by David Kummer
I rolled my eyes and hit him on the shoulder playfully. “Whatever.”
This conversation went nowhere. Mason pulled out his phone and messed around on that for a few minutes. We shared small talk with the waiter, a woman in her thirties with rosy red cheeks who liked to sigh a lot. She asked Mason about Jed and then told me how lucky I was to have myself “a keeper.” That phrase didn’t align quite right with his personality.
“Hey, honey…” I tapped my fingers on the plastic table and took a deep breath.
He powered off the phone screen and turned. “What’s up?” Then his eyes went beyond me, to the crowd of people walking by. I saw his shoulders tense, almost imperceptible.
“You okay?”
He nodded and shook off whatever it had been. “Yeah, fine.” His lips parted, showing white teeth, a smile that I didn’t believe. At least his eyes were focused on me, now.
“I need to tell you something,” I began.
At that moment, the food arrived. The waitress stuck around after she dropped off our chicken tenders and supplied copious amounts of ketchup. Mason thanked her, paid with his card, and then she left us alone for good.
Through this whole encounter, I bounced my leg under the table, trying not to show just how anxious I felt. I could feel sweat dripping down my back and from my armpits. Deep breaths, I reminded myself.
The crowd around us was thinning now. The time for dinner had passed, and most of the vendors would close up within two hours. The fairgrounds were open another two hours from that point, until midnight. But those hours were filled by wild teenagers clinging to their last remnants of childhood. Or else sneaking off to make out in their dark cars, ducking when headlights passed on the way out. I remembered those days. I remembered everything about this place.
“So what’d you need?” Mason asked me now, his mouth full of breaded tenders. He took a sip from his drink and dug into another piece of chicken before I could even answer.
“I’m…” How many times had I imagined this scenario? The horrific look in his eyes, the realization we’d have to tell our parents, the way it changed everything. And yet, I didn’t feel awful when I spoke the next words. I felt… in control. For the first time in a long time. “I think I’m pregnant.”
I expected the chicken to fall back into his basket, the soda to bounce off the table and spill onto the ground. That he would stand up, eyes wide, hands clasped against his mouth. He’d start crying or at least show emotion.
None of this happened. He just narrowed his eyes and ravaged the food in front of him.
“Pregnant? For real?” He blew a raspberry and shook his head. “Damn. That night at my house, huh?”
“Yeah.” I faked a cough so he couldn’t hear the crack in my voice. The pain. He remembered the night after all, “huh?” But hadn’t once mentioned it or asked why I spent an hour showering. Screaming at the torrents of water, puking in the toilet. No, he hadn’t bothered to even ask.
“I mean… I guess wait and see if you get your period in a few weeks or something, right?” He gave me a kind of half-smirk, two fries dangling from his fingertips. “You feel any different?”
I ignored the fact that he didn’t know when my period was. I didn’t expect him to, but maybe he could get somewhere in the ballpark. Not “a few weeks” off. To answer his question, I just stared at my food, still untouched. I grasped the bottle of soda and thought about prying it open. Instead, I lost myself in the color of it.
“Just… let me know if you do one of those tests, alright?”
The conversation died off, and we soon buried it under a mountain of general observations. The weather, passing people with weird hairdos and shirts. The way the sun hurt our eyes. Stupid shit that we didn’t really care about, but it was useful to ignore the topic we’d just killed.
I took our food baskets to the trash can, mine still mostly full. After Mason’s initial reaction, I couldn’t find any appetite. It only took me thirty seconds to walk over and toss them into the metal trash can. The edges were all rusted, and strange colors marked the base of it.
I turned back and saw Mason, still in his seat. Gazing straight ahead, into nothing. One hand pressed to his forehead. He looked lost, defeated. But right when I noticed this, he sprang out of the trance and pushed back his chair. I lowered my eyes to the ground and hurried over like I hadn’t seen a thing.
“I wanna see the animals,” I announced, joining his side.
Mason stuck out an arm for me to loop my own in, a proper old-fashioned couple. “Sure thing. But first, we should get caramel apples.”
