Carnival Glass

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  He shrugged. “Ferris wheel, I hope. After a while, the tinny music gets on my nerves when I’m running the Jenny.” So did the kids who rode the whimsical animals, but he never admitted it. Children reminded him of the dark-eyed little ones who died far too often during his service in Iraq, and he loathed being around them. A high-pitched scream of delight could trigger a post-traumatic stress disorder episode, and even their infectious laughter bothered him. Funny how the kiddies seldom brought his childhood to mind, but always bad memories from a land far away.

  “I’ll run the merry-go-round,” Fats said. “It don’t make any never mind to me.”

  “Thanks,” James said. He forked the last bite of pie, then paused as a woman caught his eye. The diner’s windows faced a supermarket, and he watched as she walked from the store, pushing a cart toward a light-blue Chevy. Something about the way she moved and the high ponytail she wore reminded him of Kerry, so he stared. From his angle, he couldn’t catch a full glimpse of her face so he dismissed it. Why would she be here anyway, whereever in hell this is? She’s from Kansas City, like me. I’m seeing a resemblance because I thought about her again, that’s all. Forget it.

  He didn’t, though. After the meal, he ended up in a poker game with the other ride monkeys and some others that lasted until midnight. In the humid darkness, at a folding table dragged out from someone’s trailer, Fats yawned and tossed his cards down. “I’m done. We’ve got an early work call in the morning to set up the show, so ‘night all.”

  Within minutes, the game had ended and they wandered off to their separate bunks, some alone, others not. James noticed Darla caught up with Curley-Q, and they vanished together into his trailer. He snorted, amused and repulsed at the same time. It’d be easy to lose time with a woman but if it’s not the one I want, why bother?

  Sleep eluded him but he remained in his bunk. Burning candles would only add to the intense heat within the metal walls, so James didn’t light one. He sat in the doorway for a while and let the night wind brush his face. Above the lot the sky filled with clouds, and by morning after he’d slept very little, they hung heavy and gray. By the time the work call summoned him to set up the carnival, a light rain descended. Although it tapered off around noon, James’ clothes were soaked, and the air turned as humid as a sauna. With the concession wagons open, the air filled with the aroma of corndogs, frying burgers, hot dogs, popcorn, and other foods. He grabbed a couple of corndogs and ate them with little enthusiasm. Between the heat, humidity, and his lack of sleep, James suffered from lethargy. His tired body and his turbulent mind seemed separate, not part of a whole. A dull headache dogged him and no matter how many cups of strong, black coffee he begged from concessions, it refused to relent. The ceaseless hum of multiple motors and the incessant tapping and banging all added to the pain in his head. Headaches happened on a frequent basis, part of what the docs had called his PTSD. He never had them before Iraq.

  ****

  One spoke at a time, the Ferris wheel went up, and once in place, he ran it to make sure everything worked. A couple of the ride monkeys rode while he operated the controls on the forty-foot tall wheel. James helped set up the Tilt-a-Whirl, the mini rollercoaster, and the Scrambler. By the time dusk fell, his muscles ached too, and he didn’t think he could face any more greasy food or much conversation. Although he seldom did, James unhitched his worn-out, old pickup from his trailer, and drove into town. He headed for the supermarket near the diner where he saw the woman who reminded him of Kerry, in search of the makings for ham sandwiches.

  He seldom visited grocery stores, so the well-stocked aisles loomed almost exotic. At the deli counter, he bought a pound of shaved ham, then picked up mustard, a package of Swiss cheese, and a loaf of rye bread. James grabbed two bottles of iced tea, something he hadn’t had in ages, and checked out.

  Darker clouds moved in as he drove back to the lot. By the time he reached his trailer, heavy showers fell, and he got soaked dashing inside. After stripping off his shirt and sodden jeans, he pulled on a pair of shorts, then made a thick sandwich. It tasted better than anything he’d eaten in weeks, if he didn’t count the roast beef dinner from the diner. Afterward, the rain continued to fall, and cooler air wafted through the open windows. His fatigue caught up with him and he yawned. James stretched out on one of the two narrow bunks, pulled a light sheet over his body, and turned onto his right side. Drowsiness shifted into sleep and he didn’t wake until the morning sunshine slanted through the window onto his face.

