The Traveling Woman

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  And he ended the call. I wasn’t really surprised.

  Strike one.

  I tried Con’s phone, but got his voicemail again. Pilots earned good money, right? Even military ones—at least I hoped so. But I also knew that Con and Hilde had already put down a deposit on a house and had a hefty mortgage.

  I pushed those thoughts away. This time I left a short message that Kes had been injured and was in hospital. I didn’t leave any further details.

  Strike two.

  I thought long and hard about making my third call. For a start, Kes would hate it, and I wasn’t entirely convinced that I was doing the right thing anyway. I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the number that I’d programmed into my phone earlier.

  I thought about my small family, about the cabin, about the money Kes needed to pay for his mom. I thought about the horrific debts hanging over us without help. I thought about how I would do anything, anything for Kes.

  And then I dialed.

  I held my breath as the call was put through.

  “Good afternoon, Minnesota Senate Office. How may I direct your call?”

  “I’d like to speak to Senator Hawkins, please. It’s a personal matter.”

  “Are you a constituent of Senator Hawkins? Because if you are, you can . . .”

  “No, ma’am. Like I said. It’s a personal matter. I really need to speak with Senator Hawkins immediately.”

  The voice remained calm and polite.

  “Senator Hawkins’ Personal Assistant is Miss Marjorie Collins, but she’s out of the office now until January 14th. I can leave a message for her.”

  “With all due respect, I don’t want to speak to Miss Collins, I need to speak with the Senator urgently!”

  “Perhaps you could tell me the nature of your call?”

  “It’s private,” I seethed. “I need to speak to him in person.”

  “I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible, Miss . . . ?”

  “Please!” I begged. “It’s important!”

  “I’m sorry, miss, but even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. The Senator is with his family for the holidays and he’s not taking any calls. I’m sorry.”

  I ended the call and dropped my head into my hands.

  Strike three.

  An idea was brewing, but it was risky, audacious even. I needed time to think, but I didn’t have that luxury.

  Kes was so quiet for the rest of the day that I became more and more concerned. Then one of the nurses told me that they’d had to increase the pain meds to keep him from moving around. When he did manage to sleep, he was constantly disturbed, firstly because he’d got one of those mattresses to prevent pressure sores that inflates and deflates continuously; and secondly because a team of nurses came in every two hours to log roll him. It was part of the management for bed sores, I learned. It was also explained to me that Kes’s body was in shock, his mind traumatized, and that it was natural to shut down—it was his body’s way of protecting him.

  So much information was being thrown at me, I felt like I was studying for a medical degree.

  He seemed livelier when Tucker called, describing in detail how he’d finished the tiling. Talking about things like that usually bored Kes, but I could see him grasping for every little detail of home. He also seemed to like me sitting near him so he could see me, and held my hand all the time I was there.

  As soon as we were kicked out at the end of visiting hours, Zach and I headed back to our separate cars. We’d have to work out a better system if we were going to be visiting every day. There were so many things to think about, it was like being buried under an avalanche and not knowing which way to dig to reach the surface.

  Ollo had fixed us supper when we dragged ourselves home—which meant he’d heated up pizza he had ordered for dinner. Bo was sitting picking pieces of pineapple off of a Hawaiian that was meant for Tucker, but he didn’t care enough to complain.

  “I need to talk to you guys,” I said, when we’d all finished pretending to eat. “Zef needs to hear this, too. Tucker, can you call him and put him on speaker?”

  His eyes were questioning, but he didn’t argue.

  Zef answered quickly and Tucker got him up to speed.

  “Okay, so this is the situation: Sorcha screwed with the insurance for all of you guys. For the last six months, you’ve been performing without cover for loss of income. Kes’s hospital treatment will be paid for, but after that . . . he’s broke.”

  There was a shocked silence, then the swearing broke out. Only Zach was silent.

  “That bitch isn’t going to get away with this!” Zef shouted, and I could hear Mirelle’s voice in the background trying to soothe him.

  “I already took care of her,” I said.

  “What? How?”

