by Sarra Cannon
“Maybe you don’t… But I guess I’m just not ready to give you up.”
And for all of her frustration and confusion, neither was she.
— —
“Tell me where we’re going.” She tapped her fingers impatiently on her knee.
Matthew shook his head. “Nope. You’ll see.”
“Give me a hint!”
He looked over at her from the driver’s seat of the Westie, having commandeered it because she refused to ride his bike. Her hair was in another twisty braid, a few loose curls springing out to tease her cheek, the fine little hairs at the crown of her head forming a halo around her face. She looked adorably messy, and the sight of her wearing his jacket made him long to muss her hair and bring a flush to her lips and cheeks, to make her bright eyes go unfocused with pleasure.
“What’s in here?” she asked again, nudging his leather bag, which sat between them.
“My camera,” he said. Hallie peered inside, exposing his well-polished old Canon SLR in its padded compartment.
“You know, they make really nice digital SLRs these days,” she said.
He scoffed. “I stick to traditional photography,” he said. “I don’t need computers to do for me what I can do myself.”
People relied too much, he thought, on digital shortcuts. It had taken him twenty years to get a cell phone, which he always forgot at home.
She rolled her eyes. "Luddite."
"It's less fun, taking photos with a camera that does everything for you."
She pursed her lips and nodded. "I can see that. I took a photography class last semester and was terrible at processing the negatives. They never came out right.”
He grinned. “I could teach you.”
She beamed. "Okay. But no promises - I'm crap at artsy stuff. I am good at guessing games, though. So give me a hint - where are we going?"
“No hints. It’s a surprise.”
A surprise that didn’t last long, as he veered the Westie around a curve in the highway and the fair grounds came into view. She gasped, then looked over at him, grinning.
“A fair?”
“Abingford County’s annual carnival, actually. I used to come here, years ago.”
She bounced a little in her seat and kept her eyes fixed on the carnival silhouette as they drove closer and parked in the grass lot. Then she leapt out of the car and was halfway to the ticket booth before he’d managed to shut his door.
“Hurry up!” she called as she ran. But just then, she slipped and skidded in a little bit of mud, lost her balance, waving her arms wildly, and then recovered, looking sheepish.
Matthew roared with laughter. She blushed but glared at him defiantly.
“I guess chivalry really is dead.”
When she took his hand, still shaking mud from her shoes, he had to resist the urge to kiss her all over again. It had only been a couple of weeks, but she already seemed so different to him than the night he’d met her, or the day he’d found her having a panic attack in the town square. She was stronger, somehow. She’d seen what he was and she was still here, waiting (sort of) patiently for answers. He rubbed at his chest, trying to push away the restless feeling that meant his soul was yearning to be near hers.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to wonder whether this time could be different. Whether she was different enough… whether he could make it work. Love her, live with her, watch her grow old… and then ask her to set him free. It would be imperfect, maybe, but it would be a kind of life nonetheless. One where he wouldn’t have to sit and watch as time, as the whole world, simply passed him by, wearing him down, like water on the rocks of a stream.
The fair grounds were open, without fixed borders, so they seemed to stretch on forever, with dozens of flashing, spinning rides rising against the horizon, casting a rainbow glow over the winding aisles of striped tents and blinking marquees. The smells—of roasted corn, turkey legs, and sugary fried dough alongside the scent of grass and hay and livestock manure—overwhelmed him, sent his mind hurtling back to a time when this was the only life he knew. After the War, after Isabella, when he lived and breathed the Fair, with its bustle of laughter and play and the undercurrent of competition: the idea that the world was made up of Us and Them, Carnies and Guests.
“Where do you want to start?”
Hallie pointed at a nearby funhouse, and he laughed.
“Lead the way.”