  The brief respite from the heat had vanished while he slept, but so had his headache. James sat up and scrubbed his face with both hands. Sleepiness lingered until he splashed through the shower, put on clean clothes, and headed toward the front lot in search of grub. He bought a funnel cake and wolfed it down, then begged coffee from another one of the grease joints.

  Mare, who sold primarily popcorn, roasted peanuts, and soft drinks, squinted at him. “Hey, Sandy, you ready to open at noon?”

  “Ready as I will ever be,” he told her. At noon, they might catch a few curious locals out on a lunch break, or a few desperate moms seeking something to entertain the kiddies. The real crowds would show up after school let out and people got off work for the weekend. Friday night usually brought out the teenagers and young people in large numbers. The older folks and families tended to wait for Saturday afternoon and night.

  By twelve, he had his ride running as did the rest. The games and sideshows lining the makeshift midway were open, with the talkers out front to attract customers. Things picked up after the first few customers wandered onto the lot. Families arrived, with kids strung between the parents like laundry on a clothesline, along with senior citizens, young mothers with babies in strollers, packs of high-school-age kids, groups of junior-high-age boys, and couples of all ages.

  Before long, James faced a long line of riders waiting their turn on the Ferris wheel. He loaded the cars, gave each bunch several rotations, and changed passengers. By the time eight o’clock rolled around, he wanted his break, so when Tiny relieved him, he didn’t argue. Although he could have stopped at any of the grease wagons en route, he craved another ham sandwich, so he made tracks for his trailer. Located in the last row behind the newer, larger, and much nicer rigs, he ducked inside. He ate his sandwich and savored the few minutes respite from the crowds.

  He stretched out his thirty-minute break as long as possible, allowing himself a few minutes to walk across the lot to his ride. The crowds had doubled and his progress was slowed by one Elmer after another stopping to gawk. James made his way around a gray-haired couple pushing a double stroller with two toddlers—grandparents by his best guess—and started toward the back of the lot.

  After he sidestepped to avoid tromping on a couple of kids, someone brushed against his arm. The slight touch affected him in a profound way. An odd sense of connection combined with electric energy that surged up his arm. James shifted as he continued moving, but the voice halted him.

  “Jamie?”

  Feminine as floral perfume, quiet as a church on Sunday afternoon, and with the rich sweet tang of honeysuckle, there couldn’t be another voice like hers. And no one else had ever called him Jamie. He knew before he turned around that he would find Kerry. It was her at the damn supermarket. I knew it and didn’t believe, o ye of little faith.

  James whirled back and stared. His first sight of her in years evoked emotions he thought he was long past feeling. Kerry’s midnight hair had been trimmed to shoulder length. Her gray eyes, soft as mist yet strong as steel when roused to anger, gazed back at him. The lips he’d kissed more times than he could count were parted with surprise. “It is you,” she cried. “Oh, Jamie, Jamie.”

  It’s like seeing a ghost. Shocked, he stared at her and noted each tiny detail. Her worn blue jeans were frayed at the cuffs, and her soft rose-colored T-shirt molded to her body. As a teen, she had been skinny and although she remained slender, her body had a voluptuous quality now. So many
times he had dreamed about her and remembered, but now that she stood within reach, he lacked the words to express the torrent of emotion flowing through him. His gaze drank her in, each minute detail as refreshing as water to a thirsty man, but James doubted his thirst could ever be quenched. In those moments, time paused and nothing mattered. He had no idea why she would be in this small town, how she came to be here, why she stopped writing, or what would happen now. A wild elation took hold in his heart, joined by a terrific need to touch her and to reaffirm that she existed.

  Before he could summon up a single word, Kerry stepped forward, her eyes searching his face, her expression intent. In a hesitant voice, she said his name. “Jamie?” Unable to resist, he opened his arms wide and she stepped into them. He locked her into an embrace and before she could bury her face against his shoulder, he kissed her mouth.

