Lucy McConnell's Snow Valley Box Set

by Lucy McConnell

  They all groaned.

  Clay tossed his remaining hoops and came up empty-handed. Peake missed both his shots and they watched Paisley as if she was their last hope for a stuffed snowman.

  “Just throw a little harder this time,” said Clay.

  Paisley took aim and threw the ring with more oomph. Once again, it hit the front icicle and bounced to the ground.

  Clay shrugged. “Try throwing it like a Frisbee.”

  “Okay.” Paisley decided to give her all. She winged the hoop. As soon as she let go, she knew she’d thrown too hard. Her hands flew to her mouth as the hoop hit the booth operator in the back of the head – hard. He whipped around and pinned Clay in place with a glare.

  “Sorry.” Paisley held up both hands. “So sorry. I didn’t realize how hard I threw.”

  “Uh-huh.” The guy rubbed his head. He wasn’t particularly big, but his eyes held a mean streak Paisley didn’t want to test.

  “We should go,” she said.

  “Yep.” Clay took Peake’s hand and stepped into foot traffic.

  Paisley hooked her hand in Peake’s hoodie so she wouldn’t get separated. She glanced behind her twice to make sure Mr. Mean-hoops wasn’t following.

  They passed two booths and ducked to the side of the third. “So, that was pretty much how I remembered carnival games,” said Clay.

  Paisley laughed. “You mean you always hit the guy in the head with the hoops? What kind of kid were you?”

  Peake swung his head around to have a good view for Clay’s answer. Clay wagged his finger at Paisley. “No.” He looked down at Peake. “We don’t throw things at people like Aunt Paisley. Right?”

  Peake nodded once.

  Paisley looked at Peake. “It was an accident.”

  “Sure. Sure. We believe you. Don’t we Peake?” Clay asked, his sarcasm going right over Peake’s head. Peake’s eyes went back and forth between them like he was watching Wimbledon. He looked around, unsure what to say and then pointed at another booth.

  “I’m not sure we should let Aunt Paisley shoot penguins.” Clay said to Peake, winking at Paisley.

  “She could go in time out,” suggested Peake.

  “What?” Paisley shook her head at her nephew.

  “What if she promises to be good?” asked Clay.

  Paisley harrumphed.

  Peake didn’t take time to contemplate the answer. His five-year-old attention span wanted to play the game more than he wanted to tease Paisley.

  “Yeah!” He pulled on Clay’s hand and Paisley let go of his hood as they broke into a run. After just a moment, she ran to catch up. With the clear winter sky overhead, the smell of cinnamon and popcorn in the air, the carnival and Christmas lights glimmering, Paisley allowed herself to be caught up in Peake’s enthusiasm and felt her inhibitions fly off her shoulders. She played all the games with as much enthusiasm as Peake and Clay and managed to not hurt anyone.

  After the game booths came the food vendors.

  “Oh man, look at that,” Clay pointed to one vender who offered chocolate-dipped crickets. “I don’t think I could eat crickets, could you?”

  Paisley swallowed. Though she held a deep and abiding love for chocolate, she’d never thought bugs could or would be involved. She shivered at the idea and tried to phrase her answer so she could still win her bet. “I’ve never tried them before.”

  “You mean you’d try them?” he asked, his face a mixture of awe and curiosity.

  Paisley cringed. “Yes.”

  “This I have to see.”

  Paisley’s throat tightened as Clay walked up to the guy in the bright yellow coat to place an order. There wasn’t a line. She laughed nervously. Why in the world would there be? Who eats bugs—chocolate or not?

  Peake’s eyes were as big as the Ferris Wheel as Clay passed the paper hot-dog liner, brimming with chocolate covered crickets, under his nose.

  “What do you think, Peake? You want to give one a try?”

  “No.” Peake barely got the word out before he sealed his lips.

  “They’re all yours,” Clay said, the awe evident on his face.

  Paisley took the basket and tried not to think about bugs.

  “You know, in some countries, crickets are considered a delicacy,” she said, taking in shallow breaths.

  “Really?” Clay folded his arms and leaned back.

