Page 2 of And Now, Back to You

“Because I have a meeting at the station.”

Adeline’s eyes narrow. “About what?”

“I have no idea.” My role at the radio station doesn’t usually require one-on-one meetings with the boss. I occupy a solid thirty-six seconds of airtime every hour. I report the weather and traffic, and then I disappear into the background. Exactly how I like it.

The rest of my time is spent managing the finances for our local station. The spreadsheets calm me. Maybe Maggie, the station manager in charge of 101.6 LITE FM, wants to talk about my new color-coding strategy.

“Is Maggie going to give you your own show?”

I don’t like the thread of excitement I hear in her voice. Or the sheer panic that immediately grips me by the throat.

“No, I don’t think she wants to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d have nothing to talk about.”

“Or maybe you’d have too much to talk about,” Adeline says, shuffling forward to pluck off the corner of my cruffin. I try to slap her hand away, but she manages a piece, popping it into her mouth with a grin of victory. “Last time you covered for Aiden, you ranted for, like, twenty-three minutes about snow lightning.”

For someone who voluntarily works in radio, I don’t have a great relationship with ad-libbing. Whenever I’m asked to fill in for one of the other hosts, I tend to go off the rails. It’s not so much stage fright as it is . . . a complete and total break from reality. Without my script, my brain goes blank. I lose command of the English language. I’m pretty sure I black out. I never remember a thing about it, either, except a lingering sense of humiliation.

I sigh. “You shouldn’t be listening to me on the radio. You should be sleeping.”

“Ms. Singh doesn’t mind.”

Our eighty-six-year-old neighbor stays with the girls on the nights I work late. She sits in the living room and works on her never-ending cross-stitch and makes passive-aggressive comments about the lack of sweets in the pantry. “Oh, good. I’m glad Ms. Singh doesn’t mind.”

“Penelope and I like to listen sometimes when we’re falling asleep. Do you remember when we were little, and you used to read us the forecast instead of bedtime stories?”

“Yeah, I remember.” I remember their little heads tucked together on a shared pillow, looking up at me with wide, unblinking blue eyes. Mostly cloudy with a low around fifty-nine. Monday. A chance of showers. Partly sunny with a high near seventy-three. I had no idea what I was doing with them, but I knew I wanted to give them something better than they had. Something better than I had. “You can always text me when I’m at the station. Or if you don’t want me gone at night anymore, I can restructure my hours. I don’t need to do the weather report.”

Adeline shakes her head. “Absolutely not. You love doing the weather report, and we’re fine here. Ms. Singh has been working on matching scarves for us. Can’t burst her bubble.” She sneaks over and steals another bite of my cruffin. I allow it. “Plus, I kind of like the idea of you putting the entire city of Baltimore to sleep.”

I consider that. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It’s a compliment.” She collects her coffee mug of cereal from the counter. “I’ll let you know if we’re unhappy with your work situation.”

“Promise?”

“When have we ever had an issue with letting you know we’re unhappy?” She flicks me in the middle of my glasses. “I promise, Jackie.”

“Good.”

When I officially took custody of the girls, I told them I might not always do the right thing with them, but I promised to try. All they had to do was talk to me. I was only twenty and they were only eight, but we figured out how to be a family.

Which is why I hope I’m not being fired from my job this morning. This meeting with Maggie appeared on my calendar late last night without any context. Just a blank invitation, a block of time shaded in blue, and the foreboding subject line PLANNING.

My attention ping-pongs between the clock, the stairs, and the front door.

“Penelope!” I bellow. Adeline flinches. “We need to go!”

“I’m coming!” she screeches back.

“You said that ten minutes ago!”

“Yes, well, I’m working on it!”

“Why don’t I believe you?”