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“Of course.” The circus ringmaster runs the circus; Mr. Claus is the boss of the North Pole. Henry always has to be in charge.
“Then there was the murder mystery year. I was the detective. My favorite year so far has been the Roman Empire. They had a small coliseum, a bathhouse, a market … It was wild.”
“And which Caesar were you?”
“I was Spartacus.”
“A gladiator?” I try to imagine Henry in a loincloth. “Are there pictures?”
“Absolutely not.”
A carousel churns ahead, the oversized horses painted in iridescent colors and saddled with ornate seats. Several people ride, some individually, others as couples. “I haven’t been on one of those inforever.”
“We can try it later if you want. We have all night.”
I watch the couple closest to us—a pair of jesters wearing fool’s caps. The male leans back in the seat while the female is positioned over him. The way her hips are tilted … “Are they—”
“Fucking? Yes.”
My mouth drops. “That’s allowed here?”
“There isn’t much thatisn’tallowed here.”
I feel my nose crinkle beneath the mask. “Do they have wipes to clean the horses?”
Henry laughs. “Come on.” We veer toward the games alley with his arm curled around my back.
This part reminds me of Greenbank’s summer festival, with energetic voices broadcasting scores and bells ringing to announce winners. Small crowds build around the stations, cheering people on.
A smile stretches across my face as I spot a familiar one. “Bucket ball!”
“I haven’t played that in I don’t even know how many years. Fifteen, maybe?” Henry murmurs.
“Last summer for me.”
A female mime wearing a black-and-white-striped jacket, frilly skirt, and strategically positioned suspenders spots us observing her stand and beckons us over with frantic waves of her hands.
“Can we? Please?” I press my body against Henry’s arm as I plead.
His blue eyes stare down at me from behind his mask. “Only if you agree to make it interesting.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Highest points wins. Three points for the top basket.”
“Okay. But, fair warning, I’m a pro. Ialwaysbeat Jed.” His girlfriend having better aim than him became a sore spot in our teenage years, in a small farming town where every boy played some form of ball. I had better aim than most of the other boys too.
“Anything involving Fuckface sets a low bar, but I’m game.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I say in a singsong voice. “I still have this giant dog from when I was fourteen. It’s two feet …” My voice drifts as we get closer to the booth and I discover there aren’t any stuffed animals hanging on hooks above. Dangling in their place are an array of dildos, vibrators, plugs, and things I can’t identify.
My eyes are wide behind my mask.
“What was that you were saying about a two-foot dog?” Henry hums, pointing at an obscenely long dildo sitting on a display shelf.
“Where would anyone put that?” I exclaim, earning the game host’s soundless laughter.
She bows theatrically and then explains the basic process through a series of gestures, pointing to the triangle of wicker baskets, six in total.
