The Traveling Woman

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  Kes spent his days working out at the gym, or exploring New Hampshire on his bike. He even fixed the shower panel and the fist-sized hole in the wall, showing that he had handyman skills. Not only that, but my squeaky door and leaky faucet were fixed, and he took out the trash without being asked.

  In the evenings, he’d watch TV or a DVD, but really he was just watching me work, waiting for the moment when I’d finished, so he could pounce and drag me off to bed.

  Sometimes, when I had a ton of marking or preparation to do, he’d take off for a run. But one evening, it was raining hard, too heavy even for him to go out in. He was obviously bored of watching TV, bored of watching me work, and I didn’t have a PlayStation for my computer. And he wasn’t going to read a book—obviously.

  After seeing him pacing up and down then doing pushups and crunches, I was finding him too distracting.

  “What did you do when you were kid when it was raining?” I asked.

  He shrugged, standing with his hands on his hips, his chest gleaming with sweat. Yeah, not at all distracting.

  “I’d go and sit with Jacob Jones and the other horses. Sometimes Ollo would be there, and he’d tell stories about the old days.” He paused. “Sometimes I’d draw, if there was paper around, or steal some from Con.”

  “Perfect!” I said happily, and handed him a drawing pad from school and half a dozen pencils. “I’d forgotten that you used to draw. Go crazy!”

  He looked at me like I was the crazy one, but sat down on the couch with the pad of paper and was soon absorbed.

  An hour later, I finished my work and peeked over to see what was keeping Kes so quiet. He’d sketched the most amazing drawing of me bent over my laptop working, and then gone on to draw scenes of the carnival from memory, including an incredibly detailed one of Mr. Albert riding Jacob Jones.

  “Oh wow! These are amazing! I’d forgotten how good you were at drawing.”

  Kes tossed the pad of paper aside. “Haven’t done it in years. Have you finished now?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Good,” he said, sweeping me into his arms and carrying me to the bedroom.

  Art appreciation class was over.

  The next day, I had an appointment with my doctor, and was informed that we could stop using condoms in a week. I wanted to do something that would show Kes that I was in this for the long run.

  He didn’t sleep much and most nights I’d wake up to find the bed empty. I didn’t panic because I knew he’d be sitting under the tree in the backyard, staring up at the stars. Kes said there was nothing to worry about and he’d get used to sleeping in an apartment, but I did worry. Although I could also see that he needed a lot less sleep than the average person. It figured—there was nothing average about Kes.

  On the weekend, he spoiled me by reserving us a room in an upscale hotel in Boston and we spent a lot of our time indoors, enjoying the fabulous suite in an old fashioned way. But we managed to surface long enough to see Paul Revere’s House and walk the Freedom Trail.

  And then we went to the fair.

  Topsfield Fair had been a Boston institution for nearly 200 years. It had started as an agricultural show and was still popular for the animals and petting zoo, but it was the midway that drew Kes.

  I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that a number of the carnies nodded at Kes as we strolled past. He grinned at the look on my face.

  “Those guys traveled with Dono back in the day,” he explained.

  His happiness made me wistful. He was at home here—this was his world. I could see him watching the carnies and performers with a deep longing plain on his face. Kes needed to create magic and he couldn’t do it in my world. In my calm, ordered, routine life, Kes was a kingfisher among a flock of pigeons.

  The sudden awareness hit me forcefully.

  “Take a rollercoaster ride with me?”

  “I’ve just eaten a huge corndog,” I whined. “Why do we have to do it now?”

  “Because it’s there,” he laughed.

  I couldn’t say no to him.

  For me, the weeks sped by. For Kes, they dragged. He didn’t complain, but a little of the light in his eyes had dimmed. I hated that I was responsible for that. Other than sex, the only thing that really engaged his attention were his plans to come and speak in school.

  The students were excited to hear that we were having a special guest speaker, and the boys in particular were thrilled when they found out about Kes.

