visions of getting up right now, this minute, and walking back to the hobo camp. But I don’t, because I can’t bear the thought of abandoning Rosie, Bobo, and the others.
I’ll pull myself together. I’ll stop drinking. I’ll make sure I’m never alone with Marlena again. I’ll go to confession.
I use the corner of my pillow to wipe tears from my eyes. Then I squeeze them shut and conjure up an image of my mother. I try to hang on to it, but before long Marlena has replaced her. Coolly distant, when she was watching the band and jiggling that foot. Glowing, while we were spinning around the dance floor. Hysterical—and then horrified—in the alley.
But my final thoughts are tactile: the underside of my forearm lying above the swell of her breasts. Her lips under mine, soft and full. And the one detail I can neither fathom nor shake, the one that haunts me into sleep: the feel of her fingertips tracing the outline of my face.
KINKO—WALTER—WAKES me a few hours later.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he says, shaking me. “Flag’s up.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I say without moving.
“You’re not getting up.”
“You’re a genius, you know that?”
Walter’s voice rises by about an octave. “Hey, Queenie—here girl! Here girl! Come on, Queenie. Give him a lick. Come on!”
Queenie launches herself onto my head.
“Hey, stop it!” I say, raising an arm protectively because Queenie’s tongue is rooting in my ear and she’s dancing on my face. “Stop it! Come on now!”
But she is unstoppable, so I jerk upright. This sends Queenie flying to the floor. Walter looks at me and laughs. Queenie wriggles onto my lap and stands on her hind legs, licking my chin and neck.
“Good girl, Queenie. Good baby,” says Walter. “So, Jacob—you look like you had another . . . er . . . interesting evening.”
“Not exactly,” I reply. Since Queenie is on my lap anyway, I stroke her. It’s the first time she’s let me touch her. Her body is warm, her hair wiry.
“You’ll find your sea legs soon. Come get some breakfast. Food’ll help settle your stomach.”
“I wasn’t drinking.”
He looks at me for a moment. “Ah,” he says, nodding sagely.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say.
“Woman trouble,” he says.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, it isn’t!”
“I’m surprised Barbara forgave you already. Or did she?” He watches my face for a few seconds and then resumes nodding. “Uh-huh. I do believe I’m starting to get the picture. You didn’t get her flowers, did you? You need to start taking my advice.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” I snap. I set Queenie on the floor and stand up.
“Sheesh, you’re a first-class grump. You know that? Come on. Let’s get some grub.”
AFTER WE FILL OUR PLATES, I try to follow Walter to his table.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he says, coming to a stop.
“I thought I’d sit with you.”
“You can’t. Everyone has assigned spots. Besides, you’d be coming down in the world.”
I hesitate.
“What’s wrong with you, anyway?” he says. He looks over at my usual table. August and Marlena eat in silence, staring at their plates. Walter’s eyelids flicker.
“Oh man—don’t tell me.”
“I didn’t tell you a damned thing,” I say.
“You didn’t need to. Listen, kid, that’s somewhere you just don’t want to go, you hear me? I mean in the figurative sense. In the literal sense, you get your ass over to that table and act normal.”
I glance again at August and Marlena. They’re clearly ignoring each other.
“Jacob, you listen to me,” says Walter. “He’s the meanest son of a bitch I’ve ever met, so whatever the hell is going on—”
“There’s nothing going on. Absolutely nothing—”
“—it better stop now or you’re going to find yourself dead. Red-lighted, if you’re lucky, and probably off a trestle. I mean it. Now get on over there.”
I glare down at him.
“Shoo!” he says, flicking his hand toward the table.
August looks up as I approach.
“Jacob!” he cries. “Good to see you. Wasn’t sure if you’d found your way back last night. Wouldn’t have looked very good if I’d had to bail you out of jail, you know. Might have caught some heat.”
“I was worried about you two as well,” I say, taking a seat.
“Were you?” he says with exaggerated surprise.
I look up at him. His eyes are glowing. His smile has a peculiar tilt.
“Oh, but we found our way back all right, didn’t we, darling?” he says, shooting Marlena a look. “But do tell me, Jacob—how on earth did you two manage to get separated anyway? You were so . . .
Marlena looks up quickly, red spots burning on her cheeks. “I told you last night,” she says. “We got pushed apart by the crowd.”
“I was asking Jacob, darling. But thank you.” August lifts a piece of toast with flourish, smiling broadly with closed lips.
“There was quite a crush,” I say, picking up my fork and sliding it under my eggs. “I tried to keep track of her but couldn’t. I looked for both of you out back, but after a while I figured I’d better just get out of there.”
“Wise choice, my boy.”
“So, did you two manage to hook up?” I ask, lifting my fork to my mouth and trying to sound casual.
“No, we arrived in separate taxis. Twice the expense, but I’d pay it a hundred times over to make sure my darling wife was safe—wouldn’t I, darling?”
Marlena stares at her plate.
“I said wouldn’t I, darling?”
“Yes, of course you would,” she says flatly.
“Because if I thought she was in any danger at all, there’s no knowing what I might do.”
I look up quickly. August is staring right at me.
COLLECTION OF THE RINGLING CIRCUS MUSEUM, SARASOTA, FLORIDA
As soon as I can do it without attracting attention, I flee to the menagerie.
I replace the giraffe’s neck poultice, cold-soak a camel for a suspected hoof abscess, and survive my first cat procedure—treating Rex for an ingrown claw while Clive strokes his head. Then I swing by to pick up Bobo while I check the rest. The only animals I don’t run my eyes or hands over are the baggage stock, and that’s only because they’re in constant use and I know someone would alert me at the first sign of trouble.
By late morning, I’m just another menagerie man: cleaning dens, chopping food, and hauling manure with the rest of them. My shirt is soaked, my throat parched. When the flag finally goes up, Diamond Joe, Otis, and I trudge out of the great tent and toward the cookhouse.
Clive falls into stride beside us.
“Keep your distance from August if you can,” he says. “He’s in a right state.”
“Why? What now?” says Joe.
