With crutches under each arm, I made a few practice steps. Been there, done that, learned the gimp act. But they made me leave the hospital in a wheelchair. Tucker was disappointed when he wasn’t allowed to be the one to push me. Thank God. I didn’t want to fuck up my leg worse than it already was.
I wouldn’t admit it, but I was in quite a lot of pain and my head was still throbbing, as well. The nurse had given me some pain meds and believed me when I pretended to swallow them. She’d obviously never worked in a prison or a psych ward, because otherwise she’d have been watching more carefully. Kes narrowed his eyes when he saw me palm the drugs, but he didn’t say anything. He and Tucker were the only people who knew why I wouldn’t take them.
I just wanted to lie down and . . .
It occurred to me that I didn’t have a room anymore. I couldn’t ask Sara to move out, especially not in her condition, but Tucker had already thought about what I needed.
“You can have my room in the RV, man,” he said. “Ollo said I can bunk in with him, or I’ll sleep in the rig, whatever. No problem.”
Ollo had an RV adapted for his height. I wouldn’t have minded bunking in with him, but having everything low down could get awkward when I couldn’t bend my left leg. It wouldn’t be great for Tucker either.
“Thanks, man,” I said, too sore and tired to try arguing with him as I let my eyes drift shut. “I appreciate that.”
His words seemed to shake Sara out of her stupor.
“Oh no! You have to have your room back! I’m so sorry! I’ll move out. I’ll . . .”
“No, you won’t,” I said tersely. “Tucker’s got it figured out. Just leave it.”
Everyone in the truck fell silent so suddenly that I opened my eyes.
Tucker was shaking his head and Aimee was throwing me a filthy look.
“What?”
Nobody spoke.
“What?! I’m not making a pregnant girl give up her room.”
“I think it was the way you sweet-talked her, bro,” Tucker said, still shaking his head.
When I looked at Sara she was crying. Again. Great. I closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat. I couldn’t deal with her shit as well as my own.
I also suspected that I’d acted like an asshole to her. Hell. She seemed to bring it out of me.
It was weird being back in the RV after twelve days of sleeping outside. Tucker had changed the sheets and cleared out some of his shit to make space for me and my gimpy leg, but I was hyper aware that Sara was next door and I could hear her moving around.
I felt like I should apologize to her, although I wasn’t sure for what. But I did seem to make her cry a lot, and I couldn’t tell if that was normal for her or because she was pregnant.
I tried to take a nap but despite feeling exhausted, I couldn’t rest. My leg throbbed, my head throbbed, and I was beginning to feel aches and pains in other parts of my body, as well. The drugs called to me, but I wouldn’t give in, not even an Advil. I didn’t dare. Being an addict, ex-addict, recovering addict or whatever I was supposed to call myself, pain meds were the first step on a slippery fucking slope, and I didn’t want to go back to being that person.
But doing the right thing didn’t lessen the pain.
The room was hot and stuffy, and the light outside was too bright. All around me the carnival was alive and I was laying here like a side of beef.
I sat up and swung out of bed awkwardly, gritting my teeth as pain washed over my body making me sway. I couldn’t help noticing that Tucker had left a pint of whiskey in the bottom of his small closet, and that was more tempting than anything right now. I sighed. The lesser of two evils. Maybe I’d risk a different sort of medication later.
I sat on the edge of the bed and managed to get a pair of baggy shorts over the brace. I was told I had to wear it 24/7 for the first five days. Yeah, I knew the drill. And loathed it. But it was my own damn fault.
I positioned the crutches under my arms and we had lift off.
Sara looked up from her book as I thumped into the living area, and she put her arms on her hips, pissed like a tiny yapping Chihuahua that thinks it’s a Rottweiler.
“You’re supposed to be resting! Why are you even awake right now? The doctor gave you sleeping pills—did you even take them? Why are you being such a stubborn ass? It’s so dumb!”
“Whoa! What the fuck?”
She stuck her lip out like a mule.
“Did you, Zef?”
“Why do you care?” I grumped, stomping over to pull a bottle of water out of the fridge and nearly toppling over.
She elbowed me out of the way and took the bottle out for me, raising an eyebrow and pointing at the sofa.
“Why don’t you drink that sitting down,” she said snarkily, “otherwise we’ll be sweeping bits of you up off the floor.”
I hid a smile behind my beard. I couldn’t help liking this new, improved feisty version of Sara. It definitely beat the one who was a puddle of tears all the time.
I sat my ass on the sofa and took a long pull at the water, then grinned at her.
She folded her arms and sat opposite me, still trying to look pissed.
“What? I’m sitting, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I guess you are. You must be smarter than you look after all.”
I was so shocked, my mouth dropped open. I didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or come back swinging. In the end, I did neither.
“Some might say that’s a little insulting.”
She blushed, her cheeks turning a soft pink, but she held her ground.
“You have to be smart when you’re injured,” she said. “I used to play softball and when I . . .”
Her words trailed off, but I leaned forward, intrigued.
“When you played softball?” I repeated back to her encouragingly.
Her lips stayed closed, and I leaned back, watching her in silence.
We stared at each other for a few seconds.
