Carnival (The Traveling Series #4)

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  He looked across at me, his face in darkness, only the eyes alive in his shadowy face.

  “And the show you boys do, that’s real magic. Motorcycle guys like you were outlaws who ran from the cops, and sold photos and later videos of their tricks, but now it’s big business. You’re the new wave carnies, but there’ll always be sawdust in your blood. Sawdust and stardust.”

  “And on that note . . .” I stood up unsteadily, “I’m gonna hit the head then pass out. You need a hand anywhere, old man?”

  Ollo shook his head.

  “Nope. I’m just gonna sit a while. You go on now.”

  I stumbled into the kitchen, trying not to mash up my knee again as I crashed around, drinking water direct from the tap. Then I limped, hopped and staggered to my bed.

  Wonderful invention, beds.

  I woke up with a start when Kes pounded on my door around four in the morning.

  I blinked as he opened the door and light poured into the room. His face was tense and worried.

  “Aimee’s having stomach pains. I’m driving her to the hospital now.”

  I was wide awake instantly, ignoring my pounding headache.

  “Whatever you need, Kes, it’s yours.”

  “Thanks, man. It’s probably nothing, but . . .”

  “Yeah, I get it. I’ll let everyone know. I’ve got my cell if you need me.”

  He nodded curtly and turned away to put his arm around Aimee protectively. She looked pale and was bundled up in a quilt. She gave me a wan smile then let Kes lead her out. A second later, I heard Zach’s truck start up.

  I couldn’t go back to sleep after that, even though my body craved it. I headed to the kitchen and brewed some coffee, drinking two cups before heading to the fridge and rooting around for something to eat. I glanced at my phone every few minutes, but there were no messages.

  Frustrated and worried, I stepped outside.

  The air was cool this early in the morning, when the sky was gray, just a few pale streaks of light hinting at the sun hovering below the horizon.

  The fairground was silent, only the soft sounds of the calves and lambs from the petting zoo, their mournful cries carrying faintly on the light breeze.

  I limped along the midway, the stalls shut, the games empty, the rides still. I felt the weight of its history—not just the hundred years it had been open, but all the carnivals, all the fairs and circuses, all those carnies who’d traveled the world with their tent shows and plays, tricks and treats, rides and surprises.

  And I felt proud to be part of that tradition, a world of outsiders within a world of people who belonged. But I was part of something. It might not be important or saving lives, but I’d come to believe that in our own way we mattered. What I did mattered—entertainment, a little magic in a digital world. And I had a family.

  With that sense of belonging lodged inside me, I made my way back to the RV, wanting more caffeine and calories.

  But in the gloom of shadows, something caught my eye, a dark shape by Ollo’s RV.

  As I came closer, I saw that it was Ollo himself, slumped at the bottom of the steps. Bo was clinging to him, fast asleep. I smiled to myself, deciding that last night’s Bourbon and poker match was responsible.

  I crouched down next to him and shook his shoulder gently

  “Wake up, old man. You’re making the place look untidy.”

  There was no movement and I wondered just how much Ollo had put away last night. For a small guy, he could sink a lot of shots before it affected him. Years of practice, I guess.

  Bo opened his eyes and chirruped loudly, probably something very rude by the expression on his face for disturbing his beauty sleep, then scampered off, looking for more peaceful lodgings.

  I shook Ollo’s shoulder again and he groaned softly, his forehead creasing.

  “Hey, Ollo. Come on, I’ll help you inside.”

  He opened his eyes, trying to focus.

  “Can’t . . . can’t seem to catch my breath,” he coughed.

  By now I was getting worried. I helped him up and half carried him inside. He trudged slowly to his bedroom and clambered onto the bed, his breathing fast and shallow.

  “Oh, man, you don’t look so good, Ollo. I think I should call a doctor.”

  “No, no doctors. Idiots don’t know anything about being old,” he sighed. “Just pass me those pills over there.”

