by Ella Brooke
Ugh. The thought of swinging upward in a metal bucket at the carnival makes me heave. Rochelle knows I never liked carnival rides. How does she expect me to think of this as fun? She just wants to get me alone and pump me for information. And at the same time try to fix me up with her boyfriend Alex’s buddy that’s just blown into town for the weekend. Neither one appeals to me right now.
“I’ll pass on the Ferris wheel, thanks,” I say, my stomach already twitching in alarm.
“Oh, all right. We’ll find somewhere to dish out of earshot. Trent is really stoked about meeting you, though. Alex told him what a stunner you are.”
“Great. Thanks. Just what I need. Another dude who thinks my only credentials are my tits and ass. Good work, Roch. Can’t we go somewhere else besides the amusement park?”
“No! You know this mobile carnival is a fundraiser for the ASU grad class. We have to support it. And your tits and ass need a break from the books just as much as the rest of you. We’ll let the boys blow a bunch of money trying to win us giant stuffed bears, what do you say?”
Against my better judgment, I say yes. I’ve already studied my ass off, trying to distract myself from the real world, and probably couldn’t cram one more stat or research paper into my memory if I tried.
“Great!” Rochelle says. “We’ll pick you up at six, just when the lights come on. And wear something sexy for a change, will you? I don’t want Trent to see you in your natural habitat of baggy sweats and varsity hoodies.”
With a sigh, I hang up on Rochelle. It couldn’t hurt to have a change of scenery. Whenever I do feign to glance out my window all I see is the quiet house and empty yard next door. I’ve given up hoping to catch a glimpse of Rose, or Logan. They seem to have shut themselves off from everything, especially me.
It’s November, which makes it over two months that I’ve known Logan, but also two weeks since I saw him last. And it’s been two weeks of hell. No matter how much I try to force him out of my mind, one thing makes it impossible. I check my computer calendar again, just to make sure I haven’t miscounted. And just like the last three times I checked… I haven’t.
I’m late.
Really late.
When I missed my October period I didn’t think much of it; with the stress of a new school year and the pressures of my Master’s program that can happen. But with November nearly gone and still no period, I realize I have a problem on my hands. My unruly stomach should have tipped me off, but in my distress over Logan, I thought it was just nerves.
Waiting any longer won’t solve anything, so I decide to take the trip to the drugstore that I’ve been putting off. I have to know. And if a pregnancy test shows positive, I have to take responsibility. I have no one to blame but myself. We used condoms when we could, but there were so many times where things were just spontaneous. Logan and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other for long, no matter where we went.
I feel guilty enough for being so careless, but it’s not the possibility of being pregnant that scares me or bothers me the most. It’s that my father, the doctor, the one who promoted family planning to all his patients, will be so disappointed in me.
***
“Loosen up, will you?” Rochelle almost snarls in my ear. “God, you’re stiff as an icicle. Trent thinks he might get frostbite if he even tries to hold your hand.”
“Just leave me alone,” I say. “I’m here aren’t I? I never said I’d make out with the guy.”
“I didn’t ask you to. Didn’t think I had to… look at him!”
I had to admit Alex’s friend Trent was pretty handsome; in that arrogant, frat boy kind of way. Perfect hair, nice eyes, strong chin, and athletic. Not a bad package—if you like that sort of thing. He flashes a toothy white smile my way as I suck a fruit smoothie from a straw. Rochelle elbows me, so I smile back, just to be cordial. Flirting is the last thing on my mind.
He and Alex are playing a shooting game on the makeshift midway set up in a parking lot of the ASU campus. Lights and bells ding and flash everywhere, adding to the white noise of people’s voices and laughter. The smells of popcorn and hotdogs waft through the evening air, and as much as I love hotdogs, the aroma is making me nauseous again.
I see lots of families have come out to join the fun and support the cause, too. I think of Rose and Logan, and imagine them strolling around this venue—Rose holding a balloon on a string. I miss her. With a sigh, I wonder what she’d think of having a new baby brother or sister to play with.
