And Now, Back to You — Chapter no 6

CHAPTER 6

JACKSON

“I can’t believe you’re going to be on TV.” Adeline bounces her way across my bed, one of my dress shirts around her neck like a cape. She launches herself in the air on her third bounce and extends her legs, then lands flat on her back. My shirt flutters over her face while I have a silent heart attack. “This is so cool,” she adds, her voice muffled.

Cool. I can’t believe I’ve gotten to the place where a teenager’s opinion on my professional life makes me feel like I’ve swallowed a helium balloon, but here we are.

I fold another sweater and place it in the open suitcase. “You really think so?”

“It’s super cool.” Penelope flops down next to Adeline on the bed.

“You’re going to be on the news, Jackie. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

“No.” Pretty sure I’ve had nightmares that start this way. “I wanted to work at the National Weather Service, not be on television.”

Penelope and Adeline give me matching unimpressed looks. “C’mon.

Not even a teensy-tiny part of you is excited about this?” Adeline asks.

I fiddle with a folded pair of socks. “Maybe a little bit,” I admit.

While I’m not thrilled about the broadcast piece of it, I am excited to cover a storm in real time. Fifteen-year-old me who used to fall asleep with his face buried in his science textbook is absolutely losing his mind.

“I knew it.” Penelope points at my face. “Look at you. You’re smiling.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“You are.” She shifts so her head is resting on her sister’s lap. “Gosh, just think of it. You could have been doing cool stuff like this for years if you never got saddled with us.”

“Stop acting like I didn’t actively pursue custody of you guys.” I poke her in the forehead, then do the same to Adeline. “I wanted you with me.”

I wanted them so bad, I spent months working every odd job I could to pad my bank account. I put together a presentation for my mother with timelines and data sets and graphs, trying to convince her it was the best for everyone. I went to Bed Bath & Beyond and stood in front of the comforters, debating if they’d want lilac or sky blue. I got a house with enough room for all of us. I built a bunk bed.

And in the end, my mother didn’t even fight me on it. She simply said, I love that idea! Like granting me custody of the girls was the same as dropping off dry cleaning or picking up pizza for dinner.

I refold my socks and nestle them into the proper spot next to my sweaters, then do it again with the next pair. The debilitating doubt creeps out of the corner I’ve shoved it into. Am I doing enough for them? Are they happy here, with me?

My mother’s voice coils around my apprehension and tugs. You’ve gotta make sure you’re giving those girls fun. Teenage girls need fun.

Am I fun? Am I what they need?

I try to think of the last fun thing we did, but come up blank. We went ice-skating at the harbor over the holidays. They loved that when they were little.

But they’re not eight anymore. They need something different. They’re changing and growing and expanding and I need to change with them. I’ve spent so much time focusing on the practical, the rest of me feels like a garden gate with vines growing over the hinges.

I’m hoping this trip fixes that for me. I’m hoping I can figure out how to be someone they want to be around.

“Why do you look like you’re mad at the socks?” Adeline asks, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah. What did the socks ever do to you?”

“The socks did nothing,” I mumble. I drag my fingers through my hair, tugging at it in frustration. I don’t usually tell the girls when Camille calls, but it’s been the devil on my shoulder since she reached out a few days ago.

It’s not unusual for her to call out of the blue after months of radio silence, but it is unusual for her to ask about anyone other than herself.

“Jackson,” Adeline sighs. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

“Fine. Camille called,” I say, reluctant. The smiles slip from their faces, and I almost wish I could snatch the words out from the space between us. I sigh, committed now. Annoyed with myself as much as the situation. “She wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Adeline’s face settles into a stony mask. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You know there’s rarely a rhyme or a reason.” Just vibes and planetary alignments. Hastily scribbled horoscopes and prescriptions left unfilled.

I flip my suitcase closed, then sit down on the edge of the bed. I choose my words carefully, trying to hedge the delicate balance that comes with all their interactions with Camille. Honesty, with a touch of protective caution.

“She was interested in how school is going for you both.”

Adeline rolls her eyes. “Interested,” she repeats. She plucks at the top of my comforter. “That’s not the word I’d use.”

Penelope and I exchange a loaded look.

“What word would you use?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze goes somewhere behind me. Penelope and I wait. Adeline’s nosedive into a sullen attitude is unusual for her. She’s my sunshine girl. The one who used Crayola markers to doodle seventy-three rainbows on my bedroom wall when she was five.

She hides her face behind a curtain of hair. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she mumbles.

I nod. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Fine.”

Silence blankets the room. The ancient heater cranks on downstairs and the floorboards groan. Adeline makes a small sound under her breath then rolls off the bed, the shirt that was tied around her neck fluttering to the floor. She shuffles out of the room. A second later, a door clicks shut quietly down the hallway.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” I sigh.

“No, it’s good to know when Mom is sniffing around. Remember when she showed up at Easter that one year? With the skateboards?”

