The Traveling Woman

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  Dr. Wrobel told us that we’d need the wheelchair for a few weeks until Kes’s stamina had increased. I suspected that Kes would refuse to use it once we left the hospital and I’d have to insist.

  “I’m not going back to Arcata in a fucking meat wagon!” he yelled.

  “Yes, you fucking are!” I shouted back. “You’ll lie on your damn back, and you’ll do every damn thing the doctor says or I’ll tie you to bed and leave you there!”

  Kes smirked at me. “I didn’t know you were so kinky.”

  I marched up to him, wagging my finger in his face.

  “By ambulance!”

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  “No fucking way!”

  I stood with my hands on my hips, glaring down at him.

  “If you don’t come home by ambulance I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”

  “You’ll what?” he challenged me, his eyes flashing with anger.

  “I won’t have sex with you! For a week.”

  “Yeah, you will,” he said confidently.

  “You’re incorrigible!” I yelled. “I mean it! No sex! I’ll go and sleep in the RV if I have to. Your choice.”

  Kes knew that walking up the uneven slope to the RV was more than he could presently manage.

  “Fine,” he snapped.

  “Fine!” I yelled.

  Then he grinned at me. “When did you become so kickass?”

  “When I moved in with you.”

  He laughed. “Damn straight!”

  Then he held out his hand, wanting me to sit in his lap.

  “I’m too heavy!” I said, shaking my head. “I could hurt you.”

  “No, you’d never do that,” he said. “Come here.”

  Gingerly, I perched on top of him, keeping my weight off him. But moments later he was kissing me with lips that burned and touched my very soul.

  His kiss quickly became urgent and I could feel his solid length pushing up through his sweat pants beneath me.

  “I want you so fucking bad,” he growled, his mouth threatening to bruise me.

  “We’re in a hospital, Kes!” I protested.

  He bit my earlobe and I squirmed against him.

  “Oh, God! Get on the bed,” I said urgently.

  Kes’s head shot up in surprise. “Yeah?”

  “Yes! Move it, Donohue!”

  I leapt off his lap and he watched bemused as I dragged the spare chair and shoved it against the door. I hoped it would keep people out . . .

  Seeing that I was serious and as turned on and frustrated as he clearly was, Kes manoeuvred himself onto the bed.

  I turned around and started tearing off my clothes.

  “Why are you still dressed?” I asked, kicking my jeans out of the way.

  And then I was standing before him, naked except for my Ferris wheel necklace—I never took that off.

  Kes’s eyes were huge, his tongue moving across his lips in a way that made it look like I’d just announced an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  Then he dragged his t-shirt over his head and pushed his sweatpants away.

  I was glad he’d gone commando, because that saved several seconds.

  His cock was dark and purple, lying thickly against his flat stomach. I went to crawl across him, but Kes grabbed my hip and stopped me.

  “Not tonight, baby. I’m going to be on top.”

  “Kes, I’m not sure that’s a good idea just yet.”

  His eyes narrowed and he all but bared his teeth at me.

  “I’ve just spent three fucking months on my back; there’s just no way that the first time we fuck I’m going to be on my back again.”

  “But . . .”

  “No! You’re going to be underneath me and I’m going to watch your face as you come apart while I fuck you.”

  My mouth dropped open, but I did what he said, a pulse of anticipation heating my whole body.

  Kes grabbed my leg and hitched my knee over his hip, holding his weight on the other hand.

  “I’ve dreamed about this for too fucking long,” he groaned as he drove into me in one long, heated thrust.

  I cried out, and that unlocked the devil inside him. Kes let loose in a way he hadn’t been able to do for so long. He fucked me so hard, the hospital bed creaked and groaned and squealed in protest. My head banged against the frame, and I had to hold the safety rail with one hand, the other locked on Kes’s shoulder.

  His mouth fought against mine and as I crumbled beneath him, Kes dropped his head to my shoulder as his cock thickened and pulsed inside me.

  It had been short . . . and anything but sweet.

  There he was—there was my Kes.