  Stupid bet.

  “Yeah. And covering them in chocolate should hide the taste – if there is one.” She looked down at the basket and then back up again. “Do crickets have a taste?”

  Clay exchanged a look with Peake. “I think it’s more of a texture thing,” replied Clay.

  Paisley nodded. “Sure, like nuts in brownies or ice cream. This is no big deal.”

  It’s just like nuts in brownies.

  She picked one up and held the dark blob in her palm. Thank goodness they weren’t shaped like crickets. “They’re surprisingly light.”

  Clay’s eyes crinkled and Paisley had to give him credit for holding back a laugh.

  “Okay, here goes.” She popped one in her mouth and spit it right back out. She spit three times before Clay was able to hand her a napkin. She wiped the whole thing across her tongue while he laughed.

  Peake looked worried. “You didn’t even bite him,” he said, looking down at the chocolate ball in the snow. “Now, we’ll never know if a cricket has a flavor.”

  Paisley spit into the napkin, cringing at the way Peake called the cricket “him.” “I tried, buddy. You can tell your mom I tried.”

  Clay pointed to the nearest garbage for Peake to throw the basket away. “You okay?” he asked Paisley.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She shuddered.

  He took her hand as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

  “Let’s get some cider,” he motioned to another booth. “You don’t want to have bug breath.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and Paisley stopped worrying about who was watching and started worrying over the funny feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with nearly consuming a chocolate-covered cricket.

  “Sounds great.”

  With warm cider cups clutched in their hands, Clay pulled her and Peake to the right. “Fried pickles, now that I can recommend.”

  The pickles were good – and warm, which was nice because the temperature was constantly going down. They hung around a portable heater as they dipped their pickles in ranch dressing and savored the tangy flavor. Paisley watched Clay out of the corner of her eye. She’d been wondering for weeks what made him change and tonight was all about embracing opportunities so she plowed ahead.

  “What made you change?”

  “Excuse me?” Clay finished wiping ranch dressing off Peake’s coat.

  Despite the chill, Paisley’s cheeks burned. “I mean – your hair and clothes. Why don’t you wear all the black stuff anymore?”

  “Oh.” Clay threw the napkin in the trashcan as though he was shooting a basketball. His face was thoughtful as he contemplated his answer.

  “Two points,” said Peake around a mouthful.

  Clay smiled down at him and Peake turned his attention back to his snack.

  “I played with a blues band for a few months. Nothing big, just a few gigs here and there, and the manager told me I needed to change up my look. I told him off for judging me, for trying to control me, and for acting like he was in charge of my life. He stood there and let me rant and when I was done, he put his arm around my shoulder and told me I was a child of God and He loved me.” Clay shook his head. “His words pierced me right to the heart. The feeling reminded me of sitting in the pew between my mom and dad and listening to Pastor John. All I wanted was to come home.” He crumpled up his pickle wrapper.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I tried. I called my dad and asked him to send me money, but he was wiser than I gave him credit for at the time. He refused. He told me that every man needs to find his own way home. I thought about life a lot, God,
my mom, and I figured out what I wanted. Once I had the idea for the studio, the rest just clicked into place. I was free to be me and I knew with God, I was enough.”

  Paisley pressed her gloved hand to her chest. Clay’s sincerity was overpowering.

  “What’s that?” Peake asked, pointing at a man carrying a churro.

  Clay lifted one eyebrow. “We can’t go to a carnival and not have churros,” he said. Though the moment had passed, Paisley’s admiration for Clay grew. Not only had he struggled through a terrible loss at a young age, he’d found the Lord and opened his heart to grace.

  Pretty soon they all munched their way through the cinnamon and sugar treat. The smell reminded Paisley of Clay wrapping his arm around her at the cookie party and she blushed when Clay smiled at her as though they shared a secret.

  Usually careful about her diet, the evening’s carnival themed buffet had a strange effect on Paisley’s system, making her feel sluggish.

