The Name on the Broadcast novel · Chapter 24 of 24

Chapter 24: The Last Notice

"Frances," I said. "She isn't missing anymore."

"I know that."

"So what would I even say?"

"Whatever's true." She put her glasses back on. "I paid for sixty seconds. Use them."

The station's October schedule went up on the corkboard by the studio door in late September.

Ben wrote it in by hand, the way he always had.

Friday, 7:58 a.m. Paid notice. Wooler family.

Under it, in his block capitals, he'd added: READ BY L. HASKETT.

I looked at that line every night for three weeks on my way in to the overnight shift.

I was still on overnights.

I'd started the doctoral program in the fall, and the station paid better than the dish sink.

And I liked the board at three in the morning, when the only people listening were truckers and nurses and kids who couldn't sleep.

Ben had his degree now. He'd taken a job at the public station across town, producing the morning news.

He still came by the student station most nights at two with coffee.

He said it was to check on the equipment.

The equipment was fine.

On the Friday, I got there at seven.

Ben was already in the studio, in his old station hoodie, adjusting the guest mic for the fourth time.

He'd taken the morning off.

"You didn't have to come," I said.

"I've read this notice five Octobers in a row," he said. "I'd like to be there when somebody reads it right."

At seven fifty-five, the student DJ on the morning shift faded down a song and looked at me through the glass.

She was a sophomore. She'd been in the chapel in November.

She gave me a thumbs-up with both hands.

Ben brought my mic up.

The red ON AIR light came on over the door.

I had a sheet of paper in front of me.

I'd written it nine times. I didn't look at it.

"This next one is a paid notice from a family," I said. "Please listen."

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