The Life and Medieval Times of Kit Sweetly

by Jamie Pacton

  “Sounds like a plan to me. Though I’m going to need like five donuts for fortitude.” Chris follows me out of the blacksmithing shed and to his car.

  38

  I’M NOT SURE WHY I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE EASY TO FIND MY dad. Chris and I drive around the neighborhood near the arena where the animatronic dinosaur show is playing. The area is newly gentrified and has more condos and coffee shops than parking spaces.

  “He’d be in some cheap motel if he’s here at all,” I say as we drive past a row of boutiques next to a tiny bodega.

  “I bet he’s staying with the show people.” Chris points to a group of buses and RV trailers in the parking lot of the arena. “He probably talked his way into one of those and is mooching off them.”

  I park Chris’s car. “Where should we start?”

  Semitrailers decorated with the show logo, RVs, and two buses that look like they belong to rock stars fill this part of the parking lot. It’s still relatively early and no one stirs.

  “Just knock on the first one,” says Chris. “Even if he’s not in there, maybe they know where he is.”

  Or maybe they’re going to be scary carny folk who sleep with knives under their pillows. Definitely the kind of people who take kindly to early morning wake-up calls from strangers. But the fearless Girl Knight wouldn’t let such a thing stop her.

  “I’ve got an idea.” I pull my hair back in a ponytail and go back to the car for the box of donuts. “Follow my lead.”

  Chris tries to shrug, but with his broken bones, it comes out as more of a wobble. He walks a few steps behind me as we approach the first trailer. Taking a deep breath, I knock three times.

  No one answers.

  I look at Chris.

  “Try again,” he whispers loudly.

  I knock three more times. Still no one.

  We try another trailer, which is opened by a very scary-looking dude with tattoos covering his skull. He yells a few choice words at us before we can even ask for our dad.

  “Do you even think he’s here?”

  “We’ll try this last row,” says Chris. “At least then we can tell Mom we tried.”

  We knock on every door. A tired-looking woman holding a crying baby opens one. Two of the others ignore us completely, which is better than the one where someone flings a shoe at the door, sending me scuttling down the steps.

  With a deep breath, I knock on the second-to-last door. Someone stumbles around inside the trailer.

  “What do you want?” demands a gravelly voice, as the trailer door swings open. A hard-lived white woman in a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt glares at me. Her platinum hair has gray and brown roots longer than my thumbs and mascara is smudged beneath her eyes. The sickly-sweet smell of last night’s booze wafts off her. She looks like an ’80s throwback version of Carol Burnett playing Miss Hannigan in Annie. Stumbling, still drunk, and mean as hell.

  “Um.” My voice shakes as I stand there. “I’m a new production assistant for the show, and they told me to bring donuts to the trailers this morning.” I open the box with a flourish. Chris ate four on the way over here, so there’s just a few left.

  The woman eyes me suspiciously and then takes a chocolate-and-sprinkles one.

  I stand there for a moment, trying to peer past her. A lumpy couch and a cheap-looking table fill most of the room. But leaning against the wall between them is my dad’s guitar. The one he stole from Len and was supposed to give back. I turn around, trying to signal to Chris. The woman shoots me a dirty look and starts to close the door. I put my foot out to stop it.

  “Is that all?” she asks, glaring at my sneaker. “Show doesn’t start for a few hours, and I’m still sleeping.”

  My mind goes blank for a moment, and Chris limps up the stairs. “We’re looking for Lars Sweetly. Special message from production. Have you seen him today?”

  The woman narrows her eyes. “What do you want with Lars? He done something wrong?”

  Fear flashes across her face for a moment and her eyes dart to the kitchen table. A mirror and the residue of white, powdery lines covers the table. Something in me—maybe the last thread of hope I had for my dad, which I wasn’t even aware I was clinging to—disappears.

  “We just have a message for him,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. “He’s not in trouble. I think he might have gotten a raise or something.”

  “Well, ain’t that the shit,” says the woman, taking a huge bite of the donut. “Lars! Get your ass out here. Somebody from production wants to see you.”

  I’m fairly stunned that we actually found him. Chris and I share a surprised look. But I guess even we get lucky sometimes.