“How did your doctor’s appointment go? You never said.”
Her eyes dropped to her hands, now gripping each other in her lap.
“I’m sorry you got injured,” she said stiffly, still staring down.
“Yeah, me too, but it’s not the first time.”
She looked up, tears hovering in her eyes again.
Please, no.
“But it’s all my fault you got hurt! If my doctor’s appointment hadn’t run over, you’d have had time to warm up and . . .”
“Sara, no. My knee has been twinging for days now. I should have known better than to ride today. Hell, I did know better, so don’t go blaming yourself. I mean it.”
“Really?”
“Really. I had ACL surgery fourteen months ago. I was warned this could happen again if I continued riding, doing stunts.”
She gasped a little.
“But . . . then you should stop!”
I shook my head and gave her a small smile.
“Guess I’m not so smart after all, huh?”
She blinked, her eyes wide and worried.
“You’re young,” I continued seriously, “so maybe you don’t know what it’s like to be . . . addicted to somethin’. Some folks drink, some take drugs, some listen to Justin Bieber—” at this she gave a small smile. “There’s all sorts of weird addictions out there. I’m addicted to this.”
“But . . . but you could get really hurt again. Surely you could do something else?”
I leaned back, watching her face, emotions written so clearly across them.
“And what else is it that you think I could do?”
She screwed up her eyes and wrung her hands.
“I don’t know! Lots of stuff!”
She sounded so young when she said things like that.
“I’m good at this,” I explained patiently. “Well, when I’m not falling on my ass—and it’s been good to me. The only other thing I can do is fix bikes and old cars, but I’m not cut out to work in a
repair shop all day long. The carnival is my home. Where’s your home, Sara?”
She looked away and bit her lip.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I like it here.”
“The Daredevils, Zach and Ollo will be heading to Pomona on Monday,” I said gently. “That’s in Southern California. The rest of the carnival will carry on traveling around the North West until Labor Day. Then they’ll be going to winter quarters, everyone going different places until the Spring.”
“Oh! I didn’t realize that you . . . I didn’t know.”
“We’ll be working Pomona until Thanksgiving and then we take a break, too. Three months. Kes and Aimee will be going up to Arcata where they’ve got a log cabin, so are Luke and Zach. Tucker will be with Tera in LA.”
“What about you?” she whispered.
“I don’t have any plans. Sometimes I go to see my brother in Georgia . . .”
“You have a brother?!”
“Yeah, I have a brother. Why are you surprised? I was born just like everyone else, not hatched.”
“Oh no, I don’t mean . . . I just thought . . .”
I leaned forward and stared at her.
“One of these days you’re gonna finish a sentence.”
She gave a half smile, her lips curving up just a little.
“Sara, I’m gonna say this once, then it’s up to you. But . . . if you’ve got anyone who might be missing you or worried about you, you should call them. Even if . . . things were bad when you left, you should let your friends know that you’re okay. You don’t have to tell them where you are.”
She was saved answering because at that moment Bo scampered through the door, followed a second later by Ollo.
Bo climbed up on my knee and snuggled against me, light as a cat, wrapping his tail around my wrist.
Sara gave a little jump then laughed.
“I’m still not used to him,” she giggled.
Ollo’s glance flipped between us and he smiled.
“Bo loves Zef. He thinks they’re related and I can definitely see the resemblance, although Zef is hairier.”
Sara giggled again. It was good to hear her laugh for a change.
“Yeah, Bo’s a handsome bastard,” I said with a grin.
“I think he’s really cute,” Sara said, a mischievous smile on her face. “Can I hold him?”
“Sure, you just have to ask him.”
She gave me a skeptical look.
“Ask him?”
“Yup.”
“Are you serious?”
“Just ask him, Sara.”
“Fine! I will. Bo, would you like to come sit with me?” And she held out her arms.
Bo’s head turned when she called his name. He studied her for a moment and then leapt across the small table, landing in her lap.
Sara gave a squeal and Bo chattered at her angrily.
“He doesn’t like loud noises,” Ollo chided.
“Oh, sorry! Sorry, Bo,” she said, stroking his fur as he examined her face with his knowing eyes.
Then he curled up on her lap, sucked his paw for a moment and closed his eyes.
“Oh!” she said again softly.
“He trusts you,” Ollo said approvingly. “And you probably smell better than the Grizzly over there.”
I shot Ollo a look. It was true that I hadn’t showered since the accident. I was probably a little ripe.
“I can take a hint,” I said grumpily, reaching for my crutches.
Ollo laughed. “Then my work here is done.” And he swung his small body out of the door.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” Sara reminded me gently.
“I promise I’ll rest after I’ve showered.”
“Promise?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Hmm. Were you ever a Boy Scout?”
“Nope, but I still know how to tie some good knots,” and I winked at her.
She blushed bright red, her mind clearly going to the gutter. That surprised me, but hell, the thought of Sara and knots was giving me a semi. I must have hit my head harder than I thought.
She’s eighteen! I had to remind myself several times as I hopped out of the room.
Showering was awkward and tiring, too. In the end, I just let hot water sluice my body without trying to use soap as well, sticking my left leg out of the shower door to keep it dry. Inevitably, I ended up soaking the bathroom floor.