  Kes said that he didn’t want to plan what he was going to say to the students and preferred to wing it.

  But one lunchtime, I saw Kes leaving Principal Browne’s office.

  I did a double-take, wondering if lack of chocolate was making me delusional.

  “Kes?”

  “Hey, baby,” he said, leaning down to kiss my cheek as two giggling girls from fifth grade walked past.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Just been in to see Don.”

  It took me a second to realize that he was referring to Principal Browne.

  “About your speech?”

  Kes grinned, but didn’t answer.

  “What’s on that tricky carnie mind?” I teased.

  “Just doin’ my homework,” he said, his dimple popping out as he smiled down at me. “I’ll be home about eight. Want me to pick up some Chinese on the way?”

  “You will tell me,” I said, putting my hands on my hips.

  “Will you beat it out of me?” he grinned. “Because that sounds hot. See ya, baby!”

  I watched him stroll down the corridor, confident and sexy. When he reached the front entrance, he turned and winked. He was in so much trouble when he got home. Definitely hot.

  That evening, I was doing Kes’s homework as well as my own, which made me grouchy. I was putting together a Powerpoint presentation about life in the carnival, using photographs I found on the web, as well as the sketches that Kes had drawn over the last few weeks. I also had a few surprises up my sleeve.

  Then Kes arrived home with enough Chinese food to feed five people.

  “I’m really craving pizza tonight,” I teased, yawning and stretching my back.

  “Want some broccoli on it?” he asked slyly.

  I laughed and threw him a look while he unpacked the boxes.

  “Not a fan of my broccoli pizza?”

  “Not especially, but the funny thing is that Tucker really likes it. Every time he orders pizza now, he asks for broccoli on it.”

  “That guy is nuts!”

  Kes grinned. “Coming from the woman who started it.”

  “True.”

  Then the buzzer rang, announcing that there was someone downstairs.

  “On it,” Kes said, bounding up, and pressing the button to let them in.

  “Who is it?”

  But Kes was already in the hallway, and I could hear his voice along with another man’s. A moment later, Zef was strolling into our small apartment.

  “Oh my gosh! What are you doing here?” I cried, jumping up and giving him a big hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Zef gave me a bemused look and started to speak, but Kes slapped him on the shoulder.

  “You’re just in time, brother, we have food.”

  “You didn’t tell me Zef was coming,” I laughed delightedly, “but it explains the mountain of rice and noodles.”

  It was so good to see Kes happy and laughing. I realized sadly that he’d probably been feeling lonely without his friends. He was a guy, so he’d never admit that, but Kes was used to being around people every hour of the day; now I was at work all week, and he didn’t know anyone in Concord.

  I guessed that Kes had asked Zef to come up and be part of the presentation he was doing at my school; it would explain why he’d been in to see Principal Browne.

  “You okay?” he whispered, when Zef went to the bathroom. “You’re not mad that he’s here?”

  “Of course not! We’re just going to need to
buy a lot more food,” I smiled. “Um, is he going to be coming to school next week?” I asked.

  “Need to know,” said Kes, tapping the side of his nose.

  “Does Principal Browne know?”

  Kes leaned back on his elbows. “All taken care of, Aimee.”

  “You’re pretty wonderful, you know,” I said, kissing him on the lips.

  He gripped my shoulders and tugged me closer, just as Zef walked back into the room.

  “Jesus, you two haven’t changed,” he laughed.

  “You’re just jealous,” I teased.

  “You get tired of him, let me know,” Zef said, with a wink.

  Kes scowled, but I just hugged him harder.

  “You know, Zef, you’re starting to sound like Tucker.”

  “Don’t say shit like that!” he groaned.

  “Have you heard from the asshole?” asked Kes, scooping some more chow mein onto his plate.

  “Still doing that hippy girl, as far as I know.” Then Zef looked at me. “You got any hot friends?”

  “I’m not letting you near my friends!”

  At the same time, Kes said, “Yeah, her friend Mirelle. She’s hot.”

