Page 37 of And Now, Back to You

“Yes,” Delilah says. “That’s the rumor. A winter storm is set to hit sometime next week. A little late in the season, which gives it the potential to smash some snowfall records.”

Both of them shift their attention to me. I make a wheezing sound directly into the microphone.

Delilah’s forehead creases in concern. “We’ve been talking about it on the air for the past couple of days as a possibility, but it seems like all the major factors have locked into place now. While the weather system will stretch the length of the coast, Maryland is smack-dab in the worst of it.”

Beneath the desk, Delilah’s hand grabs mine. She squeezes tight, and some of the fog clears.

“Sounds serious,” Aiden says, fiddling with the wrapper of a chocolate mint. “Is there anything people should do to prepare?”

“I don’t want to cause panic, but you should start stocking up on nonperishable goods. Not, like, end-of-days stocking up, but maybe an extra can of soup or two. Check on your neighbors, especially the elderly. Make sure they have a plan to keep warm and safe if the power goes out. And make sure your home is equipped with flashlights, batteries, and portable heaters.” She grins. “You should also definitely break out the sleds. Fed Hill is going to be amazing with the snow.”

She’s so good at this. Comfortable. Confident. She tucks her legs up beneath her in the half-crooked rolling chair someone found wedged in a closet at the end of the hall and scoots herself closer to the desk. Like she wants to climb directly into the microphone. Like she can’t hold on to her own enthusiasm.

Whatever happened in the hallway, she’s back to herself now, her brightness all the way up.

Aiden laughs. “Oh yeah? Got big sledding plans?”

He picks up a pen and lobs it at my head. I yank my attention away from Delilah.

Participate, he mouths.

“I don’t have a sled,” I say dumbly. My voice sounds like I smoked six packs of cigarettes before stepping into this room. Like I’ve pressed my mouth directly to an exhaust pipe.

Delilah bumps against my shoulder. “You can borrow mine.”

My answer is immediate. “No, thank you.”

She slowly swivels in her chair, facing me fully. “What? Is my sled not good enough for you?”

“More than twenty thousand people visit the emergency department each year with sledding-related incidents.” I press my finger to the side of my glasses, adjusting them. “And there’s a road at the bottom of Federal Hill.”

“Obviously, I’d sled the other way. Away from the road. I’m not advocating for anyone to sled directly into the road, Jackson.”

“I know that.”

“Where did you find that statistic? Do you keep them in a little notebook?” She glances at the paper in front of me. “Is that why you have those notes?”

“No. These are weather notes.” Heat climbs the back of my neck. “What about you? You just have a sled at your house? Ready for Federal Hill?”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

She drives a pale pink Volkswagen Beetle and her jacket makes her look like a sparkly purple doughnut, so I guess owning a sled is not outside the realm of possibility for Delilah Stewart. “Because we live in Maryland where the average annual snowfall is twenty-one inches,” I say. “Last year it didn’t even snow at all.”

“Yes, and I was devastated. My doughnut sled sat sadly in the corner of my dining room from November to March.”

“Doughnut sled?”

“Yes. My sled is in the shape of a doughnut. It has strawberry sprinkles.”

And she told me she doesn’t like sprinkles.

“So it’s an inner tube.”

“An inner tube snow sled, yes.”

“Inner tubes are not sleds, Delilah.”

A devastating smile starts somewhere around her eyes and slips down to play at her mouth. “You’re getting tied up in semantics, Jackson.”