Page 31 of And Now, Back to You

And here I thought we had a breakthrough at the café the other day.

“Delilah,” I greet.

“Jackson,” she replies with a laugh. “I was thinking. We should come up with a name.”

“A name?”

“For our segment.”

“It needs a name?”

She shrugs. “It would be nice, don’t you think?”

“Why don’t we just call it Jackson and Delilah Report on the Weather?”

“Oh wow,” she deadpans. “Did you come up with that on your own?”

I scratch at the back of my neck. I’m not going to be embarrassed about a perfectly reasonable suggestion. “What’s your idea?”

“Well, we have options.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a narrow, crumpled piece of paper. It’s at least two feet long, so I assume she’s been to CVS in the past week. “Snow Much Fun with Jackson and Delilah, Say It Ain’t Snow with Jackson and Delilah, We’re Off to See the Blizzard, Jackson and Delilah, Weather Together—”

“That one,” I say quickly. “That’s the one I want.”

“Great.” Her eyes cut to my side and her grin seems to double in size. “You must be Lucie.” She shuffles forward in her ridiculous coat. I also forgot Aiden and Lucie were standing next to us. “I’m such a fan. I listened to all your broadcasts last winter.”

Lucie presses her palms to her cheeks. “Are you kidding? I’m such a fan. I loved that piece you did on the Papermoon Diner.”

Delilah’s eyes brighten as she wiggles in excitement. “Oh, I loved that segment. That’s one of my favorite places in the city.”

“Mine too. My daughter loves the figurines. And the pancakes.”

And just like that they’re off. Lucie and Delilah descend into a rapid-fire conversation about local Baltimore oddities while Aiden and I stand stupefied at their side. Aiden, I assume, awash with affection for the love of his life. Me, drowning in trepidation at the nightmare that awaits me inside.

I might be looking forward to covering a major weather event, but I haven’t figured out how to pack away my anxieties on the how. I’m a radio meteorologist who loves data but hates talking for longer than fifteen seconds. It’s why reporting on the forecast has always suited me best. I aggregate the data, I prepare my script, and I read from my notes. There’s not a lot you can screw up with “chance of showers, don’t forget to bring your umbrella.” I’ve found comfort in the predictable.

I tend to lose the plot when I need to speak on the fly.

I try to breathe through the inevitable panic, but it’s like fighting gravity. The voices around me slowly slip into something monotone and fuzzy. My ears fill with cotton balls. My throat grows thick. I’m aware that I’m panicking over something trivial, but I can’t control my reaction. There’s so much that can go wrong. I don’t know how to hold myself steady.

The group shifts. Aiden and Lucie twist their fingers together and head into the station. Delilah trails after them. I catch her bicep with my palm before she can get too far, more of an impulse than a conscious thought. I gently guide her back to me.

She looks up at me with wide brown eyes, the remnants of her amusement still caught around the edges of her mouth. It evaporates as her face softens with concern.

“What is it?” she asks. Her eyes narrow. “Is this about the sandwich wrapper?”

I shake my head. “I don’t care about the sandwich wrapper.”

She arches one delicate eyebrow.

“Okay. I care a little bit about the sandwich wrapper.” I pause. “But I need to talk to you about something. Before we head in.”

“Why do you sound so ominous?”

I swallow and it feels like I have an entire shovel wedged in my throat. “I should have told you when we were at Skullduggery, but I didn’t know how.”

She blinks. “Are you dying?”

“No.”