But she’ll probably never even know she has one.
“Hey!” I hear Alex shout as he wins at his game and waves Rochelle over to pick out her prize. They look so cute together, Roch and Alex; I envy their steady, fun-loving relationship. It seems so simple when you look at them. Why couldn’t all relationships be like that? Simple. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.
I glance over at Trent as he stands back from Alex, conceding his friend’s besting him at water pistols. Tall and tanned, he’ll be a good catch for somebody, someday. But not me. What college guy would want me now… damaged goods and with a “bun in the oven.” I’m hurting too much right now to even think about a man, any man, except the one who’s broken my heart and planted his seed in my womb.
I want to tell Rochelle that my drugstore test came up positive, tell her the whole miserable story that she claims to be so anxious to hear. She’ll be sorry she asked, but if I know my friend she’ll offer a big strong shoulder for me to cry on nevertheless. I couldn’t imagine us hanging out like this again, single and carefree. I might be single, but far from carefree.
“Looks like I’m the loser in this race,” Trent says, coming up alongside me. “C’mon. We’ll find another game I’m good at and win you an even bigger prize than Rochelle’s got.” He links his arm in mine and leads me further down the midway. “So I hear you’re practically a psychologist. I hope you don’t head shrink me before we have a chance to get to know each other better.”
I roll my eyes at his comment. Everyone thinks of you as a “shrink.” There are many more career pathways in the psychology field than people realize. “Actually, I plan to be a counselor after I finish my Masters. I won’t have a fancy office or a couch. I might even work with social services—helping people who need it most.”
“Mmm, too bad. I’d lie on your couch anytime, Dr. Quinn.” Trent laughs out loud. “Hey, wasn’t that a TV show? Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman?”
I try to humor him and laugh politely, but I’m not very good company tonight. It’s not Trent’s fault. He seems a nice enough guy, but I have too much on my mind to pay him much attention.
“Hey, where are you two lovebirds going?” Rochelle shouts from behind. She and Alex catch up to us, Alex carrying the four-foot-tall stuffed giraffe that he’s won.
“Oh, just looking for another booth where I can demonstrate my gaming prowess for the brilliant Dr. Quinn here,” Trent answers.
“Uh, don’t hold your breath for a kewpie doll, Quinn. Most of Trent’s prowess gets demonstrated elsewhere,” Alex warns. “Like in the bedroom.”
Rochelle giggles hysterically. “Good luck with that, Trent. Our Quinnie would probably bring a textbook along to make sure you’re doing it right.”
I shoot my friend a withering glare. The only bedroom textbook I’ll ever need lives next door to me; and I’d give anything for another of his lessons, just to be near him again. But that’s not happening.
“I don’t need any prizes,” I say to Trent. “And I’ll take Alex’s word on your other talents. Honestly, the noise and lights are kinda getting to me. I think I’ll wander over to the kiddie section where things move a little slower, if you guys don’t mind.”
“I’ll go with you,” Trent says, his eyes lighting up.
“Great idea. You two go find a quiet spot where you can… talk,” Rochelle says, displaying a wicked grin. “We’ll be over at the beer tent when you want to find us. I think my giraffe is thirsty.” She directs her last state
ment toward Alex, still holding the giant plush monstrosity.
“Your wish is my command, my lady,” Alex says with a bow.
They waltz off arm in arm, and again I’m envious. I suggested the kiddie area because I wanted some time alone, thinking my companions wouldn’t want to go there. But now I have Trent tagging along, and I don’t have the heart or the energy to tell him to buzz off.
“You like kids, Quinn?” Trent asks.
My guts twist at his words, and I take a deep breath. “I do. I hope to have some of my own someday.”
“Me too,” he says. “But not for a long time. I’ve got big plans.”
Which can’t include me, Mr. High Roller. I see a carousel at the far end of the midway and move toward it through the crowd. It’s getting a little late for the young ones, so I expect the kiddie park to be relatively empty. As we get near the entrance, Trent stops at a booth selling funnel cakes and buys one with cinnamon and powdered sugar on top.
