“Holy shit!” yelped one of the paramedics.
Kes smiled happily as the little monkey burrowed into his arms.
“Hey, Bojangles!” he crooned. “Missed you, buddy. How are you? Mommy been treating you good?”
“Aw shit, Kes!” Tucker whined. “I thought it was your back you landed on, not your head. You’ve gone fuckin’ soft, or what?”
“Watch your mouth in front of the children,” I said, smiling at Kes.
I heard his laughter pealing out, and the sound brought tears to my eyes.
“Hey, baby,” he said, his own eyes soft. “I made it home.”
“Yes, you did,” I said, kissing him happily.
The paramedics used a scoop-board to move Kes from the ambulance and take him inside. Once they got him situated on the new bed, they shook hands with him, and walked away, shaking their heads at the madness that was my makeshift family.
I gave Kes a quick lesson on how to use the bed, and then Tucker decided it was time to start the party.
“It’s so good to have you home,” I said, trying not to cry and failing miserably.
“Hey,” Kes said gently. “We’re celebrating!” Then he grinned at Tucker. “Bust open the fucking champagne, you lightweight!”
“You don’t drink!” I pointed out, laughing and crying at the same time.
“Maybe I want to dip you in champagne and lick you clean,” he whispered.
“Ask me again in ten weeks,” I laughed.
He tapped his forehead. “Locked in my memory, baby.”
Con, Hilde, Zef and Mirelle arrived when the party was in full swing. It was a warm sunny day, and I ran to my friend, hugging her tightly as happy tears poured out of me.
“Aw shit, chica,” she said softly. “You’ve gotten skinny.”
“Been a bit stressed,” I sniffed, shaking my head.
“You gotta look after yourself. I’ll nag you tomorrow—today is about celebrating.”
It was one of those perfect California days when they sky is too blue and too perfect to be believable, as if God had airbrushed it just for us.
The party spilled outdoors and as the sun sank into the ocean in a fantastical dance of light and spray, our guests scavenged across the dunes and scrub, collecting brushwood and logs to make an enormous bonfire. Sparks shot up through the dry wood in a shower, and people danced as Luke played his guitar. When Kes said he wished he could be outside as well, Tucker and Con started to drag the enormous bed to the door. Except it didn’t fit, being extra wide and fitted with rails at the sides.
My mouth dropped open when Tucker took a chainsaw to our log cabin to give us a wider opening.
“Okay, Aimee?” he asked, as the whirring blades coughed and roared.
I was going to say no, but I could see the longing on Kes’s face. I knew how important it was for him to be able to see the sky.
“Come on, baby,” Kes said persuasively.
“It’s really flat ground outside, no bumps or anything,” Tucker enouraged.
Kes grinned at me. “I won’t feel a thing through this mattress.”
“Fine!” I said, shaking my head. “But you’d better build me a new front door tomorrow, Tucker.”
Kes was smiling so big—it felt good to see him happy after everything that had happened.
It’s a funny thing, hope. I mean, strange, not funny. Such a small word, so many meanings. I hope it won’t rain. I hope the store has my favorite candy. I hope the love of my life will walk again. Things like that: hope.
The next day, we learned about our new normal for the next ten weeks.
I slept on the couch so I could be closer to Kes, giving Con and Hilde our room. She took the whole crazy carnie atmosphere in stride, but I could see that she longed for peace and order and that other kind of normalcy. I was like that once—sometimes it was hard to imagine how I’d changed so much.
I’d been sleepwalking through my life, and now my world was the carnival. Ollo must have been right all those years ago: I’d been sprinkled with fairy dust and the carnival was in my blood . . . and in my sweat and in my tears.
We were turning the page of our magic book. We were starting again.
Kes had woken up every time the new bed rolled him, which meant that I’d woken up, too. It was going to take some getting used to.
Kathy, Maura’s nurse from Safe Haven came over to check Kes’s blood pressure and see how he was doing.
“We really appreciate you going out of your way to help us,” I told her.
But she waved away my thanks.
“Kes and his brother have done so much for Safe Haven over the years—we’re happy to be able to help.” Then she patted my hand. “He’s doing fine, sweetheart.”
And he was.
The hospital’s Physical Therapist had saved Kes’s sanity—and mine—by giving him equipment he could use to exercise, now that sensation had come back to his legs.
She’d shown us how to place a small step machine at the foot of Kes’s bed so he could exercise his legs while keeping his pelvis still and flat. She’d also given him a resistance band to exercise his arms and chest muscles, and said that in another week, he could start using the hand weights that she’d given us.
But I had another plan, too: I was going to teach Kes to read.
“There’s no use whining and complaining,” I said firmly when he said something to the effect of, You’re not in fucking school now. “You’re flat on your back and without one of the basic life skills. One day you you’ll thank me for this.”
He gazed at me for a long time after that.
“I will,” he said at last. “I will thank you.”
I knew he wasn’t talking about reading.
Our world whirled around us, our crazy carousel, always changing, always moving.
