Page 145 of And Now, Back to You

“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.”

JACKSON CLARK: There’s one last cold front sweeping through the region. Winter is trying its best to hold on.

JACKSON CLARK: Some cloudy skies ahead while we wait it out.

CHAPTER 37

DELILAH

It’s a relief to focus on a problem that isn’t of my own making.

Some of my fog clears in the face of Jackson’s outright panic, and it’s an easy decision to climb into the passenger seat of his car. To take his phone and navigate to his tracker app, clicking on the tiny picture of a blond-haired girl with her tongue sticking out. It’s paired with another tiny circle, and I calmly direct him to the museum on the water—the place the girls were supposed to be having their brunch gala.

I break everything down into easy-to-follow steps. I call the school. I call the police nonemergency line. I call Aiden and quickly tell him to be home, in case Adeline goes to Maya. I reduce myself to efficiency, because that’s what Jackson needs. And I want so badly to be what Jackson needs.

Jackson, who is bending every speed limit between the station and the waterfront, weaving his way in and out of traffic, his hands fisted so tight on the steering wheel his knuckles are white.

Penelope is waiting at the curb with tear tracks on her cheeks, a school official at her side. Jackson barely stops the car before he’s launching himself out of it, pulling Penelope into a hug. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t show any anger, and the tightness at the base of my throat pulls tighter. He’s so good. He’s always doing the right thing, the perfect thing, and I’m—

I’m a disaster.

You made a fool of yourself and this station.

You made a fool of yourself.

The door to the back seat swings open and Penelope clambers inside. Her eyes are swollen and pink and I offer her one of the small, travel-sized tissues I found in the glove compartment. She takes it gratefully, looking up at me shyly through her lashes as she buckles her seat belt.

“Hi, Delilah.” She sniffles. “This isn’t how I wanted us to meet.”

I twist in the passenger seat. “I know, but I am happy to meet you. I’ll be happy to meet your sister too. We’ll find her, okay?”

She nods, pressing the tissue under her nose. “If Jackson doesn’t get arrested first.”

Outside the car, Jackson is tearing into the school official. A few words press through the thick glass of the car window: irresponsible, unbelievable, and my favorite, fucking idiots. He turns to climb back into the car, and the official breathes an obvious sigh of relief.

The door slams so hard the entire vehicle shakes. The three of us sit in heavy silence.

Jackson’s eyes lift to the rearview mirror. “Where would she go?”

We go to the ice-cream shop, the pagoda in Patterson Park, and the Bond Street Wharf where the geese congregate for stale crusts of bread. I start to get recognized at our second stop, hushed whispers and not-so-hushed whispers behind my back of That’s Delilah Stewart and Did you see she quit on air? and I wonder what happened, so I stay in the car for the rest of the stops. I search through the window for Jackson and Penelope, hoping there’s a third blond head with them.

But there isn’t, and I watch as Jackson slowly slips further into himself. I try to tuck myself into his problem as a distraction while my own mess muddies the water around me. I’m an oil spill hemorrhaging damage, but maybe if I fix this for him, I’ll be able to fix everything else too.

“Did you see what bus she got on?” I ask Penelope, pulling up the schedules and maps on my phone. “Maybe if we check the route—”