  “Hey!” I yelped. “First, stop checking out my friends! And second, she’s off limits!”

  The guys laughed, and I threw up my hands. I’d warn Mirelle that Zef was a player, but to be honest, between the two of them, I didn’t know who was worse. Maybe it was Zef I should be warning about Mirelle. It would certainly be interesting to see what happened when the two of them met. Mirelle was a gorgeous feisty Latina, and Zef had a hot temper to match—I’d been on the receiving end of it once, and it wasn’t pleasant.

  “Where are you staying, Zef, or do you want to borrow our couch?”

  Zef grinned at me. “You giving Kes rights to your couch already?”

  My eyes widened when I realized what I’d said, but Kes just smiled.

  “Nah, you’re good. I’ve got the RV parked outside. I’m happy staying in there.”

  Kes looked almost jealous, and my gut twisted, just a little.

  The next week flew by. The guys were definitely up to something, but Kes was happy, and that was all I cared about.

  I was excited to see what he had planned, because it was obviously more than the presentation I’d put together for him.

  It felt strange to ride with him to school, especially when he rested his hand on my knee, then slid his hand under my skirt.

  “You look so prim and proper,” he said huskily. “A real schoolmarm. Makes me want to be bad.”

  I clamped my knees together before his hand could rise any higher.

  “You’ll make me crash!” I whimpered.

  Kes laughed, but he didn’t move his hand either.

  At school, he walked into the staffroom with me, and my colleagues came over to say hello. It was a surreal moment for me, my two worlds colliding. It had been different at the dinner, because we were on neutral territory. But school was my world, and now Kes was here. I shook my head, hoping to rattle my brains into order.

  I left him with Don while I went to take attendance. The kids were super excited, knowing that normal lessons were suspended, and that they’d be going to the gym. They didn’t even care who they were going to see—just that they were getting out of classes for the day.

  I took a moment to remind the children to be on their best behavior for our special guest, before leading them to the gym.

  Kes was leaning against the wall, a huge smile on his face. He was wearing jeans and a plain black t-shirt, and his feet were bare.

  Gregg’s class came in last and sat at the back. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, but he was concentrating on the children and studiously avoiding Kes.

  When everyone was seated, Principal Browne introduced him.

  “We’re very lucky to have Kes Hawkins with us today. Kes is a motorcycle stuntman, and I know that quite a few of you have seen some of his stunts on the internet. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that these are very dangerous,” and Principal Browne stared sternly at the children, “but before he talks about that, Kes is going to tell us about his unusual life. Kes grew up in a carnival. Who can tell me what a carnival is?”

  There was a short discussion about carnivals and circuses before Kes started to look impatient.

  Principal Browne must have picked up on the vibes because he quickly handed the floor to Kes.

  “Who’s been to a carnival?” Kes called out, and a large number of children raised their hands.

  “Awesome! So what’s your favorite part?”

  “The clowns!”

  “The bumper cars!”

  “The Ferris wheel!”

  “Motorcycles!” shouted one boy.

  Kes grinned. “Great answers—and we’ll get to the motorcycles. I used to ride the Ferris wheel and the Ghost Train every day. But that was after a whole lot of work.”

  He nodded to Principal Browne who started the Powerpoint and Kes talked about feeding the horses and practicing the routine, while photographs of carnie life played in the background.

  “Now, I need a volunteer!”

  Kes picked a shy boy named Neil from the front row and instructed him to toss tennis balls to him one at a time. Every time Kes caught another ball and started juggling them, the kids yelled and cheered.

  “How many do you think I can juggle before I drop one?” he called out.

  The answers ranged from three to a hundred.

  “A hundred?! Man, how many hands do you think I’ve got?” he laughed.

  He asked the kids to count with him, telling them that the record was 11. Kes got to eight before he dropped a ball, and the children cheered like crazy.

  Mirelle nudged me. “Is there anything the guy can’t do?”