“Yeah, I remember.” She said she wanted to take the girls to the skate

park and teach them how to shred. The girls had been eleven with approximately no interest in shredding. Camille left two hours later, despite promising the girls she’d make a new ravioli recipe for dinner. She left to get ricotta, and we didn’t see her again for close to a year.

Another time, she stayed in town for two weeks, only to disappear the night of the girls’ dance recital with a hastily written note left on the kitchen counter.

Opportunity came up, it said. I’ll catch the next one.

She didn’t make the next one. Or the one after that. Or . . . any of the recitals before the girls decided they didn’t want to dance anymore.

“It’s hard for Addie,” Penelope continues, “when Mom pretends that she’s interested in knowing us, only to vanish for another eleven-month stretch.” She sits up on the bed and tucks her long legs under her. “There’s this luncheon coming up at school. I think Addie is more sensitive than usual.”

We have a calendar taped to the middle of the fridge downstairs. I try to remember what I’ve penciled in recently. “What luncheon?”

“There’s a brunch thing coming up for the sophomores. Our school is great about making it inclusive, but most of the other girls are bringing their moms. Addie has been having a tough time.”

“She hasn’t said anything.”

“Duh.” Penelope gives me a bemused look. “You haven’t exactly made it a secret you’re not Mom’s biggest fan. Adeline doesn’t want to disappoint

you by wanting her there.”

Guilt loops around my heart. “Shit.”

“I mean, totally warranted given the history of behavior. But I think between the three of us, Addie is the hopeful one. She wants things to be different.”

I make a mental note to check in with her over cereal tomorrow morning.

To be better at this too. “What about you? Are you having a hard time?”

“No.” She gives me a small, sad smile. “Like I said, Addie is the hopeful one.”

They should both be the hopeful ones, but Camille has a bad habit of taking good things and twisting them until they’re broken. I study Penelope, looking for the lie. She keeps her face impassive, letting me look.

“All right.” Satisfied she’s not suppressing any major emotions, I zip my suitcase shut. “You should have said something.”

“I’m saying something now, aren’t I?”

I pull my luggage off the bed and set it to the side. “Maybe I should stay home,” I say. “This doesn’t feel like the right time to leave you guys.”

“Noooo,” Penelope whines, throwing her body dramatically across my bed. “Jackson. I love you, but please go on this trip. We have big plans for movie marathons and unhealthy dinners and braiding Aiden’s hair. We’re going to make popcorn and play Stardew Valley and talk about boys. It’s going to be great. We won’t think about Mom at all.”

That feels like a convenient excuse with suspicious timing, but I allow it.

“Do you plan on going to school at any point?”

She waves her hand over her head. “If the storm really is as big as you say it is, then we won’t have school. The city of Baltimore has, like, two snowplows.” She lifts herself off the bed, grabs my suitcase, and tosses it into the hall. It skids across the floor before it tips over down the staircase, descending one dull thud at a time.

“Go on the trip, Jackie,” Penelope says. “Be nice to Delilah Stewart. Get your weather kicks in. Talk to someone who understands what you’re

saying.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “Oh my god, yes. Consider it a favor to us at this point.” She grabs onto my arm with both hands and tries to shake me back and forth.

“Fly the nest, big brother. Spread those wings and soar.”

I frown. “What have you been watching on TV?”

“I’ve been listening to inspirational podcasts. Very helpful.” She gives me one last shake, then skips toward my door. “Oh, and if you could become best friends with Delilah, that would be great. Adeline and I want to invite her to dinner.”

Friendship is the furthest thing from my mind when I pull up into the station’s parking lot the next afternoon, Delilah’s car parked in its usual spot.

Meaning it’s parked halfway in my usual spot, the pale pink Volkswagen Beetle so far over the line I can barely wedge my car door open.

A half-torn sandwich wrapper catches my attention as I attempt to

untangle my messenger bag from the front bumper of my car. I squint at it, then realize it’s a note. Taped to the passenger-side window of her car.

Try parking somewhere else next time, it says.

She even drew a smiley face at the bottom.

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself.” Aiden appears at my bumper and claps a heavy hand over my shoulder, dragging me forward from between the two cars. “You could park in a different spot.”

“I’m aware.” I crumple the sandwich wrapper in my hand. There’s something vaguely sticky on it. “But this one is mine.”

It’s the principle of the matter. Or something.

“Were you hoping to get stuck between the cars so you didn’t have to come inside?”

I keep my face carefully blank. “Maybe.”

The embarrassment of being pinned to my Honda Accord by Herbie: Fully Loaded might pale in comparison to whatever is about to happen in that booth.

Today we’re introducing the partnership between 101.6 LITE FM and YBAL News on Heartstrings. I had my hesitations about Delilah and me appearing on the romance hotline for the announcement, but Maggie insisted. It’s our most popular show, Jackson. We’re more likely to get a higher reach, Jackson. Don’t be absurd, Jackson. It’s not open for debate, Jackson.

I stare at the entrance of the station like I’m approaching the guillotine.

