Stay Tuned

Chapter 15

At six the next morning, I unfolded the Telegraph.
 
In full color, Alyssa and Tim’s huge, smiling head shots stared back at me, along with a massive headline:
 
Anchor Brawl Top Story at WSGA-TV.
  
Knots forming in my stomach, I scanned the article. The seven paragraphs contained a play-by-play description of the knockout punch and conjecture that the fight stemmed from Alyssa and Tim’s long-standing romantic involvement. The story said that both anchors resigned. Drew was quoted at the end.
    
He called it an “unfortunate incident,” and wished Alyssa and Tim “the best of luck in future endeavors.” Drew was quoted further as saying, with the change in on-air talent, WSGA-TV would be moving in a “new direction.” No surprise there.
    
In the last part of the article, the reporter speculated on who would replace Alyssa and Tim. A few names were mentioned, including mine as a temporary stand-in. Anticipation of Chris’s surprise bubbled up in my chest.
    
“Honey,” I interrupted and held up the newspaper. “Chris, take a look at this!”
    
The WSJ wavered the slightest bit, pushed by the light breeze from the ceiling fan.
    
“Chris,” I repeated.
    
My husband finally dropped the paper. Brow furrowed, he set down his coffee cup, making a puddle of brown liquid slosh over his fingertips.
    
“Damn.” Chris frowned at the mess and started mopping it up with his napkin. “I’m sorry, what happened?”
     
“Alyssa and Tim got into a fist fight during the show.”
    
Chris did a double take, as though he hadn’t heard me correctly.
    
“They’re gone. Drew let them resign so he wouldn’t have to fire them,” I explained. “I have to fill in on the anchor desk. I’m a little worried.” I paused and gathered my courage. “I was trying to ask what you thought.”
    
The words didn’t exactly spill from my mouth in the smooth, silky way I had intended. More like boulders bumping their way down a mountainside. In a thunderstorm.
    
When he didn’t react, I spelled it out. “I’m going to be doing the six and ten o’clock news, at least for a while.”
    
Chris hesitated. “Um, okay. Good.” He gave me a little smile. “You’ll be fine.” He toyed with the edge of the newspaper. “I’ve got that meeting in Montgomery. Be back tomorrow.” He checked his watch. “I’m leaving in an hour. Can you still pick up the dry cleaning?”
     
Sweet Jesus. He didn’t just say that. He might as well have hit me with a hammer. A flash of indignation pierced my heart.
    
“Get your own dry cleaning,” I snapped at him.
    
I expected Chris to say something, anything. Yell back at me, at least. Instead, with a hard look, he turned, picked up his keys, and walked out of the room. The front door clicked shut behind him.
    
I stomped up the stairs two at a time. Tears stung the corners of my eyes. In the safety of the bedroom, I locked the door and threw myself on the bed. Face buried in the sheets and blanket, I couldn’t breathe. I raised my head and sucked in air. Suffocating myself was not an option.
    
Ugh! I rolled over on my back. Hands on my head, I stared at the tiny bumps on the ceiling. The ceiling above the bed we were supposed to share. Share? That was a joke. I wasn’t sure we shared anything except a mortgage anymore. One thing was certain. I didn’t know my own husband. He didn’t know me. He’d rather be at work. Or in Montgomery. At a meeting he didn’t bother to tell me about. Again.
     
What if he wasn’t going to work…?What if he’s not…?
 
Stop being so paranoid. It was a misunderstanding. He’s distracted. You’re stressed.
    
In a gold picture frame, Chris’s face gazed at me from the top of my dresser. His perfect white teeth gleamed at me from across the room. Without thinking, I took a pillow and aimed for his chin. The soft plush padding bounced off the wall, missing my husband’s photograph by a good two feet. I reached for another pillow, and then stopped myself. I was no better than Alyssa if this was how I was going to react.
     
Okay, I promised myself. I would be positive. I would figure out what was bothering Chris. I would focus on work and make the best of it—with grace and confidence.
    
With renewed purpose, I pushed myself off the bed and looked in the mirror. I brushed a strand of hair from my eyes and smiled at my reflection.
    
I could handle my job at the TV station and my husband. For the rest, I needed reinforcements, maybe a small army. I needed my best friend.