  By the time they’d worked over the concession booths and made it to the rides, Paisley’s stomach was so full all she wanted to do was curl up on a snow-sculpted bench and hibernate until spring. That wasn’t going to happen with Peake around. She soldiered on with a smile on her face because she was having more fun with Clay than she’d had since, well, since she could remember.

  After a few rides, Paisley got the impression Clay’s determination to experience the carnival was more purposeful than just showing Peake a good time.

  “When was the last time you came to the carnival,” she asked.

  Clay side-stepped a clown in a Santa hat, and said, “The year my mom got sick. So, I guess I was twelve.”

  “Oh.” Paisley pulled back on Peake’s hood to keep him from getting run over by a group of overexcited teenagers playing keep away with a stuffed reindeer.

  Clay stopped to count out enough tickets for them to ride the Merry-Go-Round. He rubbed his fingers along the ticket’s rough edge. “Mom and I did this every year. Her last Christmas, she was too worn out to bring me, but Dad said he’d fill in. It wasn’t the same and I … I realized she wasn’t going to get better.”

  Paisley put her hand on Clay’s arm and stepped closer. “I’m sorry.”

  Clay brushed her hair over her shoulder and hooked his arm around her back. His brown eyes soaked her in and Paisley happily let them, for once not trying to analyze the situation or plan the next step.

  “Thanks for coming. I wanted to do this, for Mom.” He paused. “I thought coming here would be hard, but it hasn’t been and ...”

  He searched her face, glancing at her lips.

  Paisley waited, feeling as though she could float to the top of the Ferris Wheel.

  “... it’s because you ate a bug.”

  “Clay!” Paisley pushed him away as he laughed, letting her go. “Are you ever serious?”

  “I try not to be. Life’s too short, Pais.” He waved a bouquet of tickets before her. “Do you want to play?”

  Paisley didn’t hesitate. If she could eat a bug – okay, attempt to eat a bug – she could handle anything Clay, Peake, or the carnival, threw her way.

  Clay still had plenty of tickets and Paisley now saw them as tickets to freedom. Freedom from having to plan three steps ahead. Freedom from having to work over a decision until she saw all possible outcomes. Freedom from having to be responsible for everyone else’s happiness. She didn’t even count out the tickets to make sure there would be enough. This whole experiment gave her the chance to play like a kid and she loved it.

  Despite her newfound freedom, her over-full stomach gave her pause at the entrance to the Merry-Go-Round. The ride turned out to be easy on her equilibrium, even though they went in circles. The Ferris Wheel was cold, but manageable. Peake still wasn’t tall enough for the Scrambler so they had to pass. She was so going to win this bet.

  Clay held her hand between rides. Paisley knew the impression they gave – that she and Clay were a couple and Peake was their little boy. It wasn’t a bad picture. The idea sent a thrill up her arms as if the ghost of Christmas Future nudged her.

  “Whirly!” Peake pointed to the spinning vortex of lights.

  “Are you ready for this?” asked Clay.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” said Paisley.

  Paisley made a show of backing Peake up against the elf holding a measuring stick. He came in a full two inches over the elf’s hat. He and Clay fist bumped. With his lips pressed together, Peake unzipped his pocket and pulled out the tickets reserved for his special ride. Before she knew it, the three of them settled into a cart and the safety bar pressed through her heavy coat and into her hips.

  The Beach Boy’s Little Saint Nick piped through the speakers, along with a bunch of static, and they started to spin. Peake squealed as they picked up speed. Around and around they went in tiny circles and the whole ride went up and down and in a circle. It was tilty. It was whirly. It was all that she’d promised Peake all year long—and it gave her a headache.

  When the ride came to an end, Clay pointed to the line. “I think we could get on again. Do you want to?”

  Paisley checked in with her stomach. It held steady and her head would settle down as soon as the ground stopped moving. One more ride wouldn’t hurt.

  Clay was right about the line and they were spinning and twirling again in no time. Half-way through the ride, Paisley had a hard time focusing on things as they spun past. She soon felt the ride go one way and her stomach go the other. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on not thinking about the food she had eaten and breathing in through her nose, her mouth locked.