  “I went to see her. I told her she was a heinous piece of shit and, um, I may have hit her. Twice.”

  “Go, Aimee!” Tucker said, clearly impressed.

  Zach shook his head but smiled. Ollo just winked at me.

  “Anyway, she’s ancient history. We have a more important problem: Kes needs money. Zach has been working the numbers and we’re coming up short. And we don’t know . . . we don’t know how much mobility Kes will have or what help he’ll need after. I’ve already tried Seymour Michaels, and that was a big fat no. I’d suggest trying some of your sponsors, but Zach doesn’t think we’ll get very far if they can’t use Kes’s name.”

  “What does Kes say about all this?” Zef asked.

  I glanced at Zach. “We haven’t told him.”

  Zef immediately started to argue. “You have to tell him, Aimee! You can’t keep shit like this from him! It’s fucking irresponsible.”

  “Leave her alone!” Tucker yelled. “You haven’t fucking seen him, okay! He’s . . . he’s . . .”

  “Not doing so well,” I added quietly.

  Zef was silent.

  “But I have had one idea,” I continued, “but I’m going to need the help of all of you to pull it off.”

  “Anything,” Tucker said. “We’ve got your back, you know that.”

  “Thank you. I’m going to have to disappear for a few days . . .”

  “What the fuck?” Zef interrupted.

  “ . . . and I need you guys to tell Kes that I have a cold and I’m not allowed to visit the hospital, so he doesn’t suspect anything.”

  “What are you planning, Aimee?” Zach asked.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Bullshit!” Zef shouted again.

  “Yeah, I gotta agree, Aimee,” Tucker said, looking worried. “It’s sounds kind of bogus to me.”

  I rubbed my forehead.

  “He won’t like it,” Ollo said, contributing for the first time.

  I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. I could tell from his expression that he’d worked it out.

  “Who won’t like what?” Zef fumed.

  Ollo folded his arms and nodded once. “You should tell them—it’s time.”

  “Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on!” Zef shouted.

  “Beats me, man,” said Tucker.

  “I . . . look . . . I want to tell you . . .”

  “Then fucking tell us!” Zef roared.

  “I can’t!”

  “Bullshit!”

  “You really need to tell us,” Zach said gently.

  I looked across at Ollo, and he nodded again.

  “Okay, fine,” I sighed. “But it can’t leave this room. Um, you know what I mean, Zef. Kes doesn’t want anyone to know, okay?”

  There were various muted mutterings that I took to mean that they were in agreement.

  “I’m going to see Kes’s father. Or at least try to see him.”

  Zach frowned. “I didn’t think he knew his father.”

  “He doesn’t. I mean, he knows who he is, but they’ve never met.”

  “And this guy is rich?” Tucker asked incredulously.

  “I think so. I hope so.”

  �
�Fuck’s sake, Aimee!” Zef said. “You’re pinning your hopes on some guy that has never even met his own son! Why the fuck would he help?”

  “I don’t know for sure. But he helped with Kes’s mom, so . . .”

  “Fuck me!” said Tucker. “Kes has a mom? I’ve known the dude almost four years and he’s never mentioned either of his parents, ever. Now suddenly he’s got a mystery mom and dad? I mean, what the fuck?”

  Zef’s voice crackled down the line. “What he said.”

  “Better tell them,” Ollo said softly.

  “Oh God, Kes is going to kill me,” I mumbled. “Okay, the short version. Kes’s mom is Dono’s daughter. She was on the circuit when she met this guy. She got pregnant and had Con. They hooked up a few more times and eventually Kes was born. But the guy didn’t want anything to do with a carnie girl or her kids, so he hightailed it back to where he came from. When Kes’s mom . . . got sick, he paid for her medical bills.”

  “So where’s his mom now?”

  “In a long-term facility in Arcata. She’s a stroke victim.”

  “And the dipshit father?”

  I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “His name is David Hawkins: he’s the Senator for Minnesota.”

  “Holy shit!” whispered Tucker.

  No one else spoke.