“Oh, you’re eating desert this month?” I teased. “In that case, I’m gonna order some of those donuts, if you don’t mind.”
The talk of the town all week long had been the wildly delicious donuts at the fairgrounds. The biggest Methodist church in town set up in one of the empty buildings and served sugary donuts in a few different flavors. Like everything else around, these were also fried. All year long, people in Little Rush waited to get their hands on a dozen, for the “family.” I usually restrained myself, but in this instance, I wanted a full dozen.
Mason waited, sitting on a bench in the shade while I approached the building. I ordered through a small window and told them I’d be back in an hour or so, at least before they closed down. With that taken care of, Mason and I set off again toward the ride, where he could find one of the food stands with caramel apples.
I thought I saw him glance at my stomach once or twice. His expression was something foreign to me, abnormal for him. I didn’t say anything at the time, because I didn’t want to embarrass him. The longer we stayed there, the more convinced I became. Mason did, in fact, have emotions, even if he’d buried them under some faux layer of steel. Maybe he’d even expected the pregnancy, been worrying about it in silence since his condom slip-up. I’d bring it up in a day or two, I decided, and really talk it through. For the time being, somebody finally knew. That’s all I needed.
He knows and he cares. I think.
That would be okay for now.
“Do they have those… those big rabbits?” Mason asked me.
“Probably, babe.”
We were holding hands now. He swung mine back and forth playfully as we passed under a tiny, covered bridge. It spanned a little indent in the earth, one easily stepped over, but I loved the cute, colorful bridge anyway.
“And the pigs?”
“Oh, honey.” I squeezed his hand and kissed his shoulder. “I didn’t really mean I wanted to see the pigs, but whatever works. Hey, look.” I pointed up ahead. We’d arrived at a small patch of grass in between the two dirt avenues. Through an opening between the skee-ball game and the dart-toss, I could barely make out a vendor. One of the signs read: “Caramel apples.”
The alley filled, in that instant, with a group of three boys. Their leader took long strides ahead of them. He wore a wild smirk and stuck out his chest so much it was almost comical. I heard Mason groan beside me as the three of them advanced toward us. The two behind Blough were cracking their knuckles, grinning wickedly. I thought I could smell a hint of alcohol, and it didn’t shock me. Kids like them were always sneaking out to the parking lot for drinks.
“Hey there, good pal.” Blough moved so quickly, I thought he would lash out immediately and punch Mason. He stopped, though, just inches from my boyfriend’s nose. “Been missing you lately. Ever since our tango downtown.”
Mason, to his credit, didn’t back down. He crossed his arms and raised his chin a bit. A different kind of confidence than the one I’d seen before, when he’d dumped frozen yogurt on an unsuspecting victim. This version of Mason held his ground with cool confidence and a snarl.
“What d’you want?” He looked right into Blough’s eyes. “Get outta here. I don’t want any part of this today.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize I had to have your consent.” Blough took a step backward, jerking a thumb at his two pals who were cackling like hyenas. �
�These two won’t hurt you, buddy, no worry. Not a big, strong boy like you. Bet your mom calls you that when she’s sucking you off every night.”
Mason raised an eyebrow and still didn’t flinch. “I’m not sure you understand the whole ‘your mom’s a whore’ type joke.”
Blough smirked and moved closer again. He shoved Mason hard in the chest, who huffed as the air left his lungs. Blough advanced, even while Mason tried to retreat. The other two boys started inching closer to me. I recognized them from the party and wanted no part of this. Now that they were closer, I had no doubt about the alcohol. All of them smelled strongly like beer.
“One of these days, pal.” Blough cracked his knuckles and licked his lips, eyes never leaving Mason. “Mm, mm, mm. I’m gonna rearrange those pretty teeth of yours.”
The other two were close to me now, and I had nowhere to run. Just a few feet behind me, some tiny shack blocked my only possible exit. They were both angled to cut me off from running.
Mason was still nose-to-nose with Blough who gestured at me. He cackled, “How’s your slut doing?” and stepped even closer to my boyfriend.