“Sweets for the sweet,” he says, breaking off a big chunk and offering it to me. The warm sugary aroma doesn’t bother me the way the greasy hot dogs did, so I toss my empty smoothie cup into the trash and take the piece of cake graciously. He’s trying to be so nice; I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
“Thanks,” I say, and take a bite, the lively calliope music growing louder as we stroll closer to the carousel. The light, fresh-fried cake melts in my mouth, and though I know I should be eating healthy, I can’t help but let out a groan of pleasure.
“Oh, my God, that’s good,” I mumble, my mouth still partially full. You didn’t have to worry about table manners at a carnival.
“Yeah, I never could resist a good funnel cake,” Trent says as we lean against a fence while devouring our treat and watch the painted ponies gallop in their never-ending circle. “Or a girl who appreciates them as much as I do.”
With his sly grin, thinly-concealed compliments, and his eyes reflecting the twinkle from the carnival lights strung overhead, I don’t need a psychology degree to know what he’s thinking, or what he’s hoping for before the night’s over. Since he lives out of town, and the chance of me seeing him again is remote, I find myself actually thinking about letting it play out. A smile, a hug, maybe a kiss or two… what harm could that do? I wouldn’t let it go farther than that. Anything to get my mind off my troubles, however briefly.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say, returning his smile.
“Please do. Meant as such,” he replies, winking.
I swallow the last bites of my cake as he watches me and licks the sugar dust from his lips. They’re nice lips. He turns toward me and takes a step closer.
“Oops, you got a little there,” he says, reaching out and brushing the same powdery remnants from the corner of my mouth. “Can’t have such a pretty face covered up, even with sugar.” He glides his thumb back and forth over my candy-coated lips, and I’m locked into his dark gaze that seems to hypnotize me.
I can’t move as he leans in, cups my chin in his hand and kisses me, the cinnamon and sugar sealing our lips together in unexpected sweetness.
Chapter Twelve
Logan
When Worlds Collide
“Ice cream, Daddy,” Rose says, pointing to a brightly lit booth. “I want ice cream.”
“Maybe we’ll get some on our way home,” I say, clutching her little hand tightly. I had second thoughts about bringing Rose to a place where she could easily get lost in a crowd, but the temptation of rides, clowns, and food was too powerful to resist and provided the perfect distraction for both my daughter and me.
I think I needed the break even more than Rose. With Jolene growing bolder in her demands to see Rose I’ve been pressing hard for the restraining order to be dispensed. I half-expect to see her at every corner, popping up from behind a bush or skulking at the end of the block like a damn stalker. The bureaucratic wheels turn agonizingly slow, and I know she’s using this time to build a case with the family courts. Worse, Rose seems to have some memory of the night she spent at Lila’s and keeps asking about the “loud lady at Grandma’s” in addition to where Quinn has gone. I have no answers for either question that a four-year-old will understand, nor have I mentioned anything about moving again.
“I want some now,” Rose whines.
“If you eat ice cream now, you can’t go on the merry-go-round,” I say. “You’ll get a tummy ache. You want to ride the merry-go-round, don’t you?” Her yearning for a puppy has recently been replaced by requests for a pony, so I know she wants to ride the carousel in the worst way.
“Yes!” she says, yanking my hand and pulling me forward. I should be putting her to bed right about now, but since it’s a weekend and this carnival will be gone by Monday, I decide to indulge her and not worry about time. The downside is that being on the ASU campus makes me think of Quinn and sends a familiar stab of guilt through my gut. I hope she’s alright, and wonder how she’s coping, but I know my interests run deeper than that. As badly as Rose wants a pony, I want Quinn back in our lives; but I guess we all have our fantasies. This is reality. With a twinge of bitter regret, I know she’ll forget about me in the arms of the next hulking college football star she meets.
“There’s the merry-go-round!” Rose shrieks.
I buy the tickets and stand in the queue for our turn. “What color horse shall we ride?” I ask, perusing the parade of carousel ponies as they spin.