  “What does Con say?” Zef asked after a moment.

  “I haven’t been able to get hold of him,” I admitted. “I’ve left two messages. Anyway, I think they were going to New York for the holidays.”

  Zach shook his head. “I can hardly believe it. And this man never wanted to see his own sons?”

  “I don’t know the whole story, but no, I don’t think so. I think . . . I think Kes made contact with him when Dono died, but . . . it didn’t go well.”

  “Well, what makes you think he’ll help you now?” Zef asked.

  “I don’t know that he will. If you have a better idea, I’d really, really love to hear it.”

  Silence.

  “I spoke to the Senator’s office today, and they told me he’s left for the holidays. So, I’m going to fly out to Minneapolis and try to . . .”

  “No!” Zef said suddenly.

  “I have to!” I yelled in frustration.

  “He won’t be in Minneapolis,” Zef said, suddenly excited. “My brother is playing in the Rose Bowl, remember? Well, the whole team is flying out on the day after Christmas because both teams are going to some red carpet event in Pasadena, and the Senators from Georgia and Minnesota have been invited. The asswipe won’t be in Minnesota—he’ll be a few hours down the road from you.”

  “Road trip!” Tucker yelled, fist pumping the air.

  “Let me talk to Daniel,” Zef said, “but I’m pretty sure he can get you close to this Senator guy. After that . . . it’s up to you.”

  When I woke up the next day, for the briefest moment I was happy. I’d slept right through and woken up to sunlight hovering around the window and pooling on the bed. I reached across for Kes, but the sheets on his side were cold.

  My eyes burned with disappointment, and for a moment I felt breathless with the crushing weight pressing down on me.

  My first Christmas in California: it wasn’t how I’d imagined it.

  I showered quickly and chose my outfit carefully. I’d bought a new dress while I was staying in Minnesota. It was deep red in a soft jersey. Jen said it was cute—“naughty secretary sexy.” I wore it today for Kes.

  I pulled out his present from my underwear drawer hesitantly. It was a DVD I’d had made of all his stunts that I’d pulled from the internet. I wasn’t sure if I should give it to him now. I slipped it back into my drawer.

  Zach and Tucker were already drinking coffee in the kitchen with Ollo when I came down, Bo clinging to me as usual.

  “Lookin’ good, sweet cheeks,” Tucker laughed. “But I gotta say, the kid looks more like Kes than you.”

  Ollo laughed with him, so I smacked them both upside the head as I went past.

  “Are you coming to the hospital today?” I asked Ollo.

  “Nah, I’ll stay here with Bo. Tell Kestrel I said hi.”

  Then he disappeared out the door in a rush.

  I was hurt. Surely he’d make an exception to see Kes.

  “He won’t come, so don’t ask him,” Zach said pointedly. “He feels bad enough about it.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from saying something mean.

  We piled into Zach’s truck and arrived just before lunch.

  Hospitals during the holidays are strange creatures. Nobody really wants to be there, but everyone tries to make the best of it. It’s fake and sad, but a kind of special, bonding experience as well, because we all have one thing in common—we’d rather be somewhere else.

  There was a large tree in the entrance, and some of the staff seemed to be wearing Santa hats, but it still looked and smelled like a hospital.

  We all trekked along to Kes’s room, trying to be upbeat, faking some Christmas spirit.

  “Happy holidays, brother,” Zach said, then leaned down to give Kes an awkward hug.

  Tucker slapped him on the shoulder and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, so stuck them in his pockets and collapsed into a chair.

  “Where’s my girl?” Kes asked.

  “Here!”

  His eyes roved up and down by body, and he smiled.

  “New dress?”

  “Yes. Do you like it?”

  “Yeah, you look beautiful, baby.”

  “Merry Christmas, Kes,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

  I felt his lips brush against mine, but it was a quick kiss, perfunctory. I tried not to feel rejected, reminding myself that he was in hell right now. I pushed the hurt away.