  Electricity rocketed through him. She tasted the same as he remembered and her lips melted beneath his. Desire curled within and kindled fire. He forgot the carnival, the crowds, and everything but Kerry. The kiss lasted forever and ended too soon. If she hadn’t finally pulled back, he would have continued kissing her.

  Kerry cupped one hand against his cheek. “It’s still there,” she whispered. “Whatever we had, it’s there.”

  “It always was,” James replied. “What are you doing here?”

  “In Middleton?” she said. That must be the name of the town.

  “Yeah, Middleton.”

  “I live here.” Kerry’s finger caressed his skin. “I’ve been a teacher at North Elementary for the last four years, ever since I got my teaching degree. Don’t tell me you live here, too. I can’t believe I wouldn’t have known, somehow, if you were in the same place.”

  “I’m with the show,” he said. At her blank look, he switched to outsider lingo she would understand. “I’m part of the carnival. That’s why I’m here.”

  Her head swung back and forth. “You’re the last person I would have ever guessed to be part of a traveling carnival. What about the Army? Last I knew, you were in the service, right?”

  Some of his joy ebbed. “Yeah, that’s right. I was in Basic at Fort Hood when you stopped writing. After that, I eventually ended up as part of the Second Infantry, 4th Stryker Brigade, with two tours in Iraq. I’d probably still be in the Army, but I didn’t re-up after I recovered.”

  Kerry frowned. “You were hurt?”

  The question echoed in his ears and memory hit, swift and hard, as his PTSD kicked to life. Around him, the squeals of laughter from the rides became screams, and the aroma of popcorn turned into the coppery, tainted stench of blood. James shut his eyes and let the past claim his present, unable to stop the overwhelming tide.

  Somewhere outside Taji, in the realm of the Abu Ghaida Qada, they were on patrol. Supposed to be routine, but when was it ever? After weeks of combing through cities, getting into firefights with insurgents, saving shawl-clad women and squalling kids, James welcomed the chance to be out, away from buildings and walls. Although the terrain remained as arid and flat, the classic sandbox effect, being out of Baghdad gave them a break. As the convoy of armored vehicles rolled onward, his buddy Matt handed around pictures of his pregnant wife back home. Everyone ribbed him about it but James liked the happy news. They could always use a positive boost.

  A few miles later, the kid from Detroit driving their Hummer stopped for a piss break. They all climbed out, laughing, joking, some firing up cigs. Matt wandered farther than the others, maybe thinking about his wife and soon-to-be-born kid. “Hey, watch out for mines,” one of the soldiers hollered, but Matt didn’t seem to hear.

  James started after him, then hesitated. He heard an engine approach, then something whizzed past his head. For a silly, stupid moment, he mistook it for a bee, then realized it was enemy fire. A truck of insurgents rolled into view and range. Their world exploded with gunfire, shots everywhere. James watched as multiple rounds cut through Matt’s body and his buddy shrieked. He flopped to the ground, body convulsing, then stilled. James watched in horror.

  Someone thumped his shoulder, hard, but when blood blossomed, he realized he’d caught a round. When another burning pain struck low in his gut, he realized he had been hit again. Although he tried to use his weapon, pain swamped him until his head swam dizzy, and by the time the encounter ended, he had been shot four times: once in the shoulder, once in the belly, once in the back, and in his left thigh. James heard the harsh bellow and thought someone else made the terrible sound. He failed to realize he fell, either, until his face rested against the sand. Consciousness lingered long enough to watch multiple red rivers of his blood flow, cutting tiny channels, and moving outward, reminding him of lines on a road map.

  The last thing he remembered before he woke up in a base hospital in Germany was the searing pain and a choking grief for Matt. After that, he spent months recovering. Alone.

  “Jamie, what’s wrong?” Kerry’s voice cut through his mental fugue. “Jamie?”

  With effort, he pulled out of the past and back into the present. She had asked him something and he struggled to recall it. When he did, he replied, “Yeah, shot four times in a roadside ambush, north of Baghdad.”

