Page 84 of On a Deadline

She didn’t.

Her chest ached in a way that felt deeper than breath. She reached for her phone before she could talk herself out of it.

Her thumb hovered over Mom.

It rang once.

“Hey, sweet girl.” Her mother’s voice was warm, tired but familiar in a way that cracked something open in Jamie’s chest.

Jamie’s lips trembled. She hadn’t meant to cry, but the sound of that voice did her in. “Hey.”

“Jamie? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she said, even though she did. Her throat felt raw. “I just—God, I messed everything up.”

“Slow down. What happened?”

Jamie tried to breathe, but the sob hit before she could get the words out. “I hurt someone. I didn’t mean to, but I did, and now I can’t fix it.”

Her mom stayed quiet for a beat. Jamie could hear her moving, probably sitting up, the rustle of sheets in the background. “You don’t have to fix everything, honey.”

“Yes, I do.” The words came out small, choked. “That’s what I do. I fix things. I tell stories, I explain people, I make it make sense, and I can’t do that this time.”

Her mom sighed softly. “Oh, Jamie. Some things don’t get fixed. They just get carried.”

Jamie pressed her hand against her eyes, trying to steady herself. “It doesn’t feel like I can carry this.”

“I know,” her mom said gently. “You couldn’t see the road if you were holding everything at once. You set it down, even for a little while, and you keep driving.”

Jamie laughed, weak and wet. “You always make it sound so simple.”

“It’s never simple,” her mom said. “But it’s how we keep going.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the soft kind that doesn’t need filling.

“I’m so tired,” Jamie whispered.

“I know. Go inside. Take a shower. Eat something if you can. The rest will wait until tomorrow.”

Jamie nodded, even though her mother couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

Her mother hesitated. “You’ll be okay, Jamie. Maybe not tonight, but you will be.”

Jamie let out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

They said goodnight, and when the line went quiet, the ache didn’t disappear, but it softened.

She sat there for a while longer, phone still warm in her hand, the weight of her mother’s voice lingering in the air.

When she finally went inside, she didn’t open her laptop or check her email. She just sat on the edge of her bed and cried until she couldn’t anymore.

Forty Three

The world had started to sound normal again. Not good, not new, just normal.