Me:I'm sorry for pushing you away. For essentially ending things because I was so hurt. I was too proud to tell you that…
I pause there because, for all Jude knows, my dad only pled guilty to get the reduced sentence. I'm about to reveal something I haven't told anyone. Not even Nellie, bless her; she's a good enough friend not to ask.
Me:You were right. My dad was guilty. He told me the moment I walked into the courthouse.
If it's any consolation, our argument in the car prepared me. It’s possible I knew all along and was simply in denial. In some ways, I think I still am.
I stare at the words, knowing they’re too personal to send to him now. It’s what I should have sent a day or two after it all went down.
I highlight the whole thing, cut it, and tell myself to put the phone away before I actually send it. Call me a split personality if you will, but that presents a challenge I’m just crazy enough to take.
I paste the entire text back in the box and hit send.
My heart wallops wildly because I didn’t think I’d really send it. But,Big MecalledLittle Me’sbluff, didn’t she?
I shake my head, half wondering if it’s too late to unsend the message, then force myself to climb out of bed. As soon as I get to the studio, I have to talk to Mr. Bruce.
Time to face the music of another mistake I made.
CHAPTER 8
Iglance about the studio, looking for the best place to have a last-minute Zoom call with producer Marsha Langston forty minutes before I go live for Monday’s segment.
"Right here on the couch is perfect," Nellie says, plopping onto the navy-blue sofa where Good Morning Virginia Beach shoots their daily 5 a.m. segment.
With the laptop cracked open in my hands, I hurry to sit down beside her. "I was hoping for somewhere more private, but I guess this will be fine.”
"You have earbuds, don't you?" Nellie asks.
I do, and though they’re almost out of juice, I pop them in, click on the link, and set the laptop on the coffee table.
Nellie shoots to her feet. “Don’t stress. You already cleared the air with Mr. Bruce, and that went perfectly. You’re one for one.”
She’s right. Mr. Bruce took the news very well. In fact, he offered to shoot the segment with me while his ‘sweet little Jinxy represented the fur family’—minus the fur, of course.
"Thank you," I say. "You're the best." I love the way Nellie's mind works, and her pep talks help every time.
A notification flashes on the screen that Marsha has started the meeting.
“Good luck,” Nellie says, then rushes off to give me privacy because she knows I’ll be more nervous if she listens.
I click the button and suck in a deep breath as Marsha’s familiar image fills the screen. A sleek dark bob, slightly narrow chin, and piercing eyes that say she means business. Emphasizing that point is the life-sized, teeth-baring shark framed behind her.
"Good morning, Ginger. Thanks for agreeing to meet. In the business, we have the rare chance to jump on bandwagons, if you will. When something goes viral—which you know can happen in a matter of hours—shows like yours can take advantage and strike while the iron is hot.”
I nod, mind racing to guess which trend she has in mind.
“I’ve got two words for you." She holds up her hands like she's framing the words before her. "Pistachio cream."
I know instantly what she’s referring to. "Yes, they’re putting that in the viral chocolate bars.”
"Exactly. My challenge to you is two-fold. First, incorporate pistachio cream into your cookie creation. Second, make itirresistiblysimple. So simple that dozens will make it by the end of the day and tag you when they post about it.”
I nod, repeating the tasks in my mind. “Pistachio cream, and easy as a dream. Got it.”
Marsha chuckles. “I doloveyour wit.” Her mouth keeps moving but suddenly I'm not hearing her through the earbuds. I do, however, hear her muffled voice beyond the small devices.
I hold up a finger to indicate I'm having trouble. I remove the earbuds and pop them back into my case. “That’s better,” I say, nodding for her to proceed.