  I gave him the small bottle and watched as he swallowed two tiny pills and washed them down with water.

  “Feeling better already,” he said tiredly, giving me a weak smile.

  “Ollo, seriously . . .”

  “Now listen, boy,” he said, opening his eyes and glaring at me. “What’s wrong with me they can’t fix. I’d rather die than go back in a hospital. Last time they tried to put me in a retirement village, said I couldn’t cope by myself. What do they know? Well, I’ll tell you something: this is where I belong. This is my home, and this is where I’ll die. My choice. You understand?”

  I nodded and stood up slowly.

  “Yeah, Ollo. I understand. But you need anything, you tell me. Deal?”

  He coughed out a wheezy laugh.

  “Getting soft in your old age, Zef.”

  I grinned with relief.

  “Fuck you, old man,” and turned to walk out, still smiling.

  I’d just made it across the threshold of my own RV when my phone vibrated in my pocket with a text from Kes.

  All ok.

  I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes.

  “Is Daniel going to be here in time for your show on Wednesday?” Aimee asked while we were sitting around the fire pit toasting ‘smores one evening toward the end of August.

  I smiled, happy that my little brother would be here with his girlfriend in two days. Even better, I was cleared for lift-off and had been rehearsing with the guys and joining the performance again tomorrow so Dan would be able to see the show if he arrived in time. I hoped that he would. It had been a couple of years since he’d watched me perform and I’d get a kick out of him checking out the new stunts we’d added. And, although I didn’t admit it to anyone, I liked the idea that he could look up to me and I wouldn’t see disappointment in his face. I hated that.

  “I don’t know. He wasn’t sure if his coach would give him permission to take the time off. I’ve left a pass for him and Lisanne at the performers’ entrance just in case. She was taking the morning flight.”

  Sara threw me a confused look.

  “Who’s Daniel?”

  “My brother.”

  “Your . . . your brother is coming to see you? Here?”

  “Yeah, thought I’d mentioned it.”

  “No! No you did not mention it!” she huffed.

  “Um, okay.”

  “It is not okay! It most definitely is not okay!”

  And she stood up from the fire pit and ran off in tears. Again.

  Sighing, I started to stand, but Aimee patted my shoulder.

  “Sometimes you can be such an oaf, Zef. I’ll go find her.”

  Okay, I knew I wasn’t the smartest thing on two legs, but I didn’t get it. We weren’t in a relationship and she’d basically blown me off so why was she upset? I looked around at the rest of the guys, wondering what the hell had just happened.

  “What did she call me?”

  “Oaf!” chorused Tucker and Ollo.

  “Huh. Thought so.”

  I shrugged. Women were weird.

  The following day, the day before Dan’s visit, Sara came to me. Her mouth twisted and her hands fidgeted restlessly.

  “Um, Zef, can I ask you a favor?”

  I stood up straight and wiped my oil-stained hands on a rag.

  “Sure.”

  “I’d have asked Aimee, but I know she has to rest . . .”

  “What do you need?”

  She pulled a face.

  “I don’t have anything to wear for Daniel’s visit.”

  I blinked, taken aback, but I wan
ted to smile, too. It was such a normal kind of question—different from the crazy shit we’d been dealing with lately.

  “You don’t need to wear anything special for my little brother.”

  “Well, I . . . I want to make a good first impression. And . . . nothing fits!”

  The last words came out in a wail, and I realized that her hands were pressed over the growing bump of her stomach.

  She was so cute when she wasn’t throwing a hissy fit or crying. Fuckin’ sexy, too. Damn, I had to shelve that thought.

  But then realization swept over me.

  “You want me to take you shopping for clothes?”

  “I could ask Tera,” she said uncertainly. “She’s been really nice, but I don’t know her that well . . .”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll take you. Give me ten minutes to clean up.”

  “Thanks, Zef!” she sang as she skipped away.

