Carnival

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  “I can’t do it! I can’t!”

  Her words tugged at my heart and I glanced down at Peanut’s face.

  “Look how tightly he’s holding onto you. Little dude has a strong grip.”

  She blinked and looked at the way he tugged on her finger.

  “Yeah,” she whispered softly.

  “He’s strong. Like his mama.”

  She shook her head and I saw the panic start to rise in her eyes again.

  “I’m not! I’m not strong! All of this . . . it terrifies me.”

  “Hey, hey! Sara, you’re the strongest woman I know. You kept him safe for nine months when the world was a big and scary place. You’re doing great. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out together.”

  Tears trembled at the corner of her eyes.

  “I don’t deserve you.”

  “No, you don’t. You deserve someone a helluva lot better, but I guess you’ll have to put up with my sorry ass now, because me and Peanut have a deal.”

  She gave a watery smile.

  “You do?”

  “Yep, but I can’t tell you ‘cause it’s guy talk.”

  “Is that right?” she smiled tearfully.

  “Do you think maybe you’d like to hold him now?”

  Worry creased her forehead, and I held my breath.

  “I might drop him.”

  “If you do, I’ll catch him. Or he’ll bounce. One or the other.”

  “Zef!”

  She gave a soft giggle and then I placed Peanut in her arms, and a look of wonder spread across her face.

  Which is how her parents found us an hour later.

  “Oh, sweetheart!” and her mom carefully gathered the new mother and son into her arms.

  Nathan Weiss shook my hand.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Two days later, Sara came home. It wasn’t exactly the celebration we’d imagined, but it was a start, our new life.

  For the first several days, she was weak and lightheaded and wasn’t allowed to get out of bed unless I was there. She had to rest, drink plenty of fluids and eat nutritious meals. Luckily, I had help with that, not being much of a cook, although I was actually a lot better than Sara. She’d also been given some iron tablets to help boost her recovery. Tera made a load of meals with green stuff in it, which she said was important because they contained iron. Thank God Tucker was helping her because at least he could find a way to make it edible, too.

  Aimee was in and out of our kitchen, as well, but with her own newborn to look after, she tired quickly and either I walked her back to the cabin, or Kes came and took her home.

  Sarah’s mom found a grocery store and a deli in town and stocked our cupboards as if we were planning a year-long siege. I guess she didn’t cook either.

  “Mom! I do know how to fry an egg!” Sara snapped when her mom tried to take over in the kitchen.

  “I’m just trying to help, darling.”

  “No, you’re not! You’re interfering!”

  I was on full alert, expecting Norah to hit back, but she didn’t.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You’re right. But I honestly was just trying to help. I worry about you.”

  “Because you think I can’t cope!”

  Norah took a tentative step forward and put her arms around Sara’s tense shoulders.

  “You’re coping beautifully, darling. I’m so proud of you. I . . . I know I don’t say it very often . . .”

  “Or ever . . .”

  “I deserve that . . . but I am. Your father . . . both of us . . . we’re so proud of you. And . . . we love you very much.”

  I quietly grabbed Peanut and tiptoed out of the kitchen while they both shed some tears. I think they’d needed that for a while now.

  Nathan gave me a quick smile and nodded his head.

  They stayed another week, getting to know their grandson and repairing their relationship with Sara some. When they left, it was with promises to come again soon and a standing invitation to visit Missoula. I thought it be some time before we went back there.

  It took a little while, but gradually Sara started becoming more confident around Peanut. We learned together that yeah, babies are really slippery when they’re wet, and yeah, they shit more than you’d think was humanly possible. Sometimes the little dude was leaking both ends at the same time. It’s amazing how much gross stuff you can get used to.

  Socrates was fascinated by Peanut. We’d been cautious, introducing them carefully to each other, but it soon became clear that we’d inherited a guard parrot. Every time a stranger came near, or even Sara’s dad, Socks would yell his head off, shouting, “He’s a tosser! He’s a tosser!”