“It’s just a little case of stage fright,” Aiden assures me. “Once you get started, you’ll settle right in. You’re going to be fine.”

“Better than fine,” another voice adds. Aiden’s better half pops up behind him, the three of us forming the most unenthusiastic conga line this parking lot has ever seen. Lucie grins at me. “You’re going to be amazing, Jackson.

This is exactly what you need.”

I readjust my bag. “Public humiliation?”

She laughs and I watch as the sound makes its impact against Aiden. He leans toward her, his eyes going soft. Tiny bluebirds start to circle around his head. Hearts float out of his temples.

I try to turn around and head back to my car, but Aiden loops one arm around my midsection and starts forcibly dragging me toward the station.

“Time to rip off the Band-Aid, bud.”

“Are we ripping Band-Aids?” Delilah appears at the edge of the

sidewalk, slightly out of breath, her monstrosity of a jacket wrapped over her shoulders. She looks even smaller than usual bundled up in the thick material, twin patches of pink on her cheeks. Her eyes land on me and her smile twists into something mischievous. “I call first dibs, if we're ripping stuff.”

Maybe a coffee spill does invalidate a Post-it note contract.

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.”

“It sounds like you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying.” It sort of feels like I might be dying.

Her eyes brighten. “Have you killed a man?”

My mouth is so dry, I’m unable to summon the appropriate words.

“Oh god,” she says, her smile slipping off her face. She leans closer.

“Have you killed a man?”

“No, nothing like that.” I glance at the door to the station, the cracked pavement beneath our feet, the sky. I wish for one of these things to

swallow me whole. “I have a problem.”

“Okay.”

“I have a problem, specifically, with speaking.”

Delilah’s nose scrunches in her confusion. “You’re speaking right now.”

“No, I mean, on the radio.”

She stares at me. “I’m not really following what’s happening right now.

You’re a radio weatherman, Jackson. Speaking on the radio is your job.”

“I know.” I pull in a deep breath through my nose, then release it in a cloud of white. Like an emotionally destitute dragon. “I have trouble with stuff that’s not the weather.”

“Ah. Are you talking about that cute thing you do where you ramble?”

I frown. “It’s not cute.”

“You did it the last time you had to cover Heartstrings. You went on about snow lightning for, like, twenty minutes.”

I did and then I emerged from the booth on wobbly legs, sweating like I just ran back-to-back Ultraman marathons.

“You’re very passionate about weather phenomena, Jackson. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She tries to move past me toward the door, but I hook her arm again and reel her back. She tilts her head to look at me. “You’re serious about this.”

“I am. I think we should consider the possibility that Keith’s big setup was asking you to do this with me.”

Maybe Keith partnered Delilah with me because he knows I’m the disaster. Maybe he’s counting on me to mess up the broadcast and drag Delilah down with me.

Delilah pauses, turning the idea over. I flex my fingers and roll my wrists, trying to get the prickly, uncomfortable sensation vibrating just beneath my skin to disappear.

“No, I don’t think so,” she finally says. “Keith isn’t that observant. Or clever. To be honest, I doubt he’s ever noticed your weather rambles. Or

listened to your station.”

“Weather rambles?”

Her head tips to the side. Some chocolate-colored waves slip over her shoulder. “What would you like to call it?”

“What’s it called when someone drives their car directly into a ravine?”

Delilah laughs and some of my cotton-ball-feeling clears. “Thelma and Louise? Are you going to Louise us into a canyon, Jackson?”

“It was Thelma’s idea to drive off that cliff.”

Delilah snorts. “Remind me not to let you drive during our road trip.”

She curls her fingers around my wrist and tugs. “Come on. Inside we go.”

I resist. “I’m not sure I want to.”

Like I summoned her with my reluctance, Maggie appears, banging through the door of the station. She sticks her head out and bellows across the parking lot, “Jackson! Delilah! You’re on in twenty minutes!”

Delilah waves in acknowledgment and yanks on my wrist again. I continue to pretend my feet are planted in the cement.

“It’s okay,” she says. She turns back to look at me, hair whipping across her face, her brown eyes lit up gold. I wonder what it’s like to feel that easy.

That comfortable.

“You have nothing to worry about,” she says. Her hand is still around my wrist. “I’ll be with you the entire time.”

JACKSON CLARK: Evening, everybody. I’m—um. Filling in for a second while Aiden—while Aiden does something. He’s getting water? I think? Either way, he asked me to sit in, so. Here I am.

[awkward laughter]

JACKSON CLARK: What should we talk about?

[pause]

JACKSON CLARK: Has anyone ever told you about the difference between snow and sleet? Snow forms directly from water vapor as ice crystals, but sleet starts as snow, then partially melts in a warmer layer of air before refreezing into small ice pellets as it falls through a colder layer. It’s sort of like—sort of like the meatloaf leftovers of the meteorological world, if you can believe that.

[pause]

JACKSON CLARK: I’m not sure when Aiden will be back? But I could tell you about snow lightning, too, if you wanted? It’s—