  Tucker kept the conversation going with a long and colorful description of his sexual exploits with the two trapeze artistes, the night of Kes’s birthday party. Normally, I’d have shut him up, but it got Kes to smile, which he hadn’t done much lately, so I made myself useful and got coffees for everyone while the man-talk continued. I wondered what Zach thought about it, although I was certain he’d heard it all before. Tucker didn’t seem to have much of a filter.

  The hospital cafeteria was giving out miniature apple pies with the coffees, so I returned with a tray. Kes didn’t want pie, and he didn’t want to drink anything other than water, stating that everything tasted “weird.” I passed him a small plastic cup with a straw in it, then had a minor panic when he almost choked.

  I could see that he’d lost weight already. The nurses had warned us to expect that, but it was still hard to watch.

  Eventually, the guys went to find some food, and we were left alone.

  “Is there any more news?” I asked. “Do you know if Dr. Goldsmith has definitely scheduled the surgery.”

  “Yeah, day after tomorrow, two o’clock.”

  “How . . . how do you feel about it?”

  Kes frowned. “Honestly? Pretty shitty,” and he sighed. “Aimee, whatever happens, I don’t want you to give up your life to look after a cripple. I’d hate myself and I’d end up resenting you.”

  “Kes, don’t.”

  He shook his head. “I mean it. This isn’t what I want—for either of us.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” I said with a forced smile.

  But he didn’t smile back.

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” he said. “A lot. Well, there’s fuck all else to do and I . . .”

  “You can just stop right there, Kestrel,” I said stiffly. “Because I’ve heard it all before. You wouldn’t walk away if it was me in that bed, so don’t you dare insult me by implying that I’d leave you.”

  “Maybe I want you to go,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah? Well, you’re shit out of luck, because I’m not going, and while you’re in that bed you can’t make me. When you can stand, you can kick me out yourself. But not until then.”

  “Damn it, Aimee! You are the most st
ubborn woman I’ve ever met!”

  “Must be why you love me so much,” I said, my voice wobbling around the edges.

  He shook his head again, but I think he was fighting a smile.

  “I really can’t get rid of you?”

  “Nope. Suck it up, carnie boy.”

  Then Tucker poked his head around the door.

  “Wow, just like old times, you two yelling at each other. Is it safe to come in?”

  I threw a box of tissues at his head, making him duck out of sight.

  “Sure,” I said sarcastically. “Enter at your own risk.”

  “Fuck, she’s mean,” he complained to Kes.

  “Yep,” Kes said, his eyes shining for the first time in days. “That’s my girl.”

  The next day, I packed a small suitcase with the only dress I owned that was even slightly suitable for a red carpet, and decided I was ready to face Senator Hawkins: or as Tucker put it, I was “gonna kick ass.”

  Zach drove me to the airport with Tucker complaining the whole way because I was going by myself. We’d decided it would take too long to drive, and I wanted to be home as soon as possible.

  The guys were going to tell Kes I was sick and had to stay home. I hated lying to him, but to be honest, it was way down on my list of things that I hated right now.

  I was glad that Zef was flying out to meet me. Mirelle had wanted to come, but her family was visiting from Puerto Rico. She promised to come out for the Rose Bowl, although I doubted I’d be able to go, even if it did mean I’d miss seeing Zef’s brother play.

  I couldn’t afford a room at the hotel where the function was taking place, but Daniel, Zef’s brother, had told me to say that I was his girlfriend when I arrived.

  I was sitting in his room, waiting nervously, when I heard voices outside.

  Zef walked in first, and I couldn’t help feeling tearful when he came up and hugged me tightly.

  “How you doin,’ Aimee?” he asked quietly.

  “Been better,” I admitted.

  He nodded, then turned around to introduce the others.

  “This is my little brother, Daniel,” he said, “and his girlfriend, Lisanne.”

  If I hadn’t been told this was Zef’s brother, I would have guessed. He was a shade taller than Zef, but with the same jet black hair and hazel eyes, the same striking good looks, and almost as many tattoos flowing down his arms. I would have taken him for a musician rather than a jock, with his spiked up hair and edgy look.