  He liked to stand on the edge of Peanut’s crib and peer in. And you know what, that crazy lil bag of feathers learned to rock the crib when Peanut started to cry. I swear, we didn’t teach him to do it, but after watching us a few times, he started doing it by himself.

  Kes and Aimee tried to borrow him for baby-sitting duties, but he’d stay all of five minutes before flying back to us.

  Since Peanut and Dove seemed to enjoy being snuggled up together, we’d often put them down for naps in the same crib.

  Bo took a little longer to get used to not being the youngest one anymore. He was quickly bored with both Dove and Peanut, since all they did was eat, sleep and shit, and wouldn’t play with him. But he liked them when they were quiet and would often join them—then we’d find two human babies and Bo’s furry body all curled up together, with Socks on duty. If that isn’t the definition of a carnie family, I don’t know what is.

  A week after coming home, Sara began moving around by herself. She was still stiff and sore, but definitely doing better, and smiling all of the time. And that’s when I knew we were going to be okay.

  Not that I thought for a second it would be easy, but we had each other, and we had our son.

  But there was something else that I did care about.

  Since we didn’t need a paternity test for legal reasons like child support or custody, I had hoped that we could order an at-home DNA paternity test, but it turned out that because of the likely high similarity between Liam’s DNA and Owen’s, it needed to be done by a registered clinic.

  Sara hated doing it, but she needed to be able to tell Peanut who his biological father was one day. Fuckin’ sucked.

  Owen was quick to send in his swab and the result came back with a ‘probability of paternity 35%’. Owen wasn’t Peanut’s father.

  It took a lot longer to chase Liam down, but in the end he complied and the results came back: 99.9% probability of paternity.

  I didn’t know how to feel about that and neither did Sara.

  In the end, she decided to tell Owen first.

  I was pacing in the other room as Sara made the call.

  “I thought you’d want to know, you’re not the father. No, I’m sure. No . . . no . . . it’s Li—it’s your dad’s.”

  She took a long stuttering breath and added,

  “I’m sorry.”

  I strode into the room as the phone slid from her hand.

  “It’s okay, Sara,” I held her tightly and kissed her forehead as she clung to me. “It’s okay.”

  “He was so . . . so . . . cold,” she sighed shakily, and I hated Owen even more for being such a dick.

  Then she took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “I didn’t think . . . well, I guess I’d better phone Liam with the good news,” she said, her face twisting.

  “I’ll do it for you.”

  “No . . . I should do it.”

  She picked up the phone again and dialed.

  As our nerves began to shred, he answered on the tenth ring.

  “Liam, the test came back positive . . . yes. I don’t want to make trouble for you, Liam . . . yeah, well, you deserved that . . . no, look . . . I’m sorry about Tilly and . . . I am . . . I don’t want to fight with you.
I’m emailing you some papers . . . no, listen! Zef wants to legally adopt him. He wants to be the father—he already is. The papers explain the termination of rights. All you need to do is sign on the dotted line and that’s it. You never have to see me or Peanut again. Ever.”

  The silence stretched out and I found it hard to breathe.

  Finally, she yelled, “Fuck you!” and tossed her phone onto the table.

  Peanut started crying and I immediately went to him. But Sara pushed past me, gathering him into her arms and pressing her cheek against his, as if she was drawing strength from his softness and sweetness, his touch soothing her.

  “How’d it go?” I asked, taking him expertly from her arms while she unbuttoned the front of her shirt and pulled out a boob.

  She winced slightly as Peanut started sucking, and my balls hid, traumatized by the pain I could see on her face.

  I was beginning to think the kid was born with teeth, and I could testify to the fact that those gums of his had a pretty strong grip.

  Sara shrugged when I mentioned Liam, but I could see the hurt on her face.

