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He searched the neighborhood on foot while I posted on social media and the neighborhood app. I called, texted, and DM’d every neighbor I could think of. So far, nothing. Rocky has run off before. He always turns up. But this time feels different.
“Greg,” I say, pulling at his sleeve. “Put your phone away.”
When he doesn’t respond, I pull harder.
Finally, he looks up. “What? I’m just checking for news.”
“It’s going to be crowded,” I say, motioning toward the entrance. “You have to watch the girls closely.”
He leans across the console and pecks my cheek. “You worry too much, missy.”
I smile and tell myself he is right. I tell myself he won’t stay glued to his phone all night. That it’s not a big deal. Even though it is a big deal. This day has been a real shitshow, and I don’t want it getting any worse.
“We could just go home,” he suggests with a hopeful tone. “Walk around the neighborhood and put up signs.”
I glance at the back seat. The girls’ faces register that they, too, are eagerly awaiting my response. This is the third time Greg has suggested turning around and driving home. He claims it’s on account that Rocky might turn up but conveniently leaves out the part about not wanting to miss college football, but I digress. Not coming wasn’t an option. I am partly here for work. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t get my shift at the booth covered. Not to mention it would devastate the girls to miss it.
“No,” I tell him. “The gates are opening. And this day could use a little fun.” The fall festival is always one of my favorite events of the year. It reminds me why we moved to Sunset Canyon, why we stay, and why everyone else wants to move here too.
“Fun it is, then,” Greg says sarcastically. He kills the ignition. “How long until your shift?”
“Not long enough…about an hour and a half.”
“Come on girls, let’s go get your mother some pictures for social media.”
“Not for social. For your grandparents.”
“My mistake.” He flings the door open. “For your grandparents.”
“Don’t be a poor sport,” I say, helping Blair hop out of the back.
Jack Mooney flashes across my mind. It wasn’t rape. She was just a poor sport. That was his response to the sexual assault charge. The girl was just fifteen. Only a handful of years older than Naomi.
Greg takes Blair from my arms and places her on the ground. “I’m sorry.”
I take Naomi’s hand in mine.
“Amy? Did you hear me?”
I look over at him, but my mind is elsewhere…a decade or so in the past.
“Are you feeling okay?” He hoists Blair onto his shoulders as she giggles wildly. As we walk, his eyes are on me. “You’re as white as a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” I say, shoving my phone in my back pocket. “Just tired.”
Naomi yanks on my arm. “We have to hurry!” She pulls me past the gate, toward the carnival rides. “And no pictures.”
“I have to get tickets. And I don’t want you getting dirty first—so yes, pictures.”
Greg stands in the enormous line to purchase tickets while I snap photos of the girls in front of the pumpkin patch. Eventually, when it’s clear they’ve had enough, that there won’t be a single pose more, I take them to stand in line for a ride.
By the time Greg returns with tickets, we’ve nearly reached the front.
The two of us stand there watching them in little cars, going around and around, waving each time they pass, wearing enormous smiles. Emotion sweeps over me. I want to freeze this moment, to milk it, to make it last just a little bit longer, even though I know it’s impossible.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Greg asks, peering down at me.
“Actually…no.”
