Wonder When You’ll Miss Me (24 page)

I nodded.

 

The big top had gone up early that morning, and the other trailers and trucks were arranged accordingly. The configuration was always as close to the same as possible. In the early afternoon only the skeleton of the show had been complete, but now the encampment seemed nearly ready.

We walked away from the picnickers. The fat girl hummed something and I felt strangely calm, all my anxiety located just behind us or beside us, not inside. Then, from halfway across the field behind the Midway, I saw a battered red pickup truck connected to Marco's trailer.
DIGESTIVORE
!

We reached the red truck. I touched the hood, and the cold metal was soothing. I ran my hand along the side, the rusty door. Through the window I saw a pack of cigarettes on the patched seat, a gray baseball cap.

All at once I thought of the chickens on my ankle, inked for all eternity, and everything in my head whirled into a dust storm then, all noise and clutter and confusion.

The fat girl coughed. I looked up from the window. Two men were approaching. Even from a distance I recognized them. One was definitely Marco. The other was a more illustrated Charlie, something colorful swirling out of his shirt and around the front of his neck.

As they ambled up, it was my voice that called to them, though it seemed to come from someone or somewhere else. “Hey there.” I cleared my throat and tried again, louder this time. “Hi, guys,” I said, and they stopped in the dirt beside the trailer. “It's been a long time.”

There was a flicker in Marco's eyes, but Charlie just stared blankly, which caught me off guard. I stood for a second and then knelt and un
tied one of my mucking boots, flicked away the remnants of potato salad, and kicked it off.

“What are you doing?” one of them said. I peeled off my dirty brown sock so the chickens faced them.

“It's me,” I said. “See? It's me.”

Marco glanced at Charlie, who stared at my tattoo, a look of utter bewilderment compressing his features.

“Faith,” I said, and had to lick my lips. “Faith Duckle.”

So much for my fears of screeched recognition. My voice wavered and scrambled up an octave. “From the restaurant,” I said. “Remember? Clark's. From Gleryton.”

Then Charlie nodded slowly. “Right,” he said. “Wow. Faith.”

Marco shook his head. “I would never have recognized you,” he said. “There was something familiar, but…”

Charlie still stared at the tattoo and abruptly I felt self-conscious. I pulled my sock back on and bent down to retie my boot. “What the hell are you doing here?” he said.

I took a deep breath and stood up. Where to begin? “Call me Annabelle,” I said. “Let's start there.”

 

It was a long way from that conversation back to the picnic grounds. The fat girl stood back and watched. She had a bag of popcorn and a nervous expression. I looked to her for guidance but she pretended not to notice. There was nothing but sky around us. Sky and stories and lies and truth. And the entire Fartlesworth Circus, and the rest of Pennsylvania.

We walked towards the picnickers and I was so nervous I didn't know what I might do: run screaming or laugh hysterically. My hands were shaking. I shoved them deep in my pockets.

“I'm a groom,” I told them. “I've been on the road for months. First I was trying to find you, Charlie.” At this he looked perplexed, so I breezed on to something else. I told them about the bus rides and the truck stops. I made it all sound funny and exciting. Inside I felt like every word was sandpaper rubbing me raw, while my head chanted what he'd almost said:
what do you mean you tried to find me?
He'd nearly said it. So what would have happened if I
had
gone after him?

“Ha, ha,” I said. “And then there was this time in Atlanta…”

My mind raced and I kept talking, words tumbling over each other to keep them entertained. I didn't matter. I saw that. I didn't matter at all.

We reached the others, people clustered and seated. “I guess we're going to grab something,” Charlie said, indicating the food table. “So…”

“Right,” I said. “Right.” My face was stiff, my eyes sore from not blinking. Charlie and Marco headed for the table of food. I followed, self-conscious, my face hot, my whole world a swirl of confusion. I felt a hand on my shoulder and pivoted. It was Rod Genersh.

“Hey,” he said. “Where the hell did you go?”

“Wanted to say hello.” I gestured over my shoulder with a lone thumb and fist. “I know them.”