  “Pretty much what I’d expected. He doesn’t want anything to do with Peanut. He’ll sign the papers.” She took a shuddering breath. “And even if he didn’t, the lawyer told us his rights will be terminated if he doesn’t come forward to actively object.” She laughed mirthlessly. “So there’s no chance of that.”

  Yeah, the lawyer had told us that, but until those papers were signed, until it was irrevocable that Liam wanted nothing to do with Peanut, I didn’t believe it would happen.

  If we would’ve gotten married, I would legally be assumed to be the father so there would’ve been no process, but I wanted to do it right, not in a rush or in any way that could make her I think I didn’t want her for her.

  She was still struggling with being a mother—I didn’t need to add to her stress right now.

  When we arrived at Arcata’s courtroom that cold, gray February morning, I’d half-expected to see Liam there. Even knowing that he’d signed the papers, I thought he might come to see the kid he’d fathered, just once. But he didn’t.

  Maybe it was better that way, but it made me want to punch him. I decided holding Peanut was a safer bet because he’d keep my fists out of trouble. Gently, I took the soft bundle from Sara’s arms and she threw me a questioning look.

  I just shook my head and she raised her eyebrows, then smiled at me and my boy.

  Peanut was sleeping soundly. His cheeks were flushed and the dusting of light brown hair stuck to his skull in the overheated courtroom. I was probably underdressed for a formal occasion, but my jeans were clean and oil-stain free, and my plaid shirt wasn’t missing a single button.

  Sara sat next to me, smiling down at Peanut. She was also wearing jeans, and a light cotton jacket that she told me was smart-casual.

  But it irritated me that I couldn’t completely hate Liam either, because he’d given us Peanut. Jeez, we were really going to have to begin using his real name, sooner rather than later, or he’d start thinking that he’d been born into a family of nuts.

  The judge greeted us all, then questioned Sara, making sure she understood her rights as well as the rights he was terminating on Liam’s behalf. I was questioned, too, so the judge knew that I understood my rights, what I was signing up to. Hell yeah, I knew!

  Then the documents were signed and witnessed, and that was it. I’d jumped through all the hoops for the social worker, and guess I’d passed with flying colors. I’d proven financial ability, survived a psych evaluation and home-study, and even gotten through the criminal background check since I hadn’t reoffended and been leaving clean. I was legally Peanut’s father.

  Sara looked down at Peanut and across at me, and although her expression was a little sad, her lips curved upwards.

  “Guess this is it,” she said, a small smile on her face.

  “Guess it is.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, I’m ready to be Peanut’s dad for real.”

  She smiled up at me.

  “You don’t need a piece of paper for that, Zef. You’re the one who was there when he was born; you were the first person to hold him; you’re the one who gets up and feeds him in the night; you’re the one who changes his diapers; and you’re the one who tells him stories about the carnival. You’re his daddy. His real daddy.”

  I pressed my lips against hers, then bent down to kiss Peanut’s forehead.

  It was true. I already felt like a father—a piece of paper was just the legal icing on the cake.

  I signed my name with a flourish and stood up, the proud, legal father of a six-week old baby boy.

  Next stop was the nearest tattoo parlor—I had two new names to add to my ink.

  As time passed and the babies grew bigger and stronger, the real world began to re-enter our lives.

  No Limit had finished the final edits that Sara had asked for, added the titles at the start and end of the movie, and were gearing up for an early release. They seemed confident, but we’d learned that production companies make an art out of looking confident even when they know that they’ll be peddling a piece of shit. Not that I thought Sara’s work would be bad, but she was freaking out with nerves.

  She’d barely slept the night before the first screening for teams from No Limits, KTM and the rest of us. Public screentests were scheduled to start next week which, we were told, would be the real test.

  When I saw the number of people crowded into the small screening room at No Limits head office, I began to appreciate how many people had worked on the movie. For so long, it had felt like Sara operating alone, but there were a ton of technical people that she greeted as we walked in, then marketing employees, many of whom she’d been emailing but hadn’t met, and twelve people from KTM including Cassie Christie.

