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I squeezed his hand. “You didn’t.”
He sighed. “I should probably call my dad.”
My heart sank for him. “Okay. Want me to sit with you while you speak to him?”
He did smile then, somewhat sad but laced with gratitude. “No, it’s fine.”
“I’ll be here, just showing off my handyman skills.” I gently lifted his chin and kissed him. “I’m not leaving.”
He nodded, a little happier now. “Thank you.”
I left him to it. Albeit I couldn’t go far; the office was tiny and there really wasn’t anywheretogo. And the windows that needed boarding up were small. One in the toilet room and one long narrow one under the eaves. The office was basically a dark cave. But I found the plyboard Doreen had mentioned and a drill that was so old it needed to be plugged into a power outlet.
There was a steel ladder fixed to the back of the building, which was incredibly helpful, given all the aerials and satellites on the small roof area, though it was so hot in the Darwin sun, it almost seared straight through my hand when I grabbed it.
I went back in, grabbed Jeremiah’s keys and moved the Jeep over, and stood on the hood instead.
He had his phone pressed to his ear when I went in, though he wasn’t talking. I could hear the mumble of his father’s voice, and Jeremiah was frowning.
I hated that he had to live with this.
It wasn’t his fault. He’d done nothin’ wrong. In fact, he’d done therightthing by issuing a statement when asked of the dangers of the coming storm when that reporter had asked.
I guess he’d learned a lesson though, as the new boss of the Darwin office. To never give those arseholes anything. Issue all statements via bulletins and offer no interviews, ever. And if any of ’em ever needed anything—anything at all—it’d be a flat fucking no.
It took me a while to get the boards in place and fixed to the window frames. Doreen wasn’t kidding when she said she thought the boards were the ones used last time. I wasn’t sure when the last time was, but they were old and this would be their last use.
Everything at this office was outdated, like they’d been forgotten when every other Bureau of Meteorology office probably had state of the art gear.
I had to wonder how that made Jeremiah feel.
Had they shoved him in this post so he’d be forgotten too?
Probably.
I hated them all.
I went back in, determined to try and brighten his day. Before I could ask him how the phone call with his father went, he nodded to my phone where I’d left it on the console.
“Your phone buzzed a lot,” he said.
I gave his shoulder a squeeze. “How was your dad?” I sat down and picked up my phone.
His only reply was a shrug.
I had three missed calls from Ellis and a text message.
Ah bro, you’re in the shit now. Call back.
Then a few minutes after that, I had two missed calls from my father and one text. And henevertexted.
You need to call me. Now.
Shit.
“Well, this isn’t good,” I mumbled, showing Jeremiah the text, and hit Call. “Dad,” I said. “It’s me.”
He sighed. Not a relieved sigh, but a disappointed one. “I take it you’ve seen the news?”