  The compassion in her eyes hurt almost as much as remembering. “I didn’t know,” she told him. “But you’ve recovered?”

  Was he? Some days he wasn’t too sure about that, or anything else. “I’m lucky,” he said. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. “I can walk. I didn’t get burned. I didn’t lose any limbs and I can see. A hell of a lot of my fellow soldiers can’t say the same. All I have are a few scars that don’t show. And nightmares.”

  He hadn’t meant to add the last. Kerry’s eyes widened with understanding. “You suffer from PTSD,” she said. “That was a flashback, wasn’t it?”

  The question blindsided him, but after a pause he nodded. “Yeah, it was.”

  Tears made her eyes sparkle but she didn’t blink. Kerry put one hand across his belly, almost exactly over his wound. “I’m so glad I found you,” she said. “I want to know how you ended up with the circus…”

  And he needed to know why she quit writing. “It’s a carnival.”

  Kerry waved her free hand in dismissal. “Whatever.”

  James caught her hand in his and held it. “Kerry, I have to go back to work. If you want to talk, I’ll meet you after the show closes. It’s Friday, so it’ll be around midnight. If that’s too late, we can meet tomorrow somewhere, maybe the diner next door to the supermarket…”

  Her fingers tightened around his. “I’d like that, Jamie, a lot. I came with friends, so I’ll come back around midnight. Where should I meet you?”

  He shot her a lopsided grin. “I run the Ferris wheel. You can’t miss it.”

  A smile danced across her lips. “No, I don’t suppose I could.”

  Before he could lean down to kiss her, three people surrounded them, two women and one guy. “There you are,” the man said. “I thought we’d lost you in the crowds.”

  His familiar tone irked James and he glared, sizing him up. The polo shirt, the khaki pants, and the white athletic shoes inspired distinct distaste. God damn it, I hope he’s not her boyfriend or something. It wouldn’t take much for me to deck him, just for the hell of it.

  “I found an old friend of mine,” Kerry said. She linked her arm through James’. “You all go on ahead. I’d like to catch up with James. Geoff, this is James Glass. James, this is Geoff Goderich. And these ladies are Latisha Anderson and Teresa Slanina. We all teach at the same elementary school.”

  Latisha nodded. “Hi, I’m pleased to meet you.”

  The other woman lifted one eyebrow. “Yes, well. If you’re staying, Kerry, you’ll need to find a ride. We all came in my car.”

  “I’m sure I can,” Kerry said. “See you all on Monday morning, if not before.”

  Geoff glared. “Are you sure, Kerry? I can hang around, just in case you need anything.”

  Kerry tightened
her grasp on James’ arm. “I’m positive. But thanks, Geoff.”

  As the trio walked away, she sighed.

  “Tell me he’s not your boyfriend,” James said.

  As bright as he remembered, her laugh rang out. “Not hardly,” she replied. “He’s not my type.”

  I wonder if scruffy, half-crazy, ex-soldier carnies are, James wondered. Then he asked the question gnawing at his gut. “So, do you have one?”

  “One what?”

  He conquered the urge not to growl. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Her gray eyes, placid as a summer sky at dusk, met his. “No, Jamie,” she told him. “I haven’t, not for a long time.”

  Relief chugged up from the depths of his spirit. “Good,” he said. “I haven’t either, not since…”

  His sentence trailed away but she followed it. “Since when?”

  James shrugged and told the truth. “Since you,” he said. “C’mon, I have to get back to work and I don’t know what I’m going to do with you until the show shuts down.”

  “I guess I can watch?”

  “I guess so,” he said and laughed. He really hadn’t had a girlfriend, not since he could remember.

  Chapter Three

  They held hands as they crossed the lot, drawing curious glances from some of the carnies, and glares from some of the locals. If Kerry noticed, however, she said nothing. At the ride, Tiny, seven feet tall in bare feet, with the bulk of a wrestler and enough tattoos to qualify for an old-time sideshow, waited without patience.

  “You’re late,” he said. One huge foot tapped the ground in a steady rhythm.

  “Shit happens,” James said.