  Lars stumbles out of the back bedroom, bumping into things and knocking empty bottles to the floor. “What the hell are you yelling about, Janet? Don’t you know a man needs—”

  He catches sight of us and stops dead in his tracks.

  “Kit? Chris? What’re you two doing here?”

  “You know these two?” Janet finishes her donut and picks up a cigarette out of an overflowing ashtray. She plops it into her mouth and tries lighting it with a cheap plastic lighter. Chocolate smears her fingers, leaving fingerprints on the lighter.

  “Get outta the way, Janet,” says my dad, pushing past her. “These are my kids. The ones I was telling you about.”

  “Ahhhhh.” Janet looks at us a bit differently now. “What are you here for? He ain’t got no money.” She laughs at that and turns away from us as the lighter catches and makes the tip of her cigarette glow.

  Lars steps outside, still shirtless. All three of us are on a porch so narrow, it couldn’t be called anything but a step.

  “Well, what do you want?” His voice is defensive and also a little tremulous. He crosses his arms over his bony, pale chest. “You did all this work to find me, but why’re you here?”

  Chris makes a small, angry noise behind me. Kind of like a snap firework going off, but I find my voice first. “You need to sign these,” I say, thrusting the divorce papers at him. “Mom’s been trying to find you. What happened to you trying to make everything right?”

  A blush creeps across Lars’s cheeks, but he crosses his arms. “Things happened, Courtney.”

  “Kit,” Chris and I both say at the same time.

  “Fine, Kit, Courtney, whatever. I was going to sign the papers, but some expenses came up and I can’t afford all the divorce fees.”

  The smell of his morning breath combined with the stale beer and smoke he reeks of make me take a step back. But I’m not backing down.

  “By ‘expenses’ I assume you mean the cocaine on the table in there and the booze?”

  Lars runs his hands through his messy, greasy hair. “You’ve got no idea what it’s like to be an adult, Kit. There’s so much pressure on you, always. Sometimes, you just need to unwind.”

  “You’re so predictable,” says Chris in a dangerous voice. “This is why I didn’t want to talk to you at the Castle. And this is why we don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

  Chris is coming in hot, and he moves toward Lars like he might take a swing.

  “Your arm is broken.” I pull him back. “Simmer down. Why don’t you go wait in the car? I’ve got this.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone with him!” Chris snaps.

  “I’ll be fine.” I put a hand on Chris’s shoulder and turn him away from the trailer. “Be there in just a minute.”

  He looks up at Lars for one long moment, hatred burning in his eyes. “This is the last time I’ll warn you, Dad.” In Chris’s mouth the word comes out like acid. “Leave Kit, Mom, and me alone. Don’t call. Don’t try to make up. Just sign the papers and leave. We don’t need you and we sure as hell don’t want anything to do with you.”

  “Chris—Son—please—” Lars reaches out for Chris, but then he kind of stumble-trips over his own feet and lands on his knees.

  Chris doesn’t look back.

  Lars looks tired as he watches Chris walk to t
he car, but he doesn’t say anything else for a long moment. He’s weak and broken as he kneels there. I have the most unwelcome impulse to hug him and somehow save him from himself.

  “I’m sorry I messed up, Kit,” he says, standing up. “I screwed it all up. Our family. Your mom. Your and your brother’s chances for college. I just wanted to make it better, but old habits die hard, you know?” He turns his arms over. Red puncture marks and purple bruises line the inside of his arm.

  “I don’t know,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as possible, “because I’ve never bought drugs with money that was supposed to help my family.”

  The slump of his shoulders and the way he looks toward the trailer, like he’s longing to get inside and get this conversation over with, takes all my anger from me. I feel sorry for him. And for what we could’ve had. But some things just have to be let go.

  “Why didn’t you give Len the guitar back?”

  Lars looks up at me. His face is a wreck now, but in that moment, he looks just like Chris. “I was going to give it to him at the hospital. I swear. But then he was running late, and all those people kept looking at me funny, so I got out of there. I’ve been avoiding Len’s calls ever since.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t pawn it. Len would’ve had you drawn and quartered.”

