CHAPTER 36 JACKSON
JACKSON
The man in question skids to a stop in the doorway of my office, chest heaving. “Did you—” he wheezes out. “Did you see—” He bends in half, pressing his hands to his knees.
“Your Dorito addiction? Yeah, I did. The station isn’t paying for these.” Hughie plants one hand against the wall, his forehead against his forearm. I frown. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Ran here—from the—Dunkin’,” he barely manages between deep panting breaths. The closest Dunkin’ is almost a mile away, and Hughie has never been much of a runner. “I saw it on my—phone. Delilah—” He makes a sound like a foghorn and slips halfway down the wall. “Delilah—”
“What about Delilah?”
Maggie appears in the hallway behind Hughie, her phone in her hand.
“Did you know?” she asks. Her look is faintly accusatory.
“Did I know what?”
“About Delilah.”
I feel like my head is about to pop off my shoulders. Tension radiates up my spine, cinching at the very base of my skull. “Someone better start explaining what the hell is going on.”
Maggie and Hughie exchange a look. Behind them, Aiden skids to a stop in the middle of the hallway. He still has his headphones around his neck, the cord dangling behind him. His cheeks are flushed, like maybe he ran here from the Dunkin’ too.
“Why didn’t you tell me Delilah wanted to quit?”
“What?”
“She just quit,” Aiden says. “In the middle of her weather broadcast. Our call boards are going insane.”
I stand up from my desk so fast my knee hits the underside.
“So you didn’t know,” Maggie says.
“I had no idea.” I grab for my phone, my keys, my jacket hanging on a hook behind my desk. My body is relying on pure muscle memory while my brain runs a mile an hour. “When?”
“Just now.”
I glance at the clock. She’s supposed to be in the middle of her afternoon report. I’ve been playing it on the small TV in my office every day this week because I like the way she says prognosticate, but I got caught up in my spreadsheets and I missed it.
I force my arms through the sleeves of my coat.
“I’m going to—” I’m already edging out the door of my office, shouldering past Aiden and Hughie. “I need to go.”
Thankfully, no one tries to ask me any more questions. I’m on autopilot as I move through the hallways to the front lobby, bursting through the door so hard it swings back and cracks against the side of the entrance.
I scan the parking lot, looking for Delilah’s cotton candy–colored car. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it’s exactly where it was when I pulled in this morning, parked half over the line in her usual spot. The Post-it note I left her is still clinging to her window.
And Delilah is at the trunk, trying to force an oversized box inside.
“Delilah,” I call. She pauses but doesn’t look up, her hair curtaining her face.
Her shoulders bunch as she tries to jam the box more forcefully into her car.
I am painfully aware of the audience from both sides of the parking lot.
Aiden, Maggie, and Hughie pressed to the glass of the radio station.
A crowd of reporters doing the same on the television side.
I pick out one of the news anchors. Mark, with both of his arms crossed over his chest, a petite woman in an oversized sweater at his side.
I stride across the lot.
“Delilah,” I say again when I’m close enough, reaching for her elbow. I hate that everyone is watching, but no one is trying to help. She’s on an island out here in the half-frozen parking lot.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. Delilah shifts the box and tries another angle, a soft grunt that sounds like a sob slipping out of her mouth.
I grip her arm gently, forcing her to stop. “Delilah.”
She turns without a word and presses her face in the middle of my chest. I gently cup the back of her head, my fingers threading through her hair.
“Baby,” I whisper. “What’s going on?”
“I quit my job,” she mumbles into the front of my shirt, her voice pitched low. A sigh rattles down her spine. Another sniffle.
I try to urge her backward, try to see her face, but she keeps her body tucked into mine. I smooth my hand over her shoulder and down the line of her back, shifting her slightly so the people with their noses pressed to the glass can’t see.
“Just now?”
She nods and gestures at the trunk of her car. “I cleaned out my desk,” she whispers.
Her box is filled with various odds and ends. An Orioles foam finger. A small, folded training camp schedule from three seasons ago. A name tag from the Baltimore Zoo and a tiny figurine of a green turtle.
I bite my tongue against the ten thousand questions I immediately want to ask and trace another soft circle between her shoulder blades instead. That’s not what she needs from me right now.
“How can I help?” I ask instead.
Her back tenses. It’s the smallest fraction of a movement, but I feel it. A second later, she pulls away from me, tucking her hair behind her ears. Her eyes flick to mine and hold my gaze before tripping away again.
“I should go home,” she sighs, digging her fist into her cheek. “Sort some stuff out. I’ll need to call the insurance company and see how long my coverage will last now that I’ve—”
“Delilah,” I whisper. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
I touch my knuckle under her chin and try to lift her face to mine, but she twists out of my grip. My stomach sinks, and apprehension creeps in.
“Not here,” she whispers. Her eyes cut to the windows. “Not where they can see.”
My phone starts buzzing in my pocket again. I grind out a curse and reach for it, frowning when I see it’s Penelope.
Four missed calls, actually. All from her.
All in the past ten minutes.
I answer with a quick swipe of my thumb. “Pen? You okay?”
“No,” she chokes out, her voice thick. “I think I messed up, Jackie.”
A spike of fear cuts through the curl of anxiety. “What is it?”
“I got in a fight with Addie.” She hiccups a sob. “I said some mean things and she—she left. I can’t find her.”
“What do you mean you can’t find her? I thought you guys were at that brunch thing.”
There are supposed to be chaperones there. School staff. Camille, I think, with a creeping sense of understanding.
Delilah’s hand slips into mine. I squeeze it too hard.
“Penelope,” I snap. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Mom ghosted,” Penelope says. “Addie was waiting out front and she wouldn’t come inside.
I swear, I didn’t mean to lose my temper.
But all of this is just so stupid and I told her I wanted her to let it go because we don’t need her.
Mom messes everything up and Addie is so convinced she just needs time, but—”
“Pen. Where is your sister?”
Her pause feels like it lasts a lifetime.
“I don’t know,” she finally whispers, her voice fraying. I can hear the warble of her inhale. The way she needs to brace herself. “She got on a city bus without her phone. I have no idea where she is, Jackson.”