I was trying to clean up when Sara came in, carrying Bo like a baby. His eyes were closed, but his tiny paws were wound tightly in the material of her t-shirt, his tail coiled around her thin arm.
I had a strong visceral reaction that shocked me. For the first time I truly understood that she was going to be a mother one day not so long from now. She had a glow about her, an inner peace, and the sunlight caught her pale blonde hair, making it shimmer like a halo.
“What?” she asked cautiously. “Do I have something on my face?”
I swallowed and looked down.
“No, nope. You’re good.”
“Zef,” she said patiently, as I tried to drag a towel across the floor to mop up. “What are you doing?”
“I got the floor wet.”
“I see that. Now move out of the way so I can clean up.”
“I can do . . .”
“Shut up and let me help you.”
Her words silenced me, so I watched for a second, then shuffled out of her way as she efficiently cleaned the floor and took the wet towels, shoving them in the washing machine.
“Now go get dressed and I’ll fix you something to eat.”
“I’m fi—”
“Stop arguing.”
I held my hands up in defeat and hopped back to Tucker’s room to get dressed.
She was confusing the crap out of me and I didn’t know what to make of it. One moment she was quiet and submissive, the next bossy as hell.
I grappled with another pair of shorts but didn’t bother trying to put on socks and sneakers. Besides, it was too hot.
I was pleased to see that Sara had put together some sandwiches on the table outside.
I eased myself into a deck chair and pulled down my sunglasses, squinting out at the evening sun.
Sara came and sat beside me, handing me a cold glass.
I took a sip and looked up surprised.
She shrugged.
“You said you were from Georgia so I thought . . . well, I hope you like iced tea.”
I nodded, touched that she’d bothered to do this for me. I hadn’t had homemade iced tea in years, and immediately I was engulfed in memories of my mother making large pitchers of it in the summer.
“You don’t have to drink it,” she said uncertainly as I examined the glass in my hand. “I can get you a beer . . .”
I grasped her wrist as she went to stand up.
“It’s real nice. Thank you.”
She gave me a sweet smile and settled back into her seat.
I sat sipping my tea and watching the carnie families setting about making their evening meals. Someone had lit the bonfire already and I could hear Luke playing his guitar.
“I . . . I did what you told me,” Sara said quietly.
I frowned.
“What did I tell you?”
“To call my . . . friends.”
“Oh. Right. How’d that go?”
She grimaced.
“About as well as I’d expected, but at least they know I’m okay. But I told them I’m not going home.”
“You sure about that?”
She nodded her head.
“Yes. I’m not going back.”
She meant what she said. I could tell by the intensity of her gaze and her words that she had no doubt. My mind started going a little crazy trying to work out what could have happened to make her so determined not to go home.
I could tell she came from somewhere pretty okay. In the sense that I’d met other kids, the ones who’d had to live by their street smarts to surviv
e, and Sara wasn’t like that. She was too trusting, too naïve. I was sad to think that she’d have to toughen up a helluva lot to make it.
I didn’t say any of that to her. Instead, I picked on the least inconsequential part of what she said.
“So, you have a phone?”
She gave me an impatient look.
“I pay for it myself! I have . . . I had a job after school at a camera shop.”
“You like taking photos?”
Her face lit up and I couldn’t help thinking that she had a beautiful smile.
“Yes! I love it! I took all the photographs for my school newspaper.” Her smile fell away as suddenly as it had come. “Anyway, I love it.”
“Get any shots of the carnival?” I asked, taking another sip of my iced tea as the glass sweated in my hand, becoming slippery.
The smile returned.
“Oh yes! I have a ton!”
“Can I see them?”
Her cheeks turned pink and she nodded shyly. She pulled an iPhone out of her pocket, went to the photo app, and handed it to me.
The phone must have a great zoom feature because she’d gotten some really good close-up shots of kids eating cotton candy and funnel cake; one of a teenage boy trying to eat a corndog like he was doing a sword swallowing act; pictures of little kids with stuffed toys bigger than they were; and the expressions on people’s faces as they rode on rides, played on the bumper cars or just strolled along the midway. I could almost smell the scent of fried onions, sunscreen and sweat. I was impressed.
She’d also taken a ton of pictures of the carnies on rest days—just ordinary family life: hanging out washing, talking around the bonfire, reading books, having breakfast. But lots of pictures of us at work, too—the good days and the bad days. She’d caught the boredom and misery of the rainy days when the crowds don’t come, or when machinery breaks down, or someone was scrabbling around trying to find a doctor or a dentist, knowing that if you don’t perform you don’t earn.
There were close-ups of me and the guys getting ready for a show: Tucker horsing around and Kes getting him in a headlock; then all of us suiting up and looking serious. I didn’t remember her taking those photos—she must have been standing where we couldn’t see her, although how she managed to get one of me appearing to stare at the camera with my helmet on, but before I’d lowered the visor, I don’t know. My eyes seemed to burn with intensity as I stared at the viewer, but I knew I’d been looking at nothing, just getting in the zone ready for a show.
Carnival Page 8