  Sara hadn’t allowed any of us to see the final edit, and that included me. She said she wanted to see my real reaction when I was watching it. I called bullshit on that—she was just really scared. But I didn’t say anything. I’d realized that relationships are built on honesty and carefully selected lies: both were important, both had their place.

  Besides, I’d seen a few pieces of video and thought it looked damn good, but I was nervous because she was. I wanted it to be amazing for her sake. She’d worked so hard. But as Michaels was fond of saying, Even assholes don’t plan to make a bad movie. Talking of assholes . . .

  Michaels came over to shake hands with us and kiss Sara on the cheek. He didn’t linger, which was just as well.

  Peanut and Dove had both been fed earlier in the hope that they’d sleep through the whole event. I wasn’t holding my breath, but that was the plan.

  I also suspected that if the sound engineer turned up the volume on the surround-sound, it might possibly drown out the noise of two screaming babies, or a military heavy-lift helicopter taking off, which was a similar volume. Possibly.

  But I was wrong about the music. As the opening credits scrolled down the screen, the music was gentle, almost introspective, definitely not what I’d been expecting. Unlike most of these types of adrenaline movies—stunt movies—instead of pounding rock music, she’d used something classical, filming in slomo, making it seem almost balletic.

  The first shot was of Kes sailing through the air, and it wasn’t until the focus pulled back that you could see his motorcycle floating across the screen, six feet below him. It looked fucking amazing, totally jaw dropping. For the first time, I could really see what the crowd saw when we performed.

  I glanced down at Sara’s face, watching her biting her lip, one hand on Peanut sleeping beside her. Even in the half-light of the movie theater, I could see the tension, the nerves.

  I squeezed her hand, then turned back to the flickering light.

  When the title came up on the screen, I smiled.

  She’d called the movie, Legends: Dancing on Air.

  The first shot after the title was as we were suit
ing up for a show, with close-ups of our faces through the visors, footage of us mentally preparing before an event, getting in the zone. She’d made us look kind of scary, really intense, as if we were soldiers about to do battle. Intercut with that were clips of us horsing around after, and getting into a water fight.

  I remembered that day. Sara and Aimee had both gone for routine checkups and everything had been good. I’d been so damned relieved and happy, and that showed in every shot.

  But there was something else, too, with so many close-ups on my body and tatts, it was almost pornographic, the way the camera lens traveled over my body.

  I glanced across at her and raised an eyebrow, she winked at me, but she was blushing, too.

  “Something for the ladies,” she whispered.

  I cringed in my seat as the camera followed a trickle of water down my bare chest when I drank deeply from a bottle, then wiped my mouth with my arm and tipped the rest over my head, shaking my hair like a dog. All close up—all in slow motion.

  “I love that scene,” Sara said, her lips against my ear. “It’s so freakin’ hot!”

  “Are you pimping me out?”

  Mock indignation colored my tone, but Sara just grinned and winked at me.

  “Pays the rent.”

  The other guys got almost an equal amount of skin time, and I heard Aimee snickering in the row in front and murmuring something to Kes that made him grin at her.

  There were also shots of us doing yoga, on the trampoline, and some amazing footage of Kes fire-breathing at one of our bonfires, and then throwing knives. He was with Ollo, and I felt a sharp pain in my chest when I saw his wise old face, smiling with pleasure at his carnie family.

  There were shots of Bo playing with our helmets and clinging to Kes’s back while he rode his motorcycle across the back lot at Pomona, and even some of Socrates as he peered owlishly into the camera’s lens, making everyone laugh.

  Then the scenes moved onto stunts from the show and the music changed to a sharp flamenco. The shots were so good, so acute and close up, that it was unlike any aerial stunt footage I’d ever seen, and that made it stand out. It was pure theater, it was pure carnival.