“Who—”
“I don’t know. They keep calling. I answered the first time, and they asked for you.”
“And?”
Natalie shrugged. “I hung up.”
I squared my shoulders. I took a long pull from someone else’s water glass then answered. “Olivia Adler.”
“Finally,” came a hurried voice I recognized immediately. “Your phone is off.”
I refrained from asking what color glasses Samantha had on. “Why are you calling Natalie’s phone?”
“Obviously, to track you down.”
“I’m on vacation. You know, that thing you very much need to take?”
Beside me, Natalie mimed tiptoeing away. I tried waving her back.
“Yeah, well, listen up, sis. I have news. You can tell me to bug off and leave you to your time, and I will.” She paused, waiting for it to build. “But I think it’s something you’ll want to hear.”
The vibrations of Caleb’s rocking chair rolled through the floor, tickling the pads of my feet. “Fine,” I said, powering on my phone and leaving it beside the toast plate.
“Okay. Listen up. Last night’s special was the biggest audience draw the network has seen since the early 2000s. Biggestscheduled, that is,” she stressed. “They want you back in tomorrow afternoon to discuss plans. With a capitalP.Plans.”
Something stirred deep in my gut. I couldn’t figure out if it was dread or excitement. “Plans,” I repeated. I found the tote bag from yesterday, removed a bottle of sunscreen.
“Nothing has been clarified yet,” Samantha said. “But one of them did say the phrase ‘bigger opportunity.’ I have a feeling they’re running you in for an anchor spot.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“I never wanted an anchor spot,” I said slowly. I snared my lip between my teeth, a tiny spiral of something licking at my insides. My whole life had been overrun by Soulmail. But there were so many more stories out there. If I was co-anchor,then I could slink away from Soulmail, from the thing that now ate my personal life while being the heartbeat of my work one. With a real platform, I could pilot new storytelling. Together, Phoebe and I would make a dynamic team; there were no other female co-anchors with our age difference, which had to have potential to draw in viewership. And viewership meant eventual funding. I could fund a research team, develop that documentary. Maybe there was something about addiction and Soulmail after all—something about choosing to stay with someone dealing with addiction versus Soulmail saying you should. Or knowing your future soulmate was a child of someone you couldn’t trust.
Maybe I should look in the mirror.
“And I never wanted to own a penthouse,” Samantha said. “But look at me now.”
“My flight isn’t until Sunday afternoon,” I said finally.
On the line, Samantha tapped keys. “There’s a helicopter pad in North Chatham. I can set it all up. By the way, they wanted you today, but I told them you were away. Bought you an extra day.”
“Thank you? I guess.”
When we hung up, I stared at the bottle of sunscreen in my hands. Natalie was in the shower. I went outside, where Caleb read a book.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Caleb said. He flipped over the book, smashing it against his lap. His thighs, that was. Sunshine glinted off his stubble.
“Hey.” I tucked myself against one of the posts of the covered deck. “I just got off the phone with my boss.”
Caleb stopped rocking, and the book flew onto the sandy deck floor. “I thought you weren’t working this weekend.”
“I’m not.” I pointed at the book. “Aren’t you going to mark your page?”
“I did.” He tapped his head. “What’s this about your boss?”
“She called Natalie.” The paint on the porch rail was peeling. “They want me to come in to discuss something. I guess last night’s program was big.”