“I wanna ride by myself,” Rose says, sounding almost indignant. “I’m a big girl.”
I chuckle at her feisty declarations. As much as I want to keep her safe, learning to be independent is a critical life skill. I know that better than anyone. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t offer.” Rose allows me onto the platform only long enough to select a pink pony and lift her onto its back. “You hang on to these reins, see? Don’t let go,” I instruct.
I retreat to the nearby crowd of parent onlookers and try to still my thumping heart as the ride starts up and gains speed. Rose gives me an enthusiastic wave.
“Hold those reins!” I shout with cupped hands around my mouth, and I smile as she obediently clutches the braided rope around the horse’s neck. I watch vigilantly for the next several spins, and can’t hold back a wash of pride as she handles the ride without difficulty. I let out a relieved breath, and relax enough to take in the surroundings while Rose is occupied.
It’s a clear, starry night and the carnival lights just add to the magic. I didn’t experience a carnival until my teens, hanging with my other streetwise friends and finding trouble to get into. Carnivals were ideal places for that. A veritable Shangri-La for pickpockets and con men. I surreptitiously check for my wallet as I scan the area for shady activity.
Over by the fence between the carousel and the kiddie cars I see a young couple standing close together, engaged in a different kind of activity, but no less shady. The tall boy has his hands on her butt, and his lips locked on hers. The girl’s blonde hair glows in the surreal light of overhead bulbs and neon signs. She reminds me of Quinn, and I stave off a painful convulsion in my chest region.
I feel like a creep but can’t tear my eyes away from the scene. The vibration in my chest escalates to a burning tightness when I realize what I’m seeing. It is Quinn! But I have no idea who the horny young buck is with his paws all over her and his tongue practically in her throat.
The lights and sounds fade to a dull, indistinct background against the clear sharpness of my focus on the two of them. My body seems to move through an expanding tunnel, running forward but getting no closer. Suddenly I’m within arm’s reach, my hot hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Get off her, douchebag,” I snarl, my voice dripping with menace.
I haul him off Quinn with the force of a bulldozer, knocking him into the fence behind. He stumbles and grabs hold of the railing, and I catch Quinn as she loses her balance.
“What the fuck, buddy!” the kid yells, ready to launch himself at me in retaliation.
“Don’t even think about it!” I growl, pointing an accusing finger at him while locking Quinn in my opposite arm.
“Logan!” Quinn shrieks, pawing at me and regaining her balance. “What are you doing here?”
“You know this shit head?” Trent sneers, rising to his full height.
“Trent, go back to the beer tent and find Alex,” Quinn says. “Wait there, I’ll handle this.”
Trent straightens his shirt and brushes dust from his arms. “You out past curfew or something, Quinn? Alex never told me you were a daddy’s girl.”
“Just go!” she hisses. With a last searing glare, Trent moves off toward the main midway. Quinn pushes away and stares me down, her blue eyes on fire. “Are you crazy? What the hell do you think you’re doing? How dare you attack Trent like that. Who do you think you are?”
Her words hit me with all the sting of a slap to the face. I don’t know who I am right now, besides angry and jealous.
“Oh, it’s Trent, is it?” I taunt, the name sticking in my throat like a splintered chicken bone. “Where’d you meet him, find his number in a University bathroom stall?”
“What’s it to you?” Quinn says. “Just because you don’t want me doesn’t mean somebody else won’t. Dumping me wasn’t cruel enough, you have to humiliate me as well? You’ve got no right, no right!” She’s screaming and crying at the same time, then covers her face with her hands and turns away.
“Don’t turn your back on me,” I say, my voice still harsh. I don’t mean it as a command but as a plea. “Please… don’t,” I say softer. “I don’t think I could stand that.”
She whirls to face me again. “Why not? You did it to me. I don’t care what you can or can’t stand, Logan Brenner. Explain yourself, right now, or I’m leaving.”
How can I explain something I’m not sure I understand myself? All I know is that my blood boiled when I saw her with Trent, and I didn’t know how to deal with it except with my fists.