— —
The cone of cotton candy was bigger than Matthew’s head, and Hallie couldn’t resist snapping a photo of him with it. She would have found an excuse to anyway, though, if only to preserve the memory of that evening. It was going so well. They’d laughed and played games and he’d won her a stuffed frog, which she gave to a little girl whom she’d noticed admiring it. She’d also gone on a ride called the Cyclone—alone, because Matthew had just eaten half a turkey leg and said he’d rather not barf all over her.
He tore off a big gauzy piece of cotton candy and she held out her tongue. He set it down gently, the sugar clinging to her tastebuds, but it was too big: when she closed her mouth around it, a bit stuck out of the corner of her mouth. Grinning, he wrapped his arm around her waist and then gave her a quick, firm kiss, his tongue swiping briefly over the bit of sugar peeking out of her mouth. When he pulled away, she shook her head at him, feeling silly and sort of like her insides were floating. She shoved him lightly.
“Tease,” she said, plucking another piece of cotton candy from his cone and trying to will away her blush. “Where to next?”
“Wherever you want.”
“I’ve picked everything so far. You pick something.”
He stopped beside a blue bench and gave her a long, thoughtful stare. “How about having our fortunes told?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Why not?”
“No reason, I just never thought you’d be into that stuff.”
“You don’t have to be into it, it’s just for fun.”
Hallie tugged out the crinkled paper map she’d gotten from the ticket booth. “Well, Madame Magda is just past the ferris wheel, if you want to try her.”
Madame Magda’s tent was exactly the kind of tent you’d expect a fortune teller to have: made of thick purple velvet and decked with glittery stars and moons, its flaps drawn open with two oversized golden tassels. They approached a bit apprehensively, but it looked empty.
“Guess she’s not in,” Hallie said, turning back towards Matthew and his dwindling cotton candy. He licked his lips and Hallie’s insides fluttered again at the thought of the casual way he kissed her, with such easy confidence and familiarity. She loved seeing him like this, quick and youthful, strong and carefree, and she gazed at him, wholly distracted, as he tried to peer past her into the tent.
“How can I help you, children?”
Hallie shrieked and whirled around. Beside her, she could feel Matthew trying to suppress his laughter.
A plump, elderly woman with wide-set, grey-blue eyes and tanned skin had emerged from the shadows. Her face was like leather, worn but smooth, and she spoke with a faint English accent, her voice soft and dreamy. A sheer green head scarf encircled her head.
“Please, please, come in… come in…”
Hallie stepped inside the tent and was immediately hit with the odd scent of patchouli and peppermint. Her nostrils burned with each inhale. Matthew made to follow her, but the Madame Magda held up one knobbly hand.
“One at a time please,” she said, “I prefer not to mix psychic energies.”
Hallie gave Matthew a helpless shrug, and he watched, bemused, as Magda closed the tent on him with a quick tug of another, hanging golden tassel.
“Have a seat, my dear, and do tell me your name.”
Hallie sank into the stiff-backed dining chair at a round, weathered wooden table. Magda floated around the room lighting candles on a dozen other mismatched little tables. The tea candles, along with a larger candle set on
the main table, were the only sources of light in the heavy tent, which seemed to shut out the sounds of the carnival as well as its multicolored glow.
“I’m Hallie.”
“Hallie,” the woman said. “Hallie, Hallie.” She seemed to be trying out the word on her tongue. “And what answers do you seek tonight, Hallie?”
“Um…” Answers? She had a few she wanted. She thought of Dani lying in a hospital bed a thousand miles away. Of Louisa spending her millions. Of her father, and what his life had been like without his remaining daughter to push around.
And she thought of Matthew, standing outside, and the two sides of him she’d seen: the strong, confident, mature man who comforted her when she was hurt… and the anxious, earnest, desperately lonely one who’d held her in a different way, who had made her feel needed.
Magda had taken a seat across from Hallie and was giving her a penetrating look, her round grey eyes searching her face.
“You have experienced tragedy,” she said suddenly. Hallie immediately tensed, then rolled her eyes. Talk about a fishing expedition.
“You lost someone very close to you… a sister, perhaps.”