“Oh.” Rod followed the direction of my gesture with his eyes and nodded. “They caused a lot of trouble back in Georgia last winter,” he said. “Did they tell you why Elaine rehired them?”

I shrugged and swallowed, then shook my head. “Anyway, I was looking for you,” Rod said. He took my arm and pulled me towards the trees. “Come on. It's time you were introduced.”

He wove me past a group of clowns and a cluster of musicians to a blanket spread on nearby grass. It was the trapeze crowd, I could tell from a distance. I could also see the enormous back of someone I recognized.

“Mina,” Rod said. “This is Annabelle.”

All conversation stopped. Mina turned her tiny, pointed face in my direction. Close up she was older than I'd expected.

“Charmed,” she said. Her voice had a warm musical accent. I shook her hand, then Victor's. He smiled with perfect white teeth and his grip was surprisingly gentle.

“This is Juan,” Victor said. “And Carla. My brother and sister-in-law.” Nods all around.

“And this is Germania.”

I'd only ever seen her from a distance, but when the broad back turned to me I saw that Germania Loudon's face was soft and lovely, her features somehow enormous and delicate at the same time. She had full lips and heavy dramatic eyebrows. Her hair hung in long dark ringlets around her face. She looked nothing like I'd imagined.

“Hello,” she said. I shook her hand too. It was like a small pillow.

“It's so nice to meet you all.” I took a deep breath. “I'm a big fan.”

“Show them your handstand,” Rod said. I immediately turned crimson and shook my head.

A wave of disinterest passed over all faces at once. I had disappointed them. They were all performers and I was not. I was a groom. This was it,
I realized, the one and only chance to be accepted or recognized or appreciated by these people.

Victor turned back to Mina, who was reaching for the paper plates.

“No,” I said. “I mean…” They all looked at me again. Only Germania smiled. “I need something to balance against,” I hissed to Rod.

“Use my back,” he said, and pivoted.

So I did, popping onto my hands with more precision than I ever had before. Every pore in my body was awake and striving to be perfect. Once upside down, I did a push-up like I'd seen Rod do, all the while keeping one foot lightly pressed against his back, the other in the air, toes pointed. And then I kicked down.

Through my stars and dizziness I heard them clapping.

“Very nice,” Victor said, and smiled. Mina nodded.

I took a bow, feeling very brave indeed.

“What's all this?” The voice came from behind me and I turned to see Elaine limping towards us. Her face was flushed and she had a crumpled pack of cigarettes in one hand.

“Annabelle was showing off her handstand,” Rod said.

Elaine gave me an assessing look. “Huh,” she said, like it was the tip of so many other things. “Well…”

Then she turned her gaze on Germania. “I've been looking for you, Gerry,” she said. “Could you come by the office after we shut down tonight?”

Germania nodded. Everyone else exchanged looks. Elaine patted me on the back, and then gave us all a little wave. “Toodaloo,” she sang, and limped off.

There was silence for a moment, then Germania lumbered to her feet. “Holy hell,” she said. “I am not looking forward to this.”

Victor and Mina nodded knowingly. Juan stared at the ground and Carla looked away. Rod, scratching his arm, seemed oblivious to everything. I saw Charlie and Marco walking away, towards the Digestivore trailer, and thought that it was quite possible I might implode. Or explode. Either way.

Instead I went to find Jim and check in with Bluebell and Olivia before the show.

 

“Fuck him, that he doesn't recognize you,” the fat girl said as we climbed the hill towards the big top.

“You said yourself that he wouldn't,” I said. “And that's pretty valid. Don't you think I look different? I mean, look at me.”

She wasn't listening though. She was huffing and puffing with a cheese sandwich clenched in one fist and potato chips tumbling from her stuffed pockets. She stopped every few feet to turn around.

“I just don't think he's who you think he is,” she said.

I was exhausted by every single moment of the last hour and a half. Fighting with the fat girl was almost a comfort, but not quite.

“I think he's Starling's brother,” I said.

“And you think that means he owes you something?”

I stopped at that. “Where are you going with this? What's your stupid point?”

