Chapter 9 #2
Chicot nodded quickly. She was fairly certain she would be free, and if she wasn’t, she’d make herself free.
Chicot happily bobbed her head and listened to the four of them talk a while longer.
They all told her to make sure to tell Elijah how good he was for them and how excited they were to have them at the faire.
Then, Chicot left to go about her actual reason for being outside.
She followed the pebble-lined path out of the dog park and slowly made her way through the massive open field of grass it sat in.
There was a fence that ran around the entirety of Albion, protecting the grounds from anyone who might try to sneak in, during the day or otherwise.
Chicot walked along it, just looking to get her fidgety cabin fever out.
They didn’t have a car, so it wasn’t like they could go to a gym or store like many of the others did during the day to occupy themselves.
This meant her options for outside time were blazing sun, which would assuredly result in a burn, or cool moonlight, which meant mosquitos.
Chicot would take the mosquito bites any day, and with enough DEET lotion, she really didn’t get that many.
Dark, puffy clouds hung in small clusters, blocking out the stars and moon, but it was hard to see the stars anyway.
Even though they were in a large field, the neighborhood and highways around them provided enough light pollution to make them hard to see.
When she rounded the corner of the faire grounds and could no longer see the dog park, she did a couple of cartwheels in the soft grass along the fence.
Once she’d done that, she ran a few tumbles, just exercising her usual muscles.
If Lyza had seen her doing this, she would have told her not to do it in the grass where there might be rocks.
She was already such a mom to anyone younger than her.
Lyza and Elvis were going to make good parents.
Chicot stood from a back handspring and sighed.
She let herself imagine what it would be like to have someone like Lyza as a parent.
Chicot would be loved and doted on. They probably wouldn’t have a lot of money, but Chicot’s family never really did anyway, and she probably would have never been given an ultimatum about her bisexuality.
She was fairly certain this would have been the superior family situation for her.
People who didn’t think she was weird for wanting to learn contortion or act like a mime.
A mother who didn’t find out she’d just broken up with her first girlfriend from community college and threatened to kick her out instead of comforting her.
She picked her way through the taller grass along the tree line on the north side of the faire grounds, looking for frogs that had escaped the large pond inside the faire so she could nudge them back inside.
There weren’t many out as far as she could tell.
They had probably retreated on instinct into deeper waters to stay cool during the day and therefore had not made their it all the way out of the fence that day.
So, with no frogs to rescue, Chicot hummed to herself and thought about home.
It was ill-advised thing, but she did it anyway.
At least her mind was mostly on the duck pond, where she’d picked up frogs as a kid.
She touched the tall prairie grass that had been planted there, as she was fairly certain it wasn’t native to Wisconsin, and hummed “Puzzle Pieces” by LEMON BOY to herself.
“Evening.” Elvis’s voice was smooth and even, a Tupperware container under his arm.
He was coming from the other direction, on a walk of his own, but now he settled on a bench under some trees.
As Elvis moved and adjusted, a small lantern hooked to his belt blinked at Chicot, surrounding him in a firelight-like glow.
He smiled at her, waving for Chicot to join him.
She smiled back, her humming ending as she approached.
“Evening.” Chicot walked over to meet him. “What are you doing out here?”
“Just”—Elvis glanced toward the fence that surrounded the faire and lowered his voice—“enjoying some gardening. Would you care to join?”
Pot, Chicot filled in quickly. She shook her head, sitting.
“Nah,” she said. “But I’ll keep you company.”
Elvis nodded, his Tupperware now open as he pulled out a grinder.
He made quick work of packing the bowl, and soon they were surrounded by the sweet and acrid smell of marijuana.
Normally, Chicot would have been interested, but with how hot it had been, she didn’t want to add cotton mouth to her list of issues.
“You know.” Elvis blew smoke out slowly. “We have a spot at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire after this.”
“You do?” Chicot’s head turned quickly. Elvis’s smile was broad, and for a moment Chicot couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had braces, as his nearly perfectly straight teeth glinted in the lantern light.
“Yep.” Elvis pressed his lips together. “Not sure what we’re going to do yet. We want to talk with you and Elijah about it once we have a plan.”
