Carnival

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “Tell me who the father is, Sara.”

  She swallowed and then straightened her shoulders.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know who’s the father of my baby. And that’s the truth.”

  Sara

  Rage.

  That’s what I saw on Zef’s face and it terrified me. His hazel eyes seemed to darken with anger and his lips tightened into an implacable flat line.

  My heart pounded so hard, so fast that I was afraid I might faint, and darkness filled my vision.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” I said hurriedly, my words tumbling out in a rush so rapid I was sure he wouldn’t understand. “I wasn’t . . . nobody hurt me. Not . . . like that.”

  He gripped the edge of the table, his eyes burning black.

  I looked around nervously, wishing I hadn’t started this but knowing I couldn’t clam up again, even though I wanted to.

  “Can we talk in the truck?”

  My voice came out in a whisper and my eyes were pleading, but I wouldn’t have blamed him if he walked away and left me here. It was what I deserved.

  He gave a curt nod then stood up so suddenly, his chair fell backwards, clattering on the tiled floor and making my frayed nerves skitter and jump. Everyone turned to stare, and my heart thumped in anticipation of an anger that was only just in check.

  I wasn’t afraid that he’d hurt me physically, but I was terrified that I disgusted him, heartbroken that I’d disappointed him.

  Without speaking, he scooped up my shopping bags and strode back to the truck. I had to half run to keep up with his long strides, but when he realized that I was out of breath, he slowed his pace, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

  I felt sick and faint, but whether that was from the heat slamming into my thin sandals from the sidewalk or the knowledge of what I had to tell him, I didn’t know.

  Because there were two terrible secrets that I’d kept inside of me—and the worst was that I’d fallen in love with Zef.

  It was the worst because of my other secret, festering away, hidden . . .

  Earlier that summer . . .

  I was so sick of the arguments.

  I needed to get out. Even on my birthday, they wouldn’t leave me alone. My (former) best friend, Talia, had seemed sympathetic, even though I hadn’t told her everything that was going on with me. It turned out that I was right not to trust her. But at the time of my birthday, we were still close, or so I thought. She arranged for a bunch of our friends to go over to the fair at the county grounds on the edge of town. I needed the distraction, but I hadn’t wanted to be stuck with them either, especially as I was in such a bad mood all the time, so I said I’d meet them there. But then Talia had gone behind my back and told Owen where I’d be. She knew I’d been avoiding him, she just didn’t know why . . . with good reason.

  He ambushed me by the Ferris wheel, demanding that I give him an answer.

  “Tell me! You’re going to do it, right? Tell me!”

  He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. I was so scared that I found the strength to pull free and I ran and ran, losing myself in the crowds.

  I knew that I couldn’t go back to my car, so I made my way toward the small arena, because that was the busiest part of the fair and I needed to stay hidden. I couldn’t think, didn’t know what to do, so I hid in the crowds, keeping my head down. I could hear the buzz and roar of a motorcycle show, and every now and then I saw these crazy guys as they popped up above the screens around the arena’s perimeter, doing handstands, spins, turns and somersaults in the air.

  Even though I was still shaking with fear from Owen’s assault, I’d been mesmerized by everything that I saw. What would it be like to be so free, free from fear, free from all the things that tied me to this small town, to all the disappointment, arguments and hatred?

  When the crowds began to thin out again, I retreated even further. I hid in a stand of trees on the edge of the fairground with no plan in mind, except that I had to stay away from Owen.

  I knew that the motorcycle show had finished, because the roar of the crowd had reached a crescendo then died away to a low rumble as people headed back along the midway.

  And that’s when I saw the man. One of the stunt riders that I’d been watching came bumping across the dusty lot on his bike. They’d all worn black leathers, but he was the one wearing a helmet with slashes of electric blue like lightning. I’d seem him cartwheeling across the sky on his bike—unbelievably high.