  “Again. Again.” Peake, holding Paisley with one hand and Clay with the other, ran off the Tilt-o-Whirl and got back in the appallingly short line.

  Paisley pressed her cold glove against her flushed cheek. She couldn’t remember ever doing something fun until she felt sick—ever. She felt like she was going to lose her snacks, lunch, and anything else she’d eaten all the way back to yesterday’s breakfast. She groaned. Winning a bet took sacrifice and she was just going to have to suck it up. Besides, she was on a natural high from giving up all her worries and she didn’t want to get off, even if the ground lifted and dropped like a wave.

  Clay eyed her with concern. “I think we should give Aunt Paisley a break.” He took her elbow and tugged her over to a bench. She sank down and put her head between her knees.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Peake as Paisley rolled to the side and lay on the bench, humiliated to be brought down by a carnival ride.

  Lying on a bench in the middle of the carnival is better than throwing up in front of Clay. Thanks to the bug thing, he had enough ammunition to tease her for eternity.

  He squatted down in front of Peake and they were all on the same level. “I think Aunt Paisley feels sick.”

  Peake’s eyes got wide. “Are you going to frow up?”

  “I might,” Paisley admitted. She scraped up a handful of snow and pressed it to her neck, sucking in at the sudden cold.

  “You’re gonna have a baby!” Peake clapped his hands.

  “What?!” Paisley jerked up and immediately regretted the movement. She dropped her head between her knees and focused on sucking air while she listened to Peake explain things to Clay.

  “When grownup girls need to frow up, it means they’re gonna have a baby.”

  Paisley couldn’t lift her head to contradict the kid. She hoped Clay had more sense than to believe the four-year-old who didn’t get the point of bumper cars.

  Peake kept talking, “My mom frew up lots when Sister was in her tummy ´cuz there wasn’t enough room for a baby and food in there. Aunt Paswey ate lots of food tonight and so the baby feels squiched.”

  Clay snorted and Paisley risked a look.

  Kneeling before Peake, the guy gallantly held back his laughter. He kept turning his head away to hide his smile from a kid who was as earnest as the day he’d sat on Santa’s lap to make his Christmas request. Paisley slowly sat up straight
and smiled, although she could tell it was a weak smile. Clay raised both his eyebrows and Paisley forced herself to speak up.

  “Peake, honey. I’m not going to have a baby.”

  “But you said you were going to frow up.”

  “I think the ride made me sick.”

  “But you never frow up – just like Mommy.”

  “I know, sweetie, but I’m sure I’m not going to have a baby.” She kept her eyes on the kid, mortified to have this conversation in front of Clay.

  “Yes, you are.” Peake stomped one Spiderman boot. Paisley didn’t have the energy right at that moment to haul him off the tantrum sleigh and she cringed at the defiant look in his eye.

  Clay met her pleading gaze. He nudged Peak’s shoulder. “See the sign up there? The one that says you can’t ride the ride if you are too short?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It also says you can’t ride the ride if you’re going to have a baby. If Paisley was going to have a baby, they wouldn’t have let her on.”

  Peake considered the new piece of information and Paisley considered the fact that some random sign at the carnival held more sway with her nephew than she did.

  Peake didn’t outright agree with Clay, and Paisley got the uneasy feeling he was silently agreeing to disagree.

  “Does this mean we have to go home?” He looked ready to bolt if they tried to haul him out of the carnival before they turned off the lights.

  If Paisley answered, she’d have to say yes so she held her tongue.

  Clay took Peake’s hand. “Why don’t we go on a ride and Paisley can rest. We’ll see how she feels when we get back.” He caught and held Paisley’s gaze. “If she’s still sick, we’ll take her home,” his voice went low, “and tuck her in bed.”

  Dang.

  Paisley’s cheeks had just cooled down and then Clay had to go and say that.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  Clay patted her knee and got to his feet. He leaned over and whispered, “For the record, you’d make beautiful babies.”

  The boys scampered off together while Paisley worked to pick her jaw up off the ground. She didn’t know how he had the gumption to tease her about having babies. His comment was inappropriate and adorable at the same time.