Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
OSCAR
“You’re a lifesaver,” I say as I see Jenna, our Driver Operator, jogging toward me with several packs of toilet paper piled in her arms. I thought that I’d planned for everything, but we somehow ran out at noon. “You okay to get it all distributed?”
“On it.” She nods and strides past me, heading towards the portable toilets out in the yard.
“You’re the best!” I call after her.
“I know!”
The whole day has been a whirlwind of chaos.
Things started well, all the vendors got here on time and everything was set up smoothly.
But of course, half an hour before doors opened the dunk tank malfunctioned, one of the cats from Birdie’s competition got loose, and the clown realized that he’d left his balloon pump at home.
I’ve been running around like a madman ever since.
I need this to go well. Mack trusted me with the Open House, I can’t fuck it up. This season, the funds are going towards upgrading the training tower, and if there’s any leftover we might refurbish the bunk rooms.
I press my back against the wall, finally taking in the space. It seems good. People are smiling, we at least have plenty of paper cups. I let myself have this moment to actually enjoy the event I’ve put so many weeks of work into.
I catch a flash of strawberry blonde in the crowd and something in me stutters. I saw her come in, looking like she was bracing for a blow, the usually soft line of her lips drawn tight with tension. I was about to go to her, but they needed help running power out to the food trucks.
I feel like an asshole for inviting her here and then, getting too caught up to check in, but seeing her with Becca reassured me. I knew she was in good hands, though I was looking forward to that tour I promised.
She’s across the apparatus room, talking to someone with a booth selling handmade journals. I get halfway across the space, my steps quick, when a blow to the back of my knees has me gasping in shock.
I whirl, ready to face down whatever’s attacking me. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t a three-year-old in an oversized helmet, waving around a rubber fire axe, sugar crusted around her mouth.
“Occa!” she yells, prepping for another swing. I bend and wrap an arm around her waist, scooping her into the air where I disarm her of the makeshift weapon.
“Jeez, Birdie-Girl, you’re gonna take somebody’s eye out.” I chuckle and tuck it into my belt, safe from sticky hands.
She blows a raspberry at me, spittle flying as she reaches for it.
“What the heck, Bird? That’s so gross!” Hell, this kid is going to turn into a serious menace if we’re not careful.
“I’m not gross! You’re gross!”
“Who’s gross?” I flip her upside down, causing her little helmet to fall off. “Huh? Who’s gross now?”
“You! You! You!” she squeals through her giggles. I catch sight of Joni who shoots me a grateful wave.
“You drop something?”
I almost lose my balance at the sound, stumbling forward a step. I manage to catch myself before Birdie and I go crashing to the floor. I try to play it off as I flip my wriggling passenger back over.
Freya reaches her hand into my line of sight, holding out Birdie’s helmet. I have to school my expression as I smile at her, watching as she drops it back on Birdie’s head. Birdie tucks her face against my shoulder, suddenly shy.
Yeah, I kinda know how she feels.
A soft flush creeps across Freya’s cheeks as she takes a step back. She’s wearing her same green coat, still buttoned up, even in the warmth of the station.
“This is my friend Freya. You going to say hi?” I whisper to Birdie. She shakes her head. I give Freya an apologetic smile. “She takes a second to warm up to new people.”
Freya chuckles. “Been there.”
I remember. Back when we were kids she kept to herself unless a teacher prompted her.
When I was thirteen I shot my one and only shot at having a conversation with her, asking a question about ladybugs and getting the cold shoulder.
I really wish I hadn’t thrown in the towel so soon, opting instead for watching her like a pint-sized creep.
No wonder she doesn’t remember.
Freya ducks down so she’s at eye level with Birdie, who’s now peeking out from my uniform shirt. “I heard you’re the person to ask if I wanted to know what time the cat contest was on?”
Birdie nods wordlessly.
“Oh, good.” Freya sighs in exaggerated relief. “I was so worried I was going to miss it!”
“They didn’t get here yet,” Birdie mumbles.
“No?”
“They line up over there and I pick.” Her little hand unclenches from the fabric it’s fisted in and waves toward the corner of the room where Mack’s rolling out a red carpet.
“And I bet you’re the best picker ever.” Freya grins. Fuck, that smile could knock someone over when she lets it go full force like that.
“Yeah, I am.” I can feel Birdie’s answering smile against my shoulder. She starts wriggling and I set her down. “I get some cake.”
I frown. “I’m pretty sure you’ve already had cake, Bird.”