  He groaned as he pulled out, lying on his side as his heated breath washed over my bare skin.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, my hand drifting over his hip, almost afraid to touch the sweat beading on his spine.

  “Yeah,” he croaked. “Fucking hurts, but everything still works.”

  I started to laugh and soon Kes was laughing with me.

  We lay wrapped in each other on an uncomfortable mattress on a narrow hospital bed, the worst behind us, our future ahead of us once again.

  “What am I going to do with you?” I smiled as he kissed along my neck.

  “Marry me,” he said. “You could marry me.”

  We spent a whole year in our cabin. Kes grew stronger every day, his determination to live a large life, to fill it with magic—it never dimmed.

  It wasn’t easy, because Kes isn’t easy. My man is quick-tempered, vibrant, burning hot and cooling slowly.

  We fought. My God, we fought! And then we loved. And no matter how angry I was with him, how furious I was at his pig-headed, stubborn, maleness, I never let the night pass without whispering, “I love you.”

  And no matter how enraged he was with me for arguing back, for not seeing his way in all things, he always answered, “Love you more.”

  We visited Maura, Kes’s mom, most weeks. Sometimes she knew him and sometimes she didn’t. I guess we’d used up our quota of miracles.

  TC came to visit which was fun, but strange. She got to meet Jen and Dylan, and I know they’re planning to meet up in Minneapolis.

  Kes’s father didn’t resign. Of course. He made an apology to his constituents, and his wife decided to stand by him, looking suitably dewy-eyed. Kes never mentions his father. I never mention mine either—and anyway, Ollo is more like a father to both of us. Mom and me are working on things. I haven’t invited her out to the cabin yet, but I will.

  The carnies came and wintered with us again and I was so happy to see the guys. Luke was still with Zach, and I’m pleased about that. Zef and Mirelle are in touch, although I know they both see other people. Tucker is . . . well, Tucker. He doesn’t change. We spent nights around the bonfire, singing and dancing, telling stories, toasting s’mores as Kes breathed fire.

  Kes was riding his bike again too, despite ongoing pain, just as Dr. Wrobel had told us to expect. Not that Kes would admit to it—I can tell by the way he holds himself when he’s suffering. I’m getting pretty good at giving therapeutic massages, although more often than not, they end up with us in bed.

  Sitting is worse for him than standing or walking or even running, which he’s started to do again, so I know that riding the motorcycle can’t be good. But he’s doing what he loves, so I don’t try to stop him. He’s started performing some of the easier stunts, as well. It still makes me cringe with fear, but he’s happy.

  He once told me that only two things scare him: being enclosed in small spaces and losing me. He’s survived both those things, but now I’ve promised never to leave him again. The ring on my finger is a symbol of that promise, and Kes smiles every time he sees it.

  We hardly have a dime to share between us, but I don’t care. We’re working on it. My online teaching job brings in enough to live on, although for now money is tight. But you know what? We’ve survived worse.

  We still dream about building a
house overlooking the ocean, and we still dream about making a home for our carnie friends, and maybe a home for our children one day. I hope so anyway. If and when that day comes, we’ll have a lot of fun practicing first, at least that’s what Kes says, and I have no intention of arguing with him about that. I hope Bojangles isn’t jealous, because he’s a bit of a momma’s boy, for a monkey.

  As the air warms and the leaves unfurl on the trees, we know that Spring has arrived again. So we’ve packed our lives into the RV to take to the trail, to follow the wind.

  I’m going to write a blog about our travels. Maybe no one will read it, or maybe our children will one day. I’m going to call it ‘The Traveling Woman.’ Catchy, huh? But before I close my eyes tonight, I’ll be looking up at the lights of the Ferris wheel and Kes will be beside me. And then our dreams will have come true—for both of us.

  Up or down, rich or poor, wherever the road takes us, whatever adventures we have, we’ll have them together—me and my traveling man.

  So many people asked me for “more Kes” and to find out what he was thinking. Well, I’ve written this bonus chapter just for you.