Tucker built us a beautiful front door, showcasing his carpentry skills on top of everything else he seemed to know. I was dying to find out what his story was, but talkative, laughing Tucker was silent on that subject.
Our new door was just like a stable door, with the top half swinging open independently of the bottom. Even when the weather was cooler, I left the upper section open so Kes could look out and see daylight. On warmer days, we wheeled his bed outside.
Ollo kept Kes occupied when I was cooking or catching up with emails, or chatting to our guests.
I couldn’t help noticing that Ollo seemed to be moving a little slower now and his dark hair showed traces of silver. No one knew how old he was, but he’d traveled with Kes’s great-grandfather.
I loved to hear his stories of old time carnivals, and wrote down as many of them as I could remember. It seemed important that there was a record, that the yesteryear tales survived even when the people who’d lived them were long gone.
Mirelle went back to work, but Zef didn’t go with her. I didn’t know what had gone on between them, and Mirelle simply said that she better understood my decision last Fall. Zef seemed disappointed but refocused himself by working on a new act with Tucker. Kes had tried to get them to bring in a third person for Hawkins’ Daredevils but they told him to forget that idea. I think Zef’s exact words were, “Yeah, sure, because I’ve got plenty of time to listen to you spout dumb shit like that. Here’s another awesome suggestion: why don’t you shut the fuck up, asshole!”
Kes laughed, but he didn’t suggest that particular idea again.
They planned how to adapt the show for two people and which stunts needed to be scratched. Kes enjoyed talking with them about the new show, but he was always quiet after. I didn’t need a degree in Psychology to know the reason why. His temper sometimes exploded, but that was nothing new. I think the most frustrating thing for him was not being able to get away from his own thoughts. We all have those moments when we want the world to stop turning for just one damn minute.
I had a rule that seemed to work for us: if he yelled at me, I yelled back. If he was sarcastic or short-tempered, he got it back in spade
s. He didn’t need me to give in and let him walk all over me just because he had a broken back. If he ended up in a wheelchair after this, I’d still kick his ass if he was a douche.
After three days, Con and Hilde had left for the new posting at Travis Air Force Base which was less than a three hour drive from us. I was pleased about that, and I think Hilde was, as well. She was also relieved to be leaving our carnie commune.
“It is like a circus every day,” she smiled, shaking her head. “Maybe you will keep elephants and giraffes in your backyard.”
“Come back in a month,” I said.
I could tell that she wasn’t sure whether to believe me or not.
Con was happy to go, as well. He’d left this life behind when he was 18—he didn’t want it back.
“Be well, little brother,” he said, shaking Kes’s hand, then leaning down to give him a quick hug. “You’ve got a wedding to go to this summer and I need my best man. I don’t care if you have to bring that fucking bed, just get your ass there, okay?”
“Douche,” Kes said with a grin, and then he winked at Hilde. “Don’t know what you see in him.”
She shrugged. “He’s pretty, and when he goes down on me, I cum like a volcano.”
I snorted loudly, and Kes laughed so hard I thought he was going have an aneurism.
Con’s cheeks were a dull pink beneath his tan. “Honey, we’re gonna have to work on that German bluntness.”
Hilde just smiled serenely.
We waved as they drove back up the road, and I saw Ollo watching from under a tree. He never said goodbye. I asked him why once and he shrugged and said, “I don’t believe in them.”
Personally, I thought he’d been spending too much time with Madame Sylva and Madame Cindy. Those ladies invented being cryptic.
When Con and Hilde had gone, I turned to my newly constructed bookshelves—courtesy of Tucker—and pulled out some textbooks.
Kes groaned, but he didn’t refuse either.
After we’d been working for a while, I thought Kes needed a break. Undoing years of self-loathing because of his dyslexia wasn’t the work of a single morning.
He smiled up at me.
“Do you know what this reminds me of?” he asked. “When we were kids and you used to try and teach me stuff. That was cool.”
“I used to read to you, as well.”
He laughed lightly. “Yeah! All those books about magic.”
“Because that’s how I saw the carnival—how I saw you—a place where magic happens. I still think that.”
“About the carnival?”
“No, about you. You make magic happen . . . and before you say anything, I’m not talking about sex!”
Kes’s wicked smile told me that was exactly what he’d been thinking.”
“No, I mean it. I know carnie folk have their own rules, I get that now, but to me you seemed so free. And making people happy, that’s magical, don’t you think?”
Kes wrapped his large hand around my smaller one.
“It was just my home,” Kes said. “It was you who made it magical.”
Because he rarely said the words he kept buried so deep inside, I treasured each like a precious jewel, every syllable more dear than diamonds.
“Will you read to me?” he asked, almost shyly.
“I’d love to. And I’ve got the perfect book.”
Kes laughed. “Yeah?”
“It’s called The Alchemist.”
Kes frowned. “A chemist?”
“Not exactly. Alchemy was an idea in the Middle Ages: people thought they could turn metal like iron into gold, or find the elixir of life.”
Kes smiled. “They were looking for magic.”
“Of course. Like I said—the perfect book for us.”
As I began to read, Kes closed his eyes.