  I smiled at her sadly.

  “Oh,” she said in a hushed voice, shaking her head. “Sorry, chica.”

  Then Kes talked about his life growing up, the hard parts as well as the fun parts. I was anxiously waiting for the Powerpoint to run to the section that I knew would surprise him.

  I’d been looking for clips of fire-eaters when I came across some shaky footage of Kes performing when he was younger.

  “I learned fire-eating from an expert,” Kes said. “This isn’t something you guys can learn from watching You Tube videos. You’ll get hurt or you’ll hurt someone else. You’ve got to promise me that you won’t try this ever, ‘kay?”

  He was so serious, that most of the kids nodded, a little intimidated.

  “I was taught this by a guy who’d . . .” but Kes’s voice ground to a halt when he saw the film clip of his teenage self.

  A huge smile spread across his face.

  “Is that you, Mr. Kestrel?” asked Ginny from my class.

  “Holy sh—! Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

  Ooh’s and ahh’s filled the room as footage of the 16-year old boy that I’d fallen in love with galloped into an arena, his face painted gold, a blazing torch in each hand. Even after eight years, I was just as enthralled—with him, with his act.

  Kes looked stunned, and I realized it was probably the first time he’d ever seen himself as a teenager on film.

  The presentation ended with an old, yellowed photograph of a 10-year old Kes holding Mr. Albert, the small monkey grinning at the camera, his paws wound around Kes’s neck.

  Kes looked over at me and I smiled. It was one of the few mementos I had from our childhood years; it was precious.

  Principal Browne clapped his hands. “Okay! Who has some questions for Kes?”

  Twenty hands shot up and Kes grinned at his audience.

  He pointed to a girl who was sitting near me. “Is Kes your real name?”

  Kes chuckled. “Yeah, kind of. My full name is Kestrel, but I only get called that when I’m in trouble,” and he grinned at me.

  I blushed. Darn him!

  Then he pointed at Henry, one of the older boys who had his hand in the air.
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  “You mean a kestrel, like a bird of prey?” Henry asked.

  Kes nodded. “Yep. My brother’s name is Falcon.”

  “That’s so neat!” Henry muttered. “Way cooler than ‘Henry.’”

  “What else do you want to know?” Kes asked, getting into his stride.

  “What’s it like wearing makeup?” asked Gary, after much prodding and prompting from the girl sitting next to him.

  Kes laughed. “Dude, it’s part of the show. All actors wear makeup, even real tough guys like Jason Stratham. But when you get older, remember to shave first, because it’s a real pain trying to clean it off with cotton balls when you’ve got a couple of days worth of stubble.”

  I could see the boys puzzling over this, that a man as tough-looking as Kes would talk freely about the challenges of wearing makeup.

  My man refused to fit into stereotypes. It was one of the many things that I loved about him.

  “What’s the best part of living in a circus?” asked Maddie, one of the fifth graders who was gazing at Kes with starry eyes.

  “That’s a good question,” Kes said, and Maddie looked ready to burst with happiness. “I call it a carnival, and the people you meet are one of the best things about it. The people you travel with become like your family. I learned a lot from the carnies that I met. Some might have a clown act or a rodeo act, so you learn about what they do; there’s all the roustabouts who put up the Ferris wheel or the rollercoaster; then there’s all the sideshows, like shooting galleries, or dunk tanks. It’s fun, and you get to eat as much cotton candy as you want.”

  “Awesome!” muttered Richie, another boy from my class, who also looked star struck.

  “But I really like meeting people who come to the carnival, too. They’re always happy to be there and ready to have fun—that part is really cool.”

  Kes paused.

  “But the best part is waking up every morning and seeing the Ferris wheel reaching up to the sky. I see that and I know that I’ve come home.”

  A boy in the front row scratched his head, puzzled, then raised his hand.

  “But where do you live?” asked Ben.

  “Everywhere,” Kes smiled. “My home is on wheels, so I can live wherever I want.”