She rolls her eyes at me like she’s thirteen and not three. “Yeah, strawberry cake. I want chocolate.”
I laugh. “Okay, kid. If you puke it’s your dad’s problem.”
“I not gonna puke.”
“If you say so.”
“I says so.” She nods before holding out an expectant hand. When I don’t respond she sighs, her whole head tipping back. “My axe?”
“You sure you’re not gonna cut someone’s fingers off?”
“It’s not sharp, silly.”
“Oh, my bad.” I grin, pulling the toy from my belt. “You be careful. Quit swinging it around like a pillager.”
“What’s a pillow-er?”
“Go ask your dad.” I give her a wave as she takes off running, axe held high once again. When I face Freya once more, her shoulders are tight, her eyes flitting around the space. “You okay?”
“Of course.” She pastes on a smile, but it’s not the same as before. “Just a lot to take in, you know?”
“Yeah, it can get a little rowdy.”
“It’s cool, though. People are having a lot of fun.”
I don’t know what it says about me that her approval right now feels more important than just about anyone else’s, but it’s probably nothing good.
“Yeah, definitely. Um, it was a team effort.”
Freya tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and I catch myself wondering what it would feel like under my fingertips. Luckily, before I can act on whatever impulse has suddenly seized me, Mack calls out to me from across the room.
“Shit, sorry.” I give Freya’s elbow a quick squeeze. She tenses under my palm and I release her instantly. Crap, I should have remembered she doesn’t like being touched. “I gotta go,” I rush out. “I’ll catch up with you later, but I’m really happy you came.”
I’m gone before she can reply.
“You’re fine. Just count to three and go!
” I call up to the kid at the top of the pole who’s chewing his bottom lip as he considers the drop.
We’ve got the big mat out at the bottom, and I’m here to catch him, but all the confidence he had on the ground has bled away now that he’s confronted with actually doing it.
“It’s kind of high,” he mumbles.
“I know, buddy, but you’re so brave! And I’m right here to catch you.”
“You promise?”
“Absolutely.”
I hold my arms out as he takes a tentative hold of the pole with one hand, then the other. I see the gears turning in his head as he slowly reaches out with a foot.
“You got it,” I encourage.
Eventually he jumps, whooping in delight as he slides down the pole. I steady him as he hits the mat, smiling at his bright eyes and flushed cheeks.
“I did it!”
“You were amazing.” I high-five him. “I’m so proud of you.”
My chest swells as he wraps his little arms around me in a tight hug. “Thanks, Oscar.”
“You’re so welcome.”
He runs back over to a grinning woman. She mouths a ‘thank you’ over his head that I wave away before turning back to help the next kid who wants to try.
When they all seem to have finally exhausted themselves, I wander back into the main room, scanning the space for that coat. Is she still here? Maybe she got bored and left after I ditched her again?
I finally spot her near one of the trucks, scrolling on her phone. Where’s Becca? I know she wouldn’t have left Freya alone, but she might’ve gone back to the diner.
A little boy crosses in front of her, and Ryan helps him up into the driver’s seat of the truck.
His mom snaps a quick photo before Ryan starts showing him all the different buttons and controls.
He squeals with laughter as the different lights turn on and off and I catch Freya’s slight flinch.
She edges away as the blue lights start flashing.
I’ve just started toward her when the kid hits the button for the siren, unleashing an ear-splitting wail.
I silently curse Ryan—he was under strict instructions not to let anybody set it off while the truck was still in the bay.
The red beams rotate around the room, casting everyone in a harsh light as hands are clasped over ears and shocked laughter adds to the cacophony of sound.
When I turn back to Freya, my blood runs cold. She’s pale, eye scrunched shut like she’s in pain. As I get closer I see the trembling that racks her frame, getting worse with each pulse of noise, and I pick up to a jog.
An image flashes across my vision. My dad, holding his head, doubled over in the boat. I move faster. Is she alright? Is she sick? It’s like the panicked animal inside my brain takes over, just screaming fix it, fix it, fix it.
As I pass the truck I clap Ryan on the shoulder. “Shut that off, man,” I say quietly, not wanting to make a scene. Then I keep walking, not stopping until I’m in front of Freya. Her breaths are coming fast and I’m worried she might pass out.
“Freya? You’re okay, you’re fine.” I try to keep my tone soft, my EMT training kicking in. “I’m gonna get you out of here, I got you.”
When I gently turn her, she leans into me a fraction and I hate myself for how much I like it.
It’s not about you, asshole. She’d probably go with anyone if they were gonna take her away from here.