“‘The Alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had bought . . . ’” I began.
Kes listened, his eyes closed, his hands relaxed across his stomach. I let the story carry us away: out of our cabin, away from present pain and fear of the future, away to where the simplest things meant magic could happen.
“ ‘It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting,’” I read.
Kes opened his eyes. “Guy knew what he was talking about.
“You like that bit?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I used to dream about what it would be like if you traveled with me in the carnival. When I was a kid, it was like summer every day and having my best friend with me. Then we moved on, and I was just another dirty carnie, and parents told their kids to stay away.”
“I was one of those kids,” I pointed out sadly.
“But you didn’t stay away,” Kes said, taking my hand and examining it as if he’d never seen it before.
He traced along my life line and along my love line, then kissed the tip of each finger.
“I’ve been pushing you away a lot lately,” he said slowly. “I know that. But you wouldn’t go.”
“Nope, you’re stuck with me now.”
He still didn’t look at me, his forehead wrinkled in thought.
“You know I’m damn near broke, don’t you?” he said quietly. “I was counting on the money I’d earn this season to pay for our house, for everything. But all I have is this patch of land, the cabin and the RV. I won’t let my fucking father pay for anything.”
“I know.”
He raised his eyes slowly to mine.
“When you left me last summer, you said that love wasn’t enough—that love wouldn’t keep you from starving.”
“I remember.”
“Do you still think that?”
I answered carefully, but with all my heart.
“I’ve learned that I need both.”
Kes swallowed and looked down.
“I can’t provide for us like this. Fuck knows if I’ll ever be able to . . . ever . . .”
I tightened my fingers around his.
“I can provide for us—at least I hope I can. I have a job interview tomorrow.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Where is it?”
“Online.”
“I meant where’s the job?”
“Both the job and the interview are online. I applied before Christmas but I just got an email to arrange a Skype interview. If I get it, I’ll be working with a dozen kids who are home educated. And get this—one of them is a child whose parents follow the rodeo circuit so she’s always traveling.”
Kes’s expression had gone from tense to interested to amused.
“Shit, really?”
“Yep. I think I’ve got a good chance of getting it. It doesn’t pay much, just $900 a month, but it won’t be many hours, so I can look for something else similar.” I held his hand tightly. “We’ll manage, Kes.”
I hoped I wasn’t lying. Just under a thousand bucks a month would barely keep us in food and utilities. I didn’t dare mention my student loans: the government always got their money back. I knew that the interest would keep piling up, I’d have horrible credit so probably wouldn’t be able to keep my credit cards either.
Kes closed his eyes and frowned. “It’s not what I promised when I asked you to come with me.”
“All you promised me was a life with you—that’s why I came.”
“But you shouldn’t have to scrape along,” he growled, his expression upset. “I wanted to give you a good life . . . a better life.”
“You already do.”
He pulled a face. “Yeah, ‘cause looking after a cripple is what you’ve always dreamed about.”
“Stop it,” I said gently. “This is one of those times where it’s hard, but we’ll be alright.”
He kissed my hand again.
“I don’t say it enough, but I love you, Aimee.”
I smiled.
“Love you more.”
We fell into a rhythm that was new and strange but seemed to work for us.
Kathy came
out each morning to take Kes’s blood pressure and to check for any pressure sores. Kes teased her mercilessly, saying that she just wanted to get her hands all over him. She laughed and threatened him with a sponge bath.
Kes winked at her.
“Nah, that would spoil Aimee’s fun.”
I smiled, a little embarrassed, although to be honest I did enjoy that part of the day. I could tell that Kes enjoyed it, too, because every day my touch aroused him. He kept trying to get me to relieve the pressure, but I wouldn’t, of course. He knew that, he just loved to tempt me—and he was no doubt hoping that one day I’d relent. So far, I hadn’t. In all seriousness, I’d taken Dr. Wrobel’s words to heart and was too worried about damaging Kes further. If I had a dollar for every time he’d mentioned “blue balls,” our money problems would be over.
Kes spent hours following the exercises that the Physical Therapist had given him, and I do mean hours. Even when he was watching TV or listening to music, his legs would be pumping on the step machine, and he’d be using the small hand weights he’d been given.
In the afternoons, we’d spend an hour or so on doing a reading lesson. Secretly, that was one of my favorite things to do—and Kes was improving fast.
He still got frustrated, but he was doing really well. I was proud of him.
In so many ways.
The nights were the worst—the silent doubts of a sleepless night. Kes insisted that I rest upstairs in our bed, but I often woke to the sound of him using the step machine. Over and over, for hours at a time, the sound of his steady tread would echo quietly through the cabin.
I hoped for the best, but sometimes I imagined the worst: in my head, I planned for both. But alone in the dark, the tears came often. Bo would hear me and he’d move around his crate, chirruping softly with distress. Then his tiny paws would pad across the room and he’d climb onto the bed and push his furry face into my hair.
I got the online job. It was only a few hours a week, but I enjoyed being in teacher-mode again.
The Traveling Woman Page 29