Without thinking, without really knowing why, I brought my hand back. In a quick movement, a wide arc, I slapped one of the dumbasses next to me. I hit mostly the back of his head but felt contact with his jaw too. I heard the loud crack more than I felt it. My palm just went hot. They both growled and faced me now.
For a moment, I noticed the crowd of teenagers starting to gather, almost all of them touting cameras and a few even taking pictures. Blough stepped aside from Mason and moved toward me. With all three of them pressing me into the wall, I started to panic. Who knew how drunk they were. What they might actually do.
“Ah, here’s the cunt,” Blough murmured. Then they all moved in unison.
One quick blow to my stomach and I toppled backward, now firmly against the shack. My head smacked the board, and my vision went fuzzy. I felt hands pressing against me, holding me upright against the wall. Felt their hot breath coming closer. I couldn’t see anything past them now. Couldn’t even breath. I tried to squirm against their grip, tried to scream.
I could see it in their eyes. What they would do. And I’d never been more afraid.
“You fucker!”
When Mason screamed, he came back into my focus. As he charged forward, pure anger, I saw him digging around for something. Then he extracted the pocket knife and leapt at Blough. The blade slid neatly into his deltoid, and blood spurted out.
Chaos erupted then. I dropped to my knees as the hands released me. Head aching, eyes burning, I could barely register what happened.
There were screams from everywhere, bystanders who’d witnessed the assault. Blough himself started yelling, his voice shrill and panicked. Mason extracted the pocketknife and stared at the bloody weapon. His eyes shifted to me, still on the ground.
“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered. Again, he looked at my stomach and I understood what had caused him to snap. The stomach-punch. The attempted rape. It had pushed him over the edge.
“Somebody call the fucking cops!” Blough screamed, clutching at his shoulder. Blood soaked the sleeve of his shirt. His face had gone extremely pale. Both of his friends had run off, shouting for help. Blough chased after them, stumbling along. He pointed back at us, screaming “Mason Cooper! He tried to kill me! Help!”
Mason knelt beside me, a hand on my leg. He whipped his head in all directions. People were moving closer, foot by foot. Some of them were confused, others horrified. He kissed me, and I tasted salty tears on his lips.
“I’m so sorry, baby.”
He stood at that point and sprinted away. Toward the rides, toward the vendors he wouldn’t eat from. I watched him for a moment before it clicked in my brain. He’d stabbed somebody. What did that really mean? Jail time? Would it hurt his dad’s business? His own future?
I felt the tears welling up inside of me, so I sprang to my feet and ran in the opposite direction. Mason would take the car and speed away. Somebody would call the cops, no doubt. Probably Blough himself or one of his dad’s many friends. The same people Mason knew, had even talked to all around the fairgrounds.
That look on his face swam in front of me as I sprinted. My legs carried me to the place where we’d eaten dinner, where I’d told him about the pregnancy. I stood in the middle of the dirt street, people moving by on either side. They shot me weird looks, but I didn’t care. Not now.
How long would it take until the cops got here? How much time did I have, if any?
I did some breathing exercises, ten seconds in, five seconds out. Then I walked. It had to be the most unnatural I’d ever looked doing something so instinctive. One foot after the other, a very conscious effort to not look insane. To the donut stand, where I fished out a twenty-dollar bill and paid for the fried blueberry treats. With the bag in hand and my mind unnaturally blank, I left that place, too. I didn’t want to stay anywhere for too long. I knew the cops would be here any minute. For a family like the Bloughs, they were always on call.
When I found a shady area under a tree, I pulled out my phone and tried to call Mason while I ate the first donut. He didn’t answer. But I seriously needed a ride out of here. Those damn cops were gonna show, and they’d have all sorts of questions for me. Even in the fading sunlight, they’d easily find me.
That thought brought a tear to my eyes. I would never get to see those fair lights, the Ferris wheel spinning at dusk, the darkness broken only by laughter. Then the sobs came, and they ravaged my body like nothing had in over a week. I hadn’t cried this intensely since that awful night at Mason’s house. I wondered if it was possible to feel so much pain and for my body to convulse so violently that blood would flow from my eyes instead of tears.
