast together before he headed down to the docks for his shift.
” I tuck my hair behind my ears and fold my hands in my lap.
“He still watches YBAL. The habit hasn’t budged in three decades. ”
Next to me, Jackson’s attention is firmly fixed on the side of my face. His hand flexes on my knee and I shudder out a breath.
“He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s last year and it’s—it’s progressing faster than we hoped.
There are days when he’s confused. When he doesn’t remember who I am.
” Where he’ll look at me in confusion and forget every moment we’ve shared together.
Every scraped knee. Every bedtime story.
Every haircut and half-burned dinner and teenage disappointment.
“But he knows Delilah Stewart, his favorite meteorologist at his favorite news station. He knows my face and he knows my voice, even when he forgets everything else.”
On his very worst days, when everyone is a stranger, he still has me. The friendly weather reporter with the sunshine smile. The habit that’s burrowed so far in his head and in his heart, the disease can’t take it.
“So, while I am grateful for the offer, I can’t give up television. Not when it’s the only thing that’ll keep me connected to my grandfather when things get worse. My hope is that after the success of this partnership, Keith will let me get back to doing what I do best.”
Maggie and Jackson exchange a long, searching look.
“I understand your reasoning, and I’m sorry for what you’re facing, Delilah. Please know there’s no expiration date on this offer. If, in the future, you find yourself looking for new opportunities, I want you to know you’ll always have a home here.”
“I appreciate that.” I bite my lip. “And I hope Jackson still gets the promotion you promised him.”