  “This should be interesting,” I muttered to myself.

  I peeled off the thin latex gloves that I used when I was doing bike maintenance. They kept off most of the oil and grease, but not all of it. So then I had to scrub my hands and rifle through my clothes to find a clean t-shirt and shorts. I really needed to do laundry soon.

  I banged on the door to Zach’s RV.

  “Okay if I take the truck?”

  He barely looked up from his computer.

  “Help yourself.”

  I plucked the key from the hook by the door and headed out.

  Sara was excited, her eyes lit up at the prospect of a morning away from the carnival. She used her phone to direct me to a mall, almost bouncing in her seat at the prospect.

  When I saw the size of the mall, I felt like turning around. The place was massive. I had a bad feeling that she might be the kind of woman who wanted to visit every single store.

  “Don’t look so grumpy,” she laughed. “It’ll be fun.”

  ‘Fun’ and ‘shopping’ wasn’t an equation that I understood, so I grunted a noncommittal answer and she giggled, leaning over to pat my leg.

  I threw her a look.

  “When we get back I’m going to teach you to drive a stick, then you can take yourself shopping.”

  Her smile dimmed.

  “You can wait in the truck if you like. I’ll be real quick.”

  And once again, I felt like the biggest asshole alive.

  “Nah, I’ll come with. We can pick up some lunch while we’re here.”

  Smiling a little awkwardly, she let me help her out of the cab, smoothing her borrowed dress over her baby bump.

  My throat tightened at that simple gesture.

  “We’re not going on to a club or anything after Daniel’s game, right?” she asked, scanning the line of shops, a small frown on her face. “We’re just going to see the team play?”

  I shrugged.

  “Dan said he’d get us passes to watch from one of the VIP boxes and there’s usually nonstop food and alcohol being served during the game. There might be a party after, but wear what you like. Dan won’t care.”

  She gave me a look that should have shriveled me on the spot.

  “A VIP box! Are you kidding me? Oh my God! So much pressure! I have to find something cute and I’m so fat!”

  She looked like she was about to burst into tears. I scratched my beard, more than a little out of my depth.

  “What are you wearing?” she asked, frustration painting her face.

  “Me?” I shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

  She grimaced and shook her head.

  “I’ve never seen you wear anything other than jeans, shorts or your leathers. Do you even own a necktie?”

  Why did she think I’d be wearing a tie to a football game? Chick was crazy!

  As it happened, I owned a tux, complete with vest, tie and button down shirt which I’d bought for Kes’s wedding last year. Following Aimee’s instructions. Maybe I’d surprise Sara by bringing it out of retirement one day. I didn’t say anything.

  I thought Sara would enjoy her morning of shopping, but after the third shop, she seemed close to tears again.

  I’d found myself a seat after the first shop and watched her from there.

  “Nothing fits anymore,” she sniffed. “I’m enormous!”

  “You’re not enormous,” I said patiently, thinking she looked like a piece of string with a knot tied in the middle. “You’re having a baby.”

  “God, don’t I know it!”

  I cast a sideways look, wondering if this was the precursor to one of her epic meltdowns.

  “Maybe we should look in one of those maternity shops instead?” I suggested.

  She sighed and wiped her nose with a tissue.

  “I’m sorry. I’m being a brat. I just wanted to look nice for once.”

  “You always look nice, Sara. You’re beautiful.”

  She swallowed and looked up at me shyly.

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah, so you can stop fishing now.”

  She gave a little laugh and swatted my arm. At least the tears seemed to have abated for now.

  “I just . . . I feel weird about going into a maternity shop. I never thought . . . well, I guess I’ll give it a try.”

  Eventually, she found a shop that sold clothes for moms-to-be and tried on a ton of dresses, skirts, and pants in various sizes. They even had strap-on padded stomachs that you could wear to show what you’d look like at six months and nine months.

  Too fuckin’ freaky.

