Page 14 of And Now, Back to You

“Do you like turtles?” I ask.

A crease appears in the middle of her forehead. “Turtles are fine.”

“I’ve heard female sea turtles use the earth’s magnetic field to return to the same beach where they were born to lay their eggs.”

Delilah looks at me like I’m the one about to lay eggs. She scratches her temple and adjusts her position on the uncomfortable metal chair. “That’s, um. That’s great?”

My enthusiasm for the conversation, limited as it was, slowly ebbs. Of course Delilah doesn’t know anything about turtles. She probably tossed on her little costume and headed out the door for her turtle feature without a care in the world for preparation. The same way she approaches the weather.

Suddenly, I feel the need to quote even more turtle facts. It’s imperative that I know more about turtles than she does.

“Did you know that turtles—”

“Keith,” Maggie interrupts, cutting me off with a withering look. “Maybe we should get started.”

“You could have let me finish,” I mumble under my breath.

Maggie shakes her head. “Absolutely no one in this room wanted you to finish,” she whispers. She tips her chin up to Keith. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” he says with all the enthusiasm of a cloud of dust. He swivels back and forth in his chair, one hand perched under his chin, the other curled around his frozen drink. He brings it to his mouth and takes a loud slurp from the orange straw, his bloated cheeks wobbling.

Delilah exhales a short, frustrated sound from the corner.

I know Keith. Everyone in Baltimore knows Keith. He had a successful broadcast career in the early nineties before taking on a senior administrative role with the station. They used to call him the Face of Baltimore, but I’ve always found his face to be largely insufferable. His personality too. He’s arrogant, self-centered, and he uses way too much hair product on far too little hair. Two years ago, he led a one-man campaign to rename the road that leads into the station after himself. The city denied him, and when he tried to petition the public for grassroots support, they denied him as well. He seems determined to hold on to his glory days, despite being almost three decades past.

I have no idea why we’re giving this guy our time. It’s not like Maggie to entertain the antics of an asshole.

“Keith,” Maggie says again, some of her endless patience beginning to slip. “If you don’t mind, we have a broadcast of our own to get back to.”

“Ah, yes.” His smile is condescending, his too-white teeth glinting under the fluorescents. “Your little radio show. Wouldn’t want to be late for that.”

Maggie’s answering smile is as sharp as her response. “Our little radio show has almost three times the organic reach as your little news station. It is the reason, as you recall, we are having this conversation.”

Keith’s eyes flash. He sets his coffee to the side.

“Too right,” he snaps. “Jackson. Delilah. You’re here as part of a new proposed partnership between 101.6 LITE FM and YBAL News.”

“What?” I ask at the same time Delilah blurts, “Why?”

Keith finally turns his head to look at Delilah, his lip curling. “To report the weather.”

“Like . . . together?” She glances at me and points one fin in my direction. She’s been tugging them on and off her hands since we sat down at this meeting. “As in, the both of us?”

“Yes, that is the plan.” Maggie clasps her hands in front of her on the table. She’s in negotiation mode while I’m playing catch-up in the seat next to her. My brain is stuck on the word partnership—as in two people working together toward a common goal.

The only thing Delilah and I have ever been aligned on is chaos. The only thing we’ve ever worked toward together is mutual destruction.

“Jackson,” Maggie says. “What does the Farmers’ Almanac say about February?”

“Um.” I blink away from Delilah and press my glasses up my nose. “It says we’ll see colder than usual temperatures this winter, which has held true.”

“And the storms?” Maggie asks, not looking away from Keith. “What does it say about the storms?”

“It says we should expect historic snow conditions.” I frown. “Though the storms Maryland has seen this winter have been right on par with previous seasons.”

“You just . . . have the Farmers’ Almanac memorized?” Delilah asks.

Her tone makes it clear that rote memorization of the almanac is not something to be proud of. I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s helpful information.”