  Being a carnie is the only life I know. I was born on the road, I live on the road and why the fuck would I want anything else?

  Up until 24 hours ago, that's how I thought.

  I'm not dumb, even though there's plenty of evidence that says I am. I know that most people are brick-dwellers. I've never really thought about the reasons for that: they're what they are, and I'm what I am.

  Dono used to say it was a waste of energy to worry about it. We were on a different road. Con used to argue about that when I was a kid. Even Dono couldn't knock the questions out of him.

  “Why do we have to live this way?” Con asked.

  “It's the way things are,” Dono said.

  “But why?”

  Thwack.

  The summer I met Aimee was the summer Con stopped asking. I used to think it was because he'd gotten an answer, but later I realized he'd just made up his mind to leave as soon as he could.

  When he did go, it hurt like hell. Dono never spoke his name again; it was like he'd died or something. Con sent me a card on each birthday, sometimes with money in it, but he never came home again. And by 'home' I mean he never came on the road with us again. He never came to Arcata either.

  I couldn't understand why he wanted to leave, so I guess it felt like he just didn't want me and Dono.

  But not all carnies were like us, born free, born to travel. A lot of guys just kind of found us, or the carnival found them, I don't know. Like Zef. He wasn't long out of prison. I think it was something to do with drugs: I don't care as long as he doesn't bring that shit around me. Well, I'll tolerate some blow if it doesn't interfere with the act, but mostly he just drinks beer.

  Tucker is … Tucker. He came from the South, Tennessee or Kentucky, somewhere like that. He didn't give his reasons for being on the road. He was doing this rinky-dink wall-of-death show, pretty lame, so when I offered him a spot in the newly-formed Hawkins' Daredevils, he jumped at it like a pig in shit.

  It's not an easy life. There are crappy towns where you get treated like dirt; bad seasons where you get rained out or the crowds don't come; years when the machinery breaks down or your horse goes lame, and costs outweigh what you earn. Or when you get sick and need a doctor or a dentist, but you're on the road and don't have the time to stop because unless you're dying, you've got a schedule. Or knowing that if you don't perform, money is going to be too tight for the next month.

  But there's nothing like it either-sleeping under the stars most of the year, seeing a new town every couple of weeks. I've traveled from coast to coast, been to almost every State. I've swum in the Atlantic and the Pacific. I've stood at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and the top of the Empire State Building. I've played to crowds of 50,000 and audiences of just five, and I get a high every time.

  I've performed with three bust ribs and a broken arm, and I fucking smiled while I did it.

  When I was a kid, Aimee told me a story about some dude who rode wherever he wanted on a magic carpet. And then she said that our RV was like a magic carpet. I teased her about that but I kinda got what she meant, too.

  She loved the carnival as much as I did; I'd never met a townie like her before. When I was a kid, I imagined what it would be like if she traveled with us. Each summer we arrived in Fairmont, it was almost like I was holding my breath until I saw her. I couldn't help thinking that one summer she just wouldn't show up, but she always did. Every summer we'd roll into that maize field, and before the dust had settled, she'd be running toward me. My heart used to race when I saw her, this little shrimp of a kid with a huge smile-a smile just for me. The look on her face made me feel like a fucking king.

  And then the year we turned 16, everything changed.

  I'd fooled around with a lot of girls, more than I ever admitted to Aimee. I hadn't had sex, but I'd done just about everything else. I hadn't planned on still being a virgin at 16, and it's not the kind of thing a guy likes to admit to, but Dono had scared the crap out of me about what would happen if I got a girl pregnant. He drummed it into me that kids should be wanted-and how they could ruin lives. Like Mom's.

  Being told your whole life that you're a mistake-it fucks with you.

  Most carnies have hook-ups with townies, but relationships stay pretty much within the life.

  I don't know what happened to Aimee between 15 and 16. Well yeah, I do, but I mean shit! She went from being this scrawny little kid to serious hotness, all within one year. Suddenly she'd gotten hips and tits.