With a second and third donut in hand, I made my way to the animal shacks. If I was going to cry uncontrollably, I might as well do it in the company of these adorable animals. I reached the horse barn and noticed the smell, but I could barely register anything now. I couldn’t stop thinking of Mason, of the cops, of what that Blough kid would say. He could make up any story, say Mason just attacked him out of the blue. Could they even say it was attempted murder? Wasn’t that… years in prison?
“Oh my god!” The words were shattered, like a broken window, and barely understandable through my sniffling. “Please, no.”
I stumbled out of the horse barn with considerably more attention on me than I had going in. I looked all around for somewhere more isolated to go. The rabbits, maybe, like Mason had wanted. At this thought, I checked my phone again but no call from him. I did get an idea. A way out of this fairground, maybe.
I pushed the call button and waited for the ringing. After five agonizing seconds when I didn’t think he’d pick up, I finally heard that baffled, soothing voice on the other end.
“Willow?” Hudson asked, his voice slow and disoriented. “What’s up?”
“I need you to come get me,” I said through pieces of donut and the tail end of my emotional hurricane. “Fairgrounds, now, please. Hudson, right now, I need—”
“Okay, okay. On my way.” I heard him moving around right before he hung up.
In the meantime, I wandered the different animal barns. Feasting on donuts that would give me a horrible stomach ache the next day. I managed to stabilize. Though I knew my makeup had been wrecked and my eyes were probably like strawberries, I didn’t really care what people thought. It felt nice, the independence. But I would’ve given anything to be a self-conscious mess in Mason’s arms instead.
Where’d he gone? Where would he stay? Did he tell his dad what happened? Were the cops, even now, racing toward that neighborhood of nice houses and expensive cars?
These animals weren’t so different from me, I decided. They were all trapped in these cages. Their eyes held a kind of sadness. That thought cheered me an increment. I tore off a piece of the donut and tossed it at some of the chickens, but this didn’t help them as much as it did m
e.
Then again, maybe their squawks were thank-yous, and somewhere in those little beaks they were smiling back.
12
Hudson
From Bruce’s house, where I’d been ever since lunchtime, it took about ten minutes to reach the fairgrounds. Even driving at outlandish speeds, I couldn’t get there any quicker. Driving this quickly in the dark always made me nervous, but especially in a panicked situation like this. With each passing tick of my internal clock, I worried about Willow and hoped she would be alright. Running toward her, the engine thunderous.
We’re all just running.
I drove along the state road for a while until the 4-H fairgrounds were in view. The parking lot, only half full, loomed closest. It wasn’t easy to see in the waning light. I almost turned in to park there until I spotted the figure. On the side of the road, about a quarter-mile ahead, a teenage girl jumped up and down. I recognized the outfit as something Willow-esque and silenced my turn signal.
As I passed by the fairgrounds on my way to collect her, I noticed two cop cars parked near all the other vehicles, those red-blue lights still flashing. It formed a weird sort of disco ball now that darkness had almost taken over. About a dozen cars were pulling onto the road at the same time, leaving the police vehicles distanced from the others. It felt like I’d never seen so many headlights all jumbled together.
The fair definitely had a sort of beauty to it, especially at night. It’d always been a dream of mine to take a girl here, run around with her in the darkness. Things never worked out, though. The few girlfriends I’d had were never over the summer, which meant fair dates were out of the question. Maybe if things had gone better with Layla...
I pulled over on the side of the road. Since the fairgrounds were on the left, Willow hurried across the two-lane road and around to the passenger’s side. When she hopped in, brushing wild hair back, I granted her a moment to collect her thoughts. While I pulled back out into the road, just driving straight, I couldn’t help noticing the dark makeup smeared beside her nose, the general redness of her eyes and cheeks. This brought its own set of questions, but the biggest one had nothing to do with her appearance. Where had Mason gone? What were the cops doing out here?