Hallie crossed her arms. Lost was a strong word. Dani wasn’t dead, yet.
“My adoptive sister was recently in a car accident,” she replied stiffly. “She’s in a coma.”
“A car accident you caused?”
Hallie felt her whole body run hot and then icy cold. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Because you blame yourself,” Magda replied.
“I—I—“ Hallie faltered, flustered by the turn in the conversation. “Even if I did, how does that affect my future? Isn’t that supposed to be the whole point of this?” She gestured around the room at the kitschy little tables, which held half-melted candles and dusty crystal balls and stacks of worn tarot cards.
“The world we have now… the feelings we have now… they all shape our future,” Magda said. “Now tell me, miss… Do you suffer guilt?”
Hallie’s jaw tightened. She didn’t answer. Magda closed her eyes.
“Dani. Is that her name?”
But Hallie had shut down. The woman had promised answers, not more questions.
“It seems she was very fond of you… She misses you even now.”
Tears burned hot in Hallie’s throat. This woman was cruel, unbearably cruel, but she couldn’t bring herself to make Magda stop. She wanted to hear.
“She wants you to know that she cares for you. But it seems—“ she broke off, frowning at whatever it was she saw behind her wrinkled eyelids. “It seems that you did not care for her the same way? That her love was not returned?”
“Of course I loved her!” Hallie burst out. Magda opened her eyes, her thin pencilled eyebrows disappearing beneath the embroidered scarf that circled her head.
“Did you tell her that?” she asked placidly.
“I—“ Hallie struggled for a moment, digging her fists deep into the pockets of Matthew’s coat for comfort. “No,” she said harshly. “No.”
“And why not?”
“Because when I say that—“ She broke off, shaking her head. “This is stupid.”
“Please, continue.” Magda’s expression was so mild that Hallie wanted to knock over the big green candle that flickered between them.
“Because when I say that, people run in the opposite direction.”
The ache in her chest was starting to come back. It crept upward, constricting her chest and tightening her throat.
“People run… when you tell them you love them?” Magda laid her weathered hands on the table.
“Yes,” Hallie snapped, and her voice rose. “They do. Are we done? Or is there anyone else who wants to stop by from the beyond to tell me what a shitty person I am? Is my mom here? My baby sister? Hell, is my dad here? I’m sure he’d love to fill me in, whenever he dies.”
Magda paled with shock. “I was merely—“
“I think that’s enough.”
Matthew’s voice was cold with anger. Hallie whirled around, a sick, sinking feeling in her stomach. How much had he heard?
Magda gave him an appraising look, then cocked her head slightly, as if she were listening to someone whispering in her ear. “Matthew,” she said slowly, frowning, and if possible, Matthew looked even angrier. “That is your name, yes?”
He clenched his fists.
“So you’re the boy who’s gotten this young lady all clouded,” she said. “I should have known… a young man like you doesn’t come around but every hundred and fifty years, give or take, hmm?”
Matthew blanched. “Leave her alone.”
“I could say the same to you,” she replied, and her voice had lost its dreamy quality. She stood, giving him a hard look. “Be careful, Hallie,” she said sharply, her glare still boring into him. “Make sure you know what it is this boy wants before you give your heart to him.”
For a moment - just a moment, but Hallie saw it - his expression slipped, and underneath all that fury he looked scared, troubled. Magda held his gaze for a moment before he reached in his pocket, tossed some cash on the table and held out his hand to Hallie.
“You ready?” He softened his voice for her, which made her stomach twist again and left her wondering how much he’d heard. She took his hand and stood, her legs wobbly and weak. Had the incense had done something to make her mind feel fuzzy and tired? Matthew placed a hand on the small of her back and ushered her out of the tent, back into the fresh air and spinning lights, the laughter and chatter and the smell of roasting turkey.
Chapter 12
Hallie was quiet as they walked aimlessly, following the crowd away from Magda’s tent. She felt Matthew’s eyes on her; he kept glancing at her and opening his mouth to say something, then stopping himself.