  A funny little sound, like a laugh that’s rusty from use, breaks out of my dad. “That’s funny, Kit,” he says. “Because he thinks he’s a King, right?”

  I nod. “Exactly.”

  “Can I have a donut?”

  I’d almost forgotten I was holding them. I give him the box.

  “Here’s what I’m going to do, Dad.” His face softens when I say it, but I think we both know I’ll never call him Dad again. “I won’t bother you anymore. You sign these papers. While you do that, I’m going in there, and I’m going to take Len’s guitar and give it back to him. If you try to stop me, I’ll call the cops.”

  He nods. “No need to break down the gate with a battering ram. I’ll sign the papers and I’ll give you the damn guitar if it means that much. Least I can do after everything else.”

  I follow him into the narrow, dark trailer, trying not to touch anything. There’s the lights-get-turned-off-because-you-paid-the-electric-bill-late poor we are, and then there’s the drug-addled-bad-choices poor my dad and Janet are. Janet’s hacking cough comes from the back of the trailer, and fruit flies buzz around the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

  “Here you go.” Lars grabs a pen off the table and signs the divorce papers. Then, he picks up the guitar. His fingers linger above the strings for a moment, but he hands it over. “Not sure how I’ll do this gig without it, but I’ll figure something out. I was going to pawn it anyway.”

  “Thank you for this at least.” I feel like I should shake his hand or hug him or something, but I don’t. Instead, I dig into my pocket and take out a handful of singles. My change from the donuts. I plop them on the table. “Use it for food or gas or anything but drugs.”

  I know I can’t save him. It’s ridiculous to try. But this is what Knights do. Help where we can.

  “I’ll try,” he says, picking up the money. Powdery bits of cocaine cling to it, and his hand twitches to his nose.

  “See you around, maybe.” I turn away from him, waving over my shoulder.

  “Kit,” he calls as I go. “Don’t let the cold world break you. You’re always my little girl.”

  “I’m not,” I say, turning around. “And don’t worry. The world won’t break me. I’m the Girl Knight after all.”

  That feels pretty much like the perfect exit line, so I leave it at that. The cheap metal door of the trailer slams behind me.

  As I walk back to the car, I swipe away at the treacherous tears that leak from my eyes, getting rid of them before Chris can see.

  39

  LEN’S NOT AT HIS HOUSE. I RING THE BELL FOR LIKE FIVE minutes, but no one answers. I’m so frustrated with him, and my heart still hurts from seeing my dad, that it’s all I can do not to knock over one of the half dozen tacky fake Roman statues that line Len’s driveway. I settle for throwing a wad of chewing gum into the enormous fountain in his front yard.

  I get back into the car. In the passenger seat, Chris holds on to the guitar, but he’s not said anything since we left Dad’s trailer. We’re apparently not going to talk about what happened with Dad. And that’s perfectly okay with me.

  “Well, Len’s either hibernating, dead, or—”

  “He’s at the Castle,” says Chris. He holds up his phone. “Penny had to run over there to work on the schedule and she told me he’s been there the entire time, pacing his office and talking to people from Corporate on the phone.”

  “To the Castle we go then,” I say, backing the car out of Len’s driveway.

  To my surprise, Len smiles when we walk into his office. “Ahh, my favorite niece and nephew.” His eyes go straight to the guitar and his jaw drops. “What can I do for you?”

  It’s disconcerting to think that he’s totally forgotten what an ass he was yesterday.

  “You’re in a good mood,” says Chris. He looks suspicious. “What’s going on?”

  “Maybe there’s a sale on toilet paper at the Costco,” I say under my breath, knowing how much Len likes to flash his membership card like he’s hot shit for being able to shop there.

  I help Chris into one of the chairs by the desk.

  Len holds up an email he’s printed out. “I’m being considered for promotion to the Corporate office in Miami. Despite the initial email they sent you, Kit, someone in upper management really likes what we’re doing here for women’s rights and becoming more progressive. There’s talk that this might be the wave of the future at the Castles. They want me to move to Miami to get their program up to scratch.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re taking credit for my hard work?”