  It freaked me out a bit, getting hard for my best friend, but as soon as I worked out that she felt the same-that she wanted me, too-it was the most amazing feeling. Having sex with her was better than anything I could have imagined. And I'd imagined it a lot.

  When I lost her, I thought that she'd just been using me. That's what her parents told me.

  And then seeing her again, with a kid, I saw my past and future and present all tangled up. Looking up and meeting her eyes wide with shock, my heart was pounding so hard, I thought it would crash and burn and take me with it. She looked so fucking beautiful, and all I could think was, that should have been me giving her a son.

  The thought scared the fuck out of me. Every time I fucked a woman, I felt the urge to double-wrap my dick, and suddenly I was envious of the jerk who'd given her a kid. How fucked up was that?

  When Sorcha first joined Dono's outfit I was 15. She made it obvious that she'd fuck me, but only after she'd worked her way through most of the roustabouts first. I might have wanted sex, but I didn't want my dick to fall off either. Kind of ironic, bearing in mind what happened later and how long we were together … if you can call it that.

  Hooking up with her when I was 17 was just fucking. Angry fucking-the kind where you'll take any emotion because it's better than being numb.

  But seeing Aimee again after all these years … it took every ounce of concentration not to show her what I was feeling.

  Her voice wavered, uncertainty clouding her eyes as she stared back at me.

  “It … it's Aimee … Aimee Andersen.”

  I had to work to keep my voice on the level. All the anger I felt listening to her old man yell in my face that I wasn't good enough, that she never really wanted me. It was all there, as sharp as if it happened yesterday, not eight fucking years ago. I hate the bitch. At least … I really fucking want to.

  “Yeah, I remember you.” As if I'd ever forget.

  I leaned down to sign her kid's program.

  “What's your name, dude?”

  “Dylan,” he replied shyly, holding Aimee's hand tightly, half hiding behind her.

  “Cool name,” I said, giving nothing away as I scrawled my signature across the program with a Sharpie.

  Aimee stood there stiffly, looking embarrassed and off balance. Yeah, I liked that a lot.

  “Can … can we talk?” she ask
ed quietly.

  No fucking way! That was what I wanted to say, but it wasn't fair to swear in front of the kid. It wasn't his fault that his momma was a lying bitch.

  “I'm kinda busy.”

  “Please?”

  It wasn't the look on her face, but the kid's, looking so disappointed that I was treating his momma like shit. I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill the magic for him.

  “Twenty minutes,” I said. “Out back.”

  I didn't look up to see her reaction as I gunned the engine and rode away.

  Tucker and Zef were putting the bikes back into the trailer when I rolled up.

  “Good show, boss man,” laughed Tucker.

  “You were late on the grid pattern,” I growled. “Could have fucking rear-ended Zef.”

  Tucker looked surprised.

  “No way! That was as smooth as a virgin's ass!”

  Zef threw me a tight look. He always saw through my bullshit.

  “What crawled up your ass? The performance was solid.”

  I muttered something under my breath and ditched the bike, jogging back to the RV.

  I tried to shower quickly, but my dick wouldn't cooperate. Bastard was as hard as steel just from having seen Aimee fucking Andersen for all of thirty seconds. I jerked off hard and fast and had only just finished dressing when there was a knock on the door.

  “Lady to see you, Mr. Hawkins.”

  I took a deep breath and wrenched the door open, standing with my arms across my chest.

  “You came back. That's new.”

  The angry words spilled out. So much for playing it cool. The usher threw me a disgusted look, shook his head, and walked away, leaving me with Aimee.

  She looked nervous, twisting her hands together, just like she used to when she was a kid.

  “You said to meet you 'out back'. I wasn't sure what you meant, so … here I am.”

  Her eyes darted to the kitchen, the living area, anywhere but at me. I stepped back to let her inside, and she plopped down on one of the sofas and looked up.

  She finally met my eyes, and I saw nerves and something more.

  When she licked her lips, I couldn't help the reflex of my eyes falling to her mouth. I didn't want to want her-but I did. And that really pissed me off.