  I watched as he parked under the shade of a tree, propping the bike on its slim stand and pulling off his helmet.

  His hair was jet black and he looked tall and lean like a panther with an air of danger surrounding him. I shrunk back into the trees, my heart beating wildly.

  I didn’t know then, but he was Zef. My Zef.

  When he turned in my direction, I was surprised to see that he had a thick, black beard. I don’t know why I found it sexy, but I did. I’d never liked beards or even scruff that much. But then again, none of the boys at school could grow a full beard, certainly not Owen.

  Then he started stripping off the rest of his clothes. The black leathers peeled from him in one piece like a second skin, until he was standing in tight-fitting briefs. I could see colorful tattoos down both arms and across his shoulders, something else written across his ribs in scrolling black ink.

  He picked up a bottle of water, and I licked my lips as he drank deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, droplets pouring over his pink lips and beard, trickling down his firm chest and hard, flat stomach.

  And then right in the open, completely at home, he slid out of his briefs. I was so shocked to see that his dick was hard, jutting out from his body proudly, large and dominating.

  He started washing himself under a makeshift shower. I could tell that the water was cold, because he hissed slightly as it cascaded over his back and tight, round butt.

  He washed himself all over, stroking his dick unapologetically, then tugging lightly at his balls. I leaned closer, fascinated.

  I don’t know if he heard me or simply felt me watching him, because he turned in my direction, his eyes searching the stand of trees where I was hidden. I was sure he must have seen me, but his eyes passed over, and not finding what he was looking for, he went back to washing himself.

  And that’s when I had this crazy idea. I’d hide in the truck. I could do it easily. It was parked next to his outdoor shower. Simple to sneak in when he wasn’t looking. I knew it was the fair’s last day because the dates had been advertised in all the flyers around town. I didn’t know where they were going to next and I didn’t care.

  It was such a dumb idea, running away to join the circus, but I kept thinking, why not? I needed some time, some space to think and make my own decisions. My parents kept trying to make them for me, especially my mom. It was making me crazy.

  The man with the beard finished his shower and walked away toward the group of motorhomes butt naked. And I made my decision.

  I waited as the light began to fall and the fairground emptied. I waited and watched as the bearded man and several others donned thick leather work gloves and started tearing down the ramps and bleachers, stowing everything into the truck. I began to worry that there’d be no room for me, but when they’d nearly finished, I managed to squeeze into a tiny space in the far corner without being seen.

  I really hadn’t thought it through.

  I had no food or water, no spare clothes, just a few hundred dollars of birthday money that my grandfather had sent me stuffed in my purse.

  When the truck shuddered to life a short while later, I was more scared than I’d ever been in my life, but I was excited, too. I was getting away, from all of them. I wouldn’t have to listen to their voices scolding me, peck, peck, peck. Finally the voices would be silenced.

  I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep as the truck bumped and swayed uncomfortably, the road roaring beneath me, but I must have, because when we st
opped, I woke up.

  I didn’t know where I was, but nowhere was as good a place as somewhere, so I decided to climb out and take a chance. The only problem was I couldn’t open the damn doors. I used the torch app on my phone to try and figure it out, ignoring twenty-three missed calls and a bunch of texts, but as my phone started to die, I realized that I was stuck.

  So I scrolled through them and sent a quick message to my dad saying that I was okay. I lied and said that I was staying with a friend for a while to figure things out. Then I turned off my phone and went back to my little nest in the rear of the truck.

  I was tired—tired to my bones. I hadn’t slept much for the last few weeks, but I fell deeply, soundly asleep.

  I dreamed of the man with the beard, and in that dream he was naked and dark clouds hung above his head like a dark purple halo.

  The next time I woke up, I was desperate to pee, and the man with the beard was yelling at me.

  I crawled out blinking, terrified by the way he was glaring at me. I nearly fell out of the truck, but he caught me in his arms. Even though he looked mad and radiated fury, his hands were gentle and he helped me stand without wobbling. I felt a second of security and safety before he set me on my feet . . . and started yelling again.