“I’m okay,” she said. “She just caught me off guard, is all.”
Matthew stopped and grabbed her wrist to keep her from walking away. “I had no idea it was going to be like that. I’m sorry.”
Hallie shook her head, unwilling to think about it. “She was a quack. One of those con artists who’s good at reading facial expressions, or something.”
He bit his lip, and she fought the urge to reach up and smooth the small worried furrow on his brow. “What do you want to do next?” she asked.
“You pick,” he said. She looked around. They’d eaten, played games, ridden a few tamer rides, raced through a fun house and ogled North Carolina’s fattest pig. There wasn’t much left, but she didn’t want the night to end… not yet, and not like this. So she tugged him toward the nearest line, for the ferris wheel.
This ferris wheel, the sign boasted, was the largest this side of the Mississippi, and whether or not that was true, by the time they were being ushered onto their car, no matter how much they craned their necks, they couldn’t see the top. It was easily the tallest ferris wheel Hallie had ever encountered—and she’d encountered a lot in her travels with Louisa.
The platform was high and long enough that the staff could load five or six cars simultaneously, and once Hallie and Matthew had boarded, a sullen, pockmarked teenage boy came by to lock the gate and remind them to keep their hands, feet, shoes and other personal belongings in the car at all times. Matthew was quiet as Hallie thanked the boy.
“Do you think anyone’s ever dropped a shoe from up there before?” Hallie asked, but Matthew merely shrugged, his eyes on his feet. She frowned.
Then, with a clang and a hiss, the carts lifted in unison, and they began to glide forward, fast enough that a little breeze blew her hair back over her shoulders. She tilted her head, enjoying the feel of the cool air washing over her face.
They came to a slow stop about a quarter of the way up, just above the tops of the carnival tents, high enough that they could begin to see the fair grounds taking shape, where the people were small but still large enough to pick out individuals. She saw a mother and father walking with a young teenage boy, who had twin little g
irls—his sisters?—attached to each hand. Her heart ached at the sight of them chatting and pointing up at the ferris wheel’s twinkling lights.
Then the ferris wheel creaked again, and they rose higher. From up here, they were going to see the last bit of sun sink below the horizon. The sky was a beautiful, mystical dark orange-purple, casting a sweet warmth over the dark forest and silhouetted tents.
She turned to Matthew, who instead of taking in the view, was staring determinedly at his hands and absently rubbing at his knuckles.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he said, his voice so faint she almost couldn’t hear him, even in the relative quiet that surrounded them at several hundred feet into the air. She wasn’t buying it.
“Seriously, what’s wrong?”
His jaw twitched. “Nothing.”
She glanced from his clenched jaw to his white-knuckled grip on the restraining bar to his eyes that wouldn’t glance upwards.
“Matthew…” she said slowly. “Are you afraid of heights?”
He didn’t reply. He merely shifted inward so that his feet were closer to the seat and his body closer to the middle of the bench. Hallie’s stomach sank. Oh, crap.
She tried to keep her voice low and level as she reached out to pry his hand from the bar, setting her fingers in his palm instead. He gripped her fingers hard and she tugged his hand into her lap.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He mumbled something, his voice hoarse, and then he swallowed hard. “Wanted you to have a good time.” She groaned, exasperated, and then reached up to turn his face towards hers.
“You should have said something,” she said reproachfully, and he nodded, locking eyes with hers and biting his lip way too hard. She tapped it, and he stopped, his gorgeous blue eyes and handsome face tense with anxiety. She contemplated kissing him, just to get his mind off the whole thing, but then she thought that might be taking advantage. “We’ll be off soon,” she said instead.
Another clang and they were moving again. His grip on her hand tightened, but she didn’t say anything. They were rising fast now, soaring much closer to the top. From here, the whole carnival looked small, an enclosed set of glimmering lights and whirling multicolored machinery isolated in the woods, surrounded by a cocoon of dark trees.