Chicot didn’t need to hear it. Her mind immediately filled in the blank. If Lyza couldn’t perform, they probably couldn’t take the slot. The show likely wouldn’t work right without a third, so they were really stuck.
“We submitted a video to Pennsylvania but never heard back.” Chicot looked out at the field, pulling her legs up to wrap her arms around her knees. “I don’t think we got in.”
“It’s a tough one.” Elvis sighed. “It took us a few years to get a spot.”
“I’m worried getting into Albion was a novelty already. You don’t have to make it worse.” Chicot grimaced, no actual malice directed at Elvis as he took a long drag from his pipe. He shook his head as he blew the smoke out, being careful not to blow it directly at Chicot.
“It’s not,” Elvis shifted the lighter in his fingers, fidgeting with it. “You two are good. Really good.”
Chicot sighed. “Everyone keeps saying that, but that hasn’t gotten us another callback.”
“But you have gotten a job, and now you have a reference.” Elvis let his hand rest against his thigh, pipe still carefully cradled in it.
Chicot sighed again, more dramatically this time in hopes she wouldn’t have to communicate to Elvis that she didn’t want to talk about this anymore.
He seemed to take the hint, not saying anything more for a while.
“How are you feeling?” Chicot broke the silence. “About everything?”
“Ungodly terrified about being a dad.” Elvis picked up his pipe again, pausing with it near his lips to ready his lighter. “And ungodly relieved that you came to our rescue.”
“I didn’t really.” Chicot watched as he pressed the pipe to his lips.
She could see Elvis side-eyeing her in the light of the flame, and for a moment, one brow rose high while the other formed a ridge over his left eye.
His barrel chested, stocky form smoking a pipe and smiling as he did made Chicot pictured him like Pippin or Merry from The Lord of The Rings.
Maybe a bit cliche, but in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, it just sort of suited him.
If she’d looked down and seen he had large, hairy feet, she wouldn’t have been surprised at all.
“Okay, maybe I did,” Chicot conceded. “But you don’t have to fall at my feet. I hope you all know that.”
Elvis lowered his pipe again.
“You know, I think Monty likes you quite a lot.” Smoke escaped his lips as he spoke.
Chicot felt a whole new rush of energy go through her, her back straightening and her fingers drumming on the seat of the bench.
She looked at her feet, biting her lip as she was caught between giddy and something unmistakably terrifying.
Monty, Elvis, and Lyza might be moving on to Pennsylvania after this, and Chicot only knew that she wanted nothing more than to do the same.
However, the only concrete plans she had were to stay with Elijah in the RV and a dentist appointment she’d scheduled for right after the season at Albion was over, so she could get it out of the way before they moved on.
She leaned forward, nearly folding herself in half.
Her posture always devolved into something shrimp-like, as Elijah called it, while she was thinking of her future plans.
“Really? I thought she was putting up with me for Lyza’s sake,” Chicot admitted. A bark of laughter came out of Elvis as he sat back and looked at Chicot.
“She definitely isn’t just putting up with you.” Elvis shook his head. “Is that why you haven’t been answering her texts?”
Chicot flinched back slightly, looking at him over her shoulder.
Her fingers gripped the wood on either side of her knees, her cheek pressed against her shoulder as she stared at Elvis, trying to search his face for any signs that he was being disingenuous or sarcastic.
Even in the dark, she could see the gentle purse of his lips and curious tilt of his head.
“What?” Chicot asked.
Elvis’s brow wrinkled and he opened his mouth. Then, after a moment, he closed it. Then it opened again, and Chicot grew impatient.
“Elvis, I haven’t had a working phone since May.
” Chicot gripped the seat of the bench harder.
If Monty had been texting Elijah and he had not been relaying those messages to Chicot, well …
She wasn’t sure what she would do about that.
It didn’t seem like Elijah at all, and even the thought of a betrayal like that made her skin sting.
“Ohhh.” Elvis’s speech was slowing down, a drawl coming out that wasn’t usually there. It sounded Northern, like Minnesota or Canada.
“She has Elijah’s number, right?” Chicot asked. This had to be some kind of genuine mistake and not something Elijah was doing intentionally. That wasn’t like him.