  “I’m sorry!” I whispered, pathetic and afraid.

  He lifted his hand and I automatically flinched.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, sounding grumpy rather than angry. “You’ve got some spider webs in your hair.”

  I screamed and started to freak out. He looked even more irritated but amused, too, as I started scrabbling at my hair, imagining spiders crawling all over me. Major freak out!

  Then some of his friends arrived and I was certain they’d kick me out, but they didn’t: they welcomed me and made me breakfast.

  Somehow the Universe had decided that I’d suffered enough, so it had brought me here, to this crazy carnie family.

  His name was Zef and at first he didn’t want to know me. I was a pain in his ass that he couldn’t shake. But even though he tried hard to ignore my existence, he was unfailingly kind, like it was his default setting and he just couldn’t help himself. He pretended to be grumpy, but I could tell by the way the others kept laughing at him that he wasn’t usually like this. He was definitely quieter than his friends, but I liked that about him—it was restful. Tucker was funny and nice, and Aimee was really friendly, but Kes scared me a little so I tried to stay away from him.

  And then there was Ollo.

  I’d never met anyone like him before and I was a bit scared of him, too, the way he kept watching me. But it wasn’t long before I thought of him as a sort of honorary grandfather.

  He joined me by the bonfire that first evening.

  “You have secrets, girl,” he said in his squeaky, creaky voice. “You have questions, too, but you can find your answers here if you look hard enough.”

  “Um, thank you?”

  He laughed crookedly.

  “A Blackfoot legend tells of Feather Woman who fell in love with the Morning Star. Everyone said it was impossible, but Morning Star loved her back and took her to meet his parents, his father the Sun and his mother the Moon.”

  I frowned in confusion, uncertain why he was telling me this.

  “That’s a nice story. Does it have a happy ending?”

  He smiled enigmatically.

  “Mostly.”

  That made me laugh.

  “Then it’s not a very good love story if it doesn’t have ‘And they lived happily ever after’.”

  Ollo grinned, his eyes crinkling until they almost disappeared.

  “But that wouldn’t be like real life, would it?”

  He glanced across the bonfire and I saw Zef staring at us, a frown on his face. I didn’t know what to think. I felt bad that he’d given up his room, but it was kind of nice to sleep in his bed. Even though he’d changed the sheets for me, the pillows smelled faintly of him, of his soap. I liked that.

  When I was sick the next morning, he quickly figured out that I was pregnant. It had taken seven weeks for my own mother to come to the same conclusion. She must have thought I had the worst case of stomach flu ever, but I guess she didn’t really care that much. Or perhaps because she just didn’t notice me most of the time.

  Anyway, I thought for sure that Zef and the others would send me home, but once again they surprised me. I began to realize that carnie people were different from everyone else—no one was judged for what you were or who you were, just how you behaved to other carnies.

  Luke and Zach were openly together and no one batted an eyelash. It was a little surprising when all the men—and especially the other stunt riders—seemed so super macho, but truly, no one cared. Luke was the fourth of the Daredevils and wore a white helmet with gold wings painted up the sides. It reminded me of pictures I’d seen of Hermes, the Greek messenger god.

  He was just as daring and swaggering as the others when he performed, but away from the arena he was quiet and shy and sat playing his guitar and singing sad songs.

  Sometimes I’d sit nearby watching Luke and Zef work on the motorcycles. I guessed that they were the best mechanics as they were the two who usually did it. They’d sit side-by-side for a couple of hours, hardly talking, but completely at ease with the silence of each other’s company.

  And I saw all the little things Zef did to help other people. He always hooked up Ollo’s power and water before he did his own, and he wouldn’t let me carry anything heavier than my purse, which was sweet but kind of annoying, too.