“What's your stupid point?”
she mimicked, a hand on each of her wide hips. “I'll tell you my stupid fucking point! You did something that some people won't want to forgive. And even if you
were
justified, those people may want to find you, Faith, they may want to know where the fuck you are. They may even think you're valuable to them.”

I pushed past her and stomped up the hill.

“Think about it,” she called after me, but I put my hands over my ears. I watched Bluebell's tail swing in the dusk and I slammed the shutters of my mind, closing out all the noise and mess and chaos. Only Olivia and Bluebell and their piles of shit remained. They were all I could handle right now.

But that didn't stop the other stuff from coming. That didn't stop the flood of memory that washed over me as I stroked Bluebell's trunk and whispered to her. That didn't stop the images that swelled and receded as I tossed Olivia an orange.

They were clear and harsh and I wasn't asleep to push them away.

Tony Giobambera's hand splayed on the rock. Each finger outlined by gray stone. The feel of the cleaver in my hand, warm and heavy, a satisfying weight. The approach, from behind, so he couldn't see me, wouldn't see me. But where was the fat girl? It was all slow motion and silence, even the roar of the crowd around the fighting students, silence. I saw their faces, distorted. Mouths open.
Get him
, a girl screamed.
Fight fight fight,
the chant, familiar and worn. It was in my blood, it pumped through my blood.
Fight fight fight
and those fingers splayed on the rock. Those lips parted, ready. Where was the fat girl?
Right here.
I felt her and she took the knife from me. It was she who held the cleaver and she who approached him. I was behind her.
Hold
him down, Faith
. Her silent voice in my head. I grabbed his arm, felt him resist.

What the hell
—and his words were coins, bright against the day, flipping out of his mouth to be carried by a powerful wind.

I held his wrist and she swung.

And the blood. And the sound. And his face. How had I forgotten? The slice of his face. His howl.

His bloody gaping face.

 

“What are you doing, luv?”

Jim found me sitting on a bucket in front of Bluebell. He was already dressed for the show and I hadn't heard him approach, hadn't heard anything but the roar of my own mind.

“You better hop to it,” he said. He snapped his fingers. “Whoohoo? Annabelle?”

I shook my head and tried to clear it of all its mess, tried to shake out the screaming and the blood. It took nearly everything in me to push it away.

But I did.

“Hi there,” I said. “Daydreaming. Sorry. I'll go change.”

I felt tight inside, now. But empty. What had stayed with me was this: the fat girl took the knife. The fat girl did it, after all.

 

The show was only half full. “Slow night,” a clown whispered dejectedly as we waited en masse for our entrances. I scratched my bottom where the tulle tail bit into me, and looked around. I didn't see Rod. I didn't see the aerialists.

Rapunzel Finelli stood to my left, cursing and shifting back and forth, her hair shining an irresistible copper as she moved. Bluebell swung her trunk towards Rapunzel's hair and Rapunzel shot me a look. “Keep the fucking bull away from me,” she hissed.

Easier said than done. I tried to distract Bluebell, but she was having none of it.

“Use the hook,” Jim whispered.

He meant the bull hook, which was sharp and cruel and awful, but I did. I prodded her with it and she left Rapunzel alone, shifting her enormous weight from one leg to the other and back. I felt seasick, as though everything threatened to spill over and drown me.

“Hold it together, Faith.” The fat girl stood beside me in full sparkly getup, no food in her worried hands. “Hold it together, and we'll be okay.”

But she'd been right: we were getting closer with each mile and each passing day. Closer to a place where people knew me. And if Charlie hadn't recognized me, that didn't mean my mom wouldn't. Or did it?

Hold it together. It was all I could do.

 

After the show I went back to the trailer and changed. I put on a pair of overalls Wilma had given me and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Since she'd begun sleeping at Jim's, we'd grown careful with each other. This was odd, but not unmanageable. After the first month and a half I'd gotten used to the costumes swinging in the dark and no longer woke to think they were a roomful of accusatory people.

I slipped into my cowboy boots, grabbed a cigarette from Wilma's stash, and tucked it behind my ear. “You mind?” I asked.