Page 70 of Magic for Nothing

“Delilah was my only child,” said Emery. “Sam’s mother, you understand. I did as well as I could with her, but I was trying to raise a little girl and a carnival at the same time, and sometimes she didn’t get as much of my attention as she needed. I was a Spenser before I married Michael Taylor, and this show is mine by right. People didn’t always see it that way. They were used to listening to my father and his partner, and with both of them gone, the carnival needed me more than my own daughter did.”

I didn’t say anything. This smacked of confession, and more, of justification; like she had to say this before she could lean one way or the other. She was either going to endorse my date with Sam or forbid it, and if I wanted any hope of the former, I needed to let her talk.

“Delilah would have been a little wild anyway—Spenser blood—but she rebelled by rejecting everything I was. Went off to school, got a business degree, went to China to work for an electronics company as their liaison to the American business world, and met a man who swept her off her feet, literally. She knew what he was when she got involved with him. She didn’t think they could have babies together. When she found out she was pregnant, she was on the next plane home. First time she ever asked me for anything. She asked me to take care of her son, because she couldn’t. There was no place in her world for a baby, much less a baby with such unique needs. I’m all he’s ever had.”

There was a quiet finality in her words: she had said her piece. I looked her squarely in the eye and said, “You’ve done an amazing job. He’s a great guy. A little prickly with new people, but so am I, so I don’t have a problem with that. Now let him do an amazing job. Let him try something new.”

“‘Something new’ being you?”

“For now.” I shrugged. “I won’t be with this show forever. But I’m a great gateway to the wonderful world of dating. He’s twenty-three. Let him get started.”

“How do you know I haven’t?”

“Because this is the first girl speech. I’m assuming he’s messed around with some of the carnie girls—he didn’t kiss like it was his first time—but he’s never really dated, or you wouldn’t be talking to me like this.”

Emery was silent for a long moment before she said, “He’s all I have. Delilah taught me my lesson. This carnival, this show, it doesn’t matter nearly as much as my family.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ll respect that. I’m not playing with him. But how’s he going to feel if I say I can’t go for a ride on the bumper cars because his grandmother said no? He gets to make his own choices. He chose to ask me.”

“Be gentle with him.” Emery stood. “I won’t forgive you if you’re not.”

“That’s all right, ma’am,” I said. “I won’t forgive myself.”

Emery looked at me thoughtfully. Then she nodded, as much to herself as to me, and walked away, leaving me alone in front of the changing tent.

“Well, that was bracing,” I muttered, and ducked inside.

It took less than fifteen minutes to scrub my body, wash my hair, towel-dry my hair to a point where I felt comfortable braiding it, and bolt back to my RV. The mice cheered at my appearance, cheered at the sight of me putting on a nice dress and sturdy black Doc Martens, and cheered one more time as I was rocketing out the door, letting it slam behind me. I kept running as I hit the bone yard, navigating it faster than I ever had. Fifteen minutes to shower, another five to change, plus however long I’d been talking to Emery. That was enough to make me worry that Sam thought I’d ditched him, or—

He was standing next to the canvas flap separating us from the rest of the show, and he grinned at the sight of me. He’d changed, too, trading his usual bulky sweater and sweatpants for jeans, a tight white shirt, and a denim jacket. He was even wearing shoes. I blinked, slowing as I approached, until I stopped in front of him.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Sam?” I asked.

“Arm,” he replied. Obligingly, I stuck out my right arm. He fastened a rainbow wristband around my wrist before holding up his left hand to show me that he was wearing the same. “All-ride pass. Sure, we can ride for free anyway, but this way, we look like locals.”

“Most people want to run away to join the circus, not the townies,” I said.

Sam’s grin widened. “Most people aren’t us. See? I’m even in costume for the occasion.”

“Very striking,” I said. “The shoes are a nice touch. Why do you own shoes?”

“Sometimes Grandma sends me to the grocery store.” I must have made a face at the mention of Emery because Sam paused, looking at me carefully, before he sighed and asked, “Did she corner you already?”

I chuckled weakly. “Before I could even make it to the shower.”

“She always worries about me getting my heart broken, but she’s the reason most of the girls my age won’t even look at me twice.” Sam leaned in to kiss my forehead. “I’ve managed to date more than she thinks I have, and I’m not as breakable as she makes me out to be.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m here, aren’t I? If you were the frail little flower she thinks you are, I’d be in my RV, writing you a nice ‘it’s not you, it’s me, I’m afraid of breaking you’ note.”

“Cool. Just so we’re clear.” Sam offered me his arm. “Would you like to go to the carnival?”

I slipped my arm into his, locking them together and holding on tight. “I would love to.”

For most of my life, if I’ve been at a carnival, I’ve been there because I belonged. Either I was summering with the Campbells or pretending with Spenser and Smith, but I was never a townie girl, never just an attendee; I saw the nuts and bolts, not the beautiful facades. The illusion wasn’t for me. But as I held Sam’s arm and he led me through the narrow canvas tunnel running behind the attractions to the front gate, I started to wonder what it would be like if they were for me. If they were designed to titillate and delight the townie girl I’d never been, but sometimes dreamed of being, when I was tired of being banged around by every preternatural creature this side of the prime meridian.

We emerged at the front of the show, popping out of the canvas a few feet to the left of the admissions booth. The man on duty was familiar in the vague “I’ve seen you around” sense, and he smirked as Sam and I walked past, Sam holding up his arm to show his glittering wristband.

“Your date’s a cheap-ass, honey,” called the man.