  He was amazing with children. All the carnie kids adored Zef, and Tucker, too. They were all a little in awe of Kes even though he was nicer to the kids than he was to most people, but it was Zef that they all came to with their problems. If your bicycle had a flat tire, Zef would patch it, taking the time to explain what he was doing; if your big brother was picking on you, Zef would carry you on his broad shoulders and tell you about all the crazy things he did when he was a kid. And with the children who came to see the show, he was so patient, answering all their questions, signing programs, talking to them seriously and reminding them not to try the stunts at home.

  And the women—they were drawn to all of the Daredevils. I couldn’t blame them. The guys were all super good-looking and had charisma—and weren’t interested.

  Kes was with Aimee and didn’t have eyes for anyone else, which made me a little sad—not because I was attracted to Kes, but because I wondered why I hadn’t been enough for Owen. Why had he cheated on me again and again? And it wasn’t just because he could. Kes had chances every freakin’ hour of the day to hook up if he wanted to, they all did. But none of them kept a phone number they were given or made arrangements to meet any women.

  Obviously, I knew that Luke was gay, and Aimee told me that Tucker had a steady girlfriend back in California, but I couldn’t work out why Zef didn’t seem interested in any of the offers he had. He was polite but cool with his female fans, which made them adore him even more because he maybe an air of aloofness, an aura of unavailability. But why? No one mentioned a girlfriend, and I was pretty sure that he wasn’t gay, so what was going on with him?

  He ignored me as if I had the plague, but I couldn’t help noticing that if I needed a hand with anything, he’d be there, quietly helping me. He was always there when I needed him. Always.

  It was confusing.

  I kept throwing myself in his direction, hoping he’d notice me, and sometimes I thought he did. So I never gave up.

  See? I can be smart.

  And when we kissed, it was everything I’d dreamed about and more.

  But I had no right. No right to have feelings for him. I could tell that the age difference bothered him, even though I didn’t really get why. I thought guys were supposed to like dating younger women? And the age thing didn’t bother me.

  But I was pregnant and that did bother me; I knew that starting something with him wasn’t fair.
>
  And then Aimee and I had our little chat, and she explained about his ex-girlfriend.

  Who was pregnant.

  With another man’s child.

  It’s hard to explain how painful that news was to me. My heart ached to think someone had done that to him, but I felt like the biggest hypocrite on earth, too.

  I backed off, and I knew that had hurt him as much as it hurt me. I’d fallen for this big, kind, silent man. I’d fallen for his passion, his honesty, his amazing talent, his thoughtfulness, and his devotion to his carnie family.

  So here I was, eighteen, pregnant, and in love with a man who wasn’t the father of my baby.

  My mixed messages were giving both of us a headache. But here he was, still being my friend. And now I had to tell him the ugly truth.

  Zef wouldn’t look at me as he shoved my shopping bags in the back of the truck and helped me climb into the cab.

  Then he slid in next to me and waited for me to talk.

  The tension was thick and heavy, like a storm about to break.

  My hands were shaking so badly, I had to press my palms together and force them into my lap.

  “I’ve been wondering how to tell you every day,” I said, feeling sick and guilty. “But every time I chickened out because there’s no easy way . . . because I was afraid . . . I am afraid that you’ll look at me differently.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m afraid that you’ll stop being my friend, that you won’t want to know me. And I couldn’t bear that.”

  He still wouldn’t look at me, but nodded to show that he was listening.

  “Okay,” I gulped. “Okay, I’ll tell you.” I took a deep breath, wishing my hands would stop shaking. “Owen was my boyfriend since the beginning of Junior year. Maybe even a little before, because we all hung out by the river during summer vacation and we’d started talking. But we had our first date once school began again. It was kind of a big deal him asking me out because he played varsity baseball and his family is important. They have a lot of money and Owen’s father is the sheriff. You know small town politics,” and I gave a weak smile.

  Zef didn’t smile back, but I could tell that he was listening intently.