  “No,” says Len. “I’m finally getting what I deserve. You already know the Corporate people are coming tomorrow, and although they said no to your proposed scheme, I’m going to authorize you to do a little demonstration. But, just you, Kit. You can ride out with the Knights, wave, and then head back. We’ll show them how the crowd loves you, and that should be enough to secure my promotion.”

  “So, you’re giving me permission to ride out as part of the show, but not as a real Knight?” I can’t keep the disgust from my voice. “It’s all a great big sham of equality?”

  “Exactly,” says Len. “That’s what Corporate wants, so that’s what they’ll get.” He hands Chris a pile of Workers’ Comp paperwork. “And here, Chris, fill these out. They should cover your bills. See, there you go. Uncle Len saves the day. Now give me my guitar.”

  Chris and I share a look. He glances at the guitar. It feels like it should be harder to give something from our dad away, but it doesn’t even sting. Or maybe I’m just numb to all thoughts of my dad right now. I shrug and Chris hands it over. Len grabs the guitar, hungrily.

  “One more thing, Chris,” he says as we turn to go. “My job is going to be vacant, and I put your name in the hat for it. I think you’d make an excellent King and general manager. Plus, you won’t have to ride a horse unless you want to.”

  Chris stops in his tracks. He grips my sleeve with his good arm. “Are you kidding?”

  Len shakes his head. “Serious as a heart attack. Make sure I get that promotion and my job is yours. It’s full benefits and seventy thousand a year.”

  Chris looks stunned. “I’ll take it.”

  “He means we’ll think about it,” I say taking his arm. “And I’ll ride out tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’ll give you a show that won’t soon be forgotten.”

  “Just do as you’re told, Kit,” says Len. “Think you can handle that?”

  Of course I can handle it. In fact, I can do way better than that.

  “SO, YOU’RE GOING TO DO SOMETHING STUPID?” SAYS CHRIS as we walk away from Len’s office.

  “Most assuredly,”
I say. “But it will also be grand and bold, and it’ll shake things up. If I pull it off, it should help, not hurt, your job prospects.”

  “I’m not even sure I want this job,” says Chris. “Though it is a lot of money. But—and don’t tell Mom this—I applied for a transfer to the University of Chicago, and I got in. They’re going to give me a scholarship. If I take it, I’ll be set up for whatever engineering internship I want. But I’m not sure I can afford to commute and—”

  “Chris! Congrats! That’s amazing news and we’ll totally make it work.”

  “I think it’s what I need to do,” says Chris. “I don’t want to be Len in another twenty years. But what’re you going to do? Are you really going to let him parade you around like that?”

  “If Layla and the others were still talking to me it would be different, but without them, I’m not sure what else I can do.”

  “Talk to them. Tell them what Len said. I bet they’ll want to ride out with you. And Austin and I have already convinced most of the other Knights to let you ride in their places. If we stick to the original plan, you can be the Red Knight, Layla can be Blue, Alex can ride as Yellow, Mags as Purple, Penny as Black-and-White …”

  “You forgot Green. What’s Lizzy going to do?”

  “Yeah, Dalton’s not relenting.” Chris makes a face.

  “Maybe we can plan for that. I can always give her the Red Knight costume and ride out as someone totally different. That is, if you know anyone who might have spare plate armor or chain mail in the garden shed.”

  “Lucky for you I know a guy,” says Chris, grinning.

  “This could work,” I say. “If I can convince the others.”

  A task that is going to be harder than anything else I’ve done so far.

  40

  Kit to Knights for Days Group Text: Hi, Knights! I’m sorry I was such an ass. If you can forgive me, I have some news. Reply back so I know you’re there.

  Kit: Okay, so nobody else is responding. And it’s been an hour. Which is fine. I’ll just leave this update here. Len’s given me permission to ride out tomorrow. (Really, he has. Ask Chris. He was there.) But it’s only for a quick loop or two and only as part of a show exhibition. He wants to demonstrate how progressive he is so he can get a promotion and suddenly I fit into those plans. But I was thinking … what if we all go out there? What if we stage a coup and have our tournament anyway? The Knights are still willing to trade with us. (You’ll ride out as Red, Lizzy, because Dalton’s not giving up his spot, because, Dalton.) We know all the moves. And we’re awesome. Want to join me?