  But at least Sara seemed like she was having fun at last. I looked out of place, and earned a few sympathetic glances from other women and a head nod from another guy who was also marooned outside the changing rooms.

  “Your first time?”

  I glanced up questioningly at the older sales assistant who was smiling at me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Is this your first child?”

  I hesitated, unsure what to say, but not wanting to give long explanations either.

  “Yeah, first time.”

  “Congratulations!” she said. “And how nice that you’ve come shopping with your young lady.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  I was saved from saying more when Sara came out holding a pile of clothes in her arms. Her cheeks were pink and I wasn’t sure if that was from the heat of the changing room or because she’d heard my short exchange with the sales assistant.

  We walked in silence to the cash register and when she started counting out dollar bills, I handed over my credit card.

  “Zef,” she hissed, “you’re not going to pay for me!”

  I ignored her and signed my name as she threw me angry looks and huffily stuffed the bills back in her purse.

  We left the store with me carrying five bags. That was a lot of clothes, and more than I’d even owned in the last six years.

  I forced myself to hide my smile as I watched Sara. She was trying to decide whether or not to be mad at me for taking over, or grateful that I’d taken her shopping and she’d gotten a bunch of new clothes.

  “Thank you,” she said curtly.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Why did you do that?” she asked with a scowl.

  “Because I could.”

  She waited for more.

  “Well, you didn’t need to because I could have afforded them by myself. Zach paid me for all the work I did on the website.”

  “Good. You’ll need it when the baby comes. Want some lunch?”

  “I . . . uh . . . yes, please. I’m starving,” she admitted, still looking confused.

  Sara picked a place that had pizza and a salad bar, and started eating her way through a plateful of rabbit food that she said was healthy, then decided that she was still hungry and ordered a whole pizza and ate part of mine, as well.

  I was pleased to see that she had an appetite and seemed to have gotten over her morning sickness. There’s only so many times a guy can hear a woman barf
first thing every morning and not feel sick himself.

  “Why did you let that woman think you were Peanut’s father?”

  “What? Who?”

  She blushed.

  “I couldn’t keep calling him or her ‘it’, and when I had the sonogram the nurse said the baby was the size of a peanut, so . . .”

  “Got it. Peanut. The kid’s going to hate you in high school.”

  She laughed happily.

  “Silly! That’s a for-now name. But seriously, why didn’t you say something to that woman?”

  “It seemed easier to go along with her than give a long explanation.”

  Sara shook her head.

  “You could have said you’re just a friend.”

  I felt like we’d been having this conversation for months. I was still here—it was up to her to decide what she wanted.

  I leaned back in my chair, meeting her curious gaze.

  “We are friends,” I acknowledged. “But you’re the one who’s put me in the friend-zone, and that’s fine, I’ll be your friend. If you want more, I’m right here.”

  She blinked rapidly and sucked in her lips.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  “Of what?”

  She gave a sad little laugh.

  “Everything. I’m scared of everything: when the baby comes, how much it’s going to hurt. I’m scared that I won’t know what to do, that I’ll be a bad mom.” She looked down. “I’m scared of being alone. And you’re my best friend, and I’m scared that if it all goes wrong, I’ll have no one.”

  That was a lot for anyone to take on, let alone an eighteen year-old who’d run away from home. But as she was finally talking to me . . .

  “Who’s the baby’s father, Sara?”

  She looked up, shocked, angry and upset.

  “After everything I just said, and that’s what you ask me?” she snapped. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Fuck’s sake! Of course it matters! It matters because whatever happened to you, it made you run away from your home. It matters because every time you take his phone call, you’re in pieces again. It matters because one day your kid is going to want to know who’s the daddy and why he isn’t in your lives. It matters because I keep waiting for him to come for you and take you away, and then I’ll be the one who’s alone.”

  Her mouth formed an ‘O’ shape and she stared at me. I leaned forward, refusing to let her look away.