Chapter 26
Tucker
I definitely didn’t expect the text message that arrived one afternoon from an unknown number. I stared at it a moment, because it took a minute for the words to connect with who might’ve said them.
What do you wear to a carnival?
I hadn’t smiled that big in almost a year.
I texted her back.
Me: Something colorful.
Ava: Everything I own is black.
Me: Then maybe I’ll have to bring you something.
And I did. Gram and I drove to the mall, and I picked out a bright shirt the color of daffodils. Maybe I was hitting the flower symbol too hard, but I sensed that there was no going small with Ava. We needed big gestures to cling to, since all the details had been stripped away.
When I got to Ava’s apartment, she took one look at the shirt and said, “No way.”
“Afraid it’ll destroy your image as a brooding Goth woman of the night?”
“It’s like wearing the sun.”
I folded up the shirt and set it on the overturned keg that served as a side table. I didn’t care if she wore it or not. It was mainly a joke.
Ava’s furniture consisted entirely of repurposed trash.
Two obviously scavenged lawn chairs looked like they’d been through a tornado.
Four wood crates stood against a wall, arranged so that they made a semi-functional bookshelf.
A big upholstered chair in an orange and brown floral pattern was something not even a grandma could love.
I pointed at the array of neon signs on the wall.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.”
She laughed. “Bar chic.”
“Aren’t those supposed to be marketing beer or something?”
“They are. In my apartment.”
She stuffed her phone into her pocket and picked up the yellow shirt. “All right. I’ve gotten past my initial reaction. I suppose when at the carnival, do as the carnival people do.”
“You don’t have to wear it. It was just for fun.”
She held it up. “I suppose I could try on a new skin.”
My throat caught as she pulled off her black shirt with the arms cut out. Beneath it, she wore a black bra that would probably show through the yellow.
But this Ava didn’t care about stuff like that. The new shirt fit perfectly. It also changed her completely.
Her brown hair was twisted into tight balls behind either ear, pieces sticking out like pinwheels. When she wore all black, the effect was badass. But with the sunny yellow shirt, it came off as playful and cute.
“I have to go check this out.” She disappeared down the hall.
I sat on the orange chair and waited. I wondered if she would accept anything from me for her place.
Gram’s was crammed with stuff from my parents’ old house.
I had even more in storage. Suddenly, it seemed ridiculous to leave all the furniture, dishes, and appliances in there to rot. I would talk to Gram about it.
Ava returned. “You turned me into a flower. I’m used to being an angel of death.”
“Ava Roberts, I’ll take you any way you come. Sunshine or doom.”
She twisted from side to side, tugging on the hem.
“I like it. I didn’t think I would, but I do. Come on, let’s go ride a cliché.”
We took the bus down south, since I still couldn’t drive. Having Ava back made me want to get a job again.
Fact was, I didn’t even know what I could do. Lots of doors were closed to me with my migraines off the rails. I’d spent as much time in a dark room in recent months as I had out in the world. My ability to be at the carnival was courtesy of hoarded pain meds and sheer grit.
Hell, I didn’t even know what company would take me in my condition. Gram had saved my parents’ life insurance money for college, but I wasn’t using it. It wouldn’t last forever at any rate. Having Ava in my life made me want to figure everything out, make new dreams again.
We walked the last half-mile to the parking lot where the carnival was set up.
The colored lights shone on Ava’s hair. “I haven’t seen that much neon since Big Harry took me to one of the restaurant conventions. The parking lot is glowing.”
“I think that’s by design. They want you to see the adventure that awaits from miles away.”
“An adventure. In a parking lot.” Ava’s voice expressed the disdain I remembered from our early hospital days.
“I think anything can be an adventure.”
“All right, sunshine boy. Show me a good time.”
I bought us a strip of tickets for the rides.
We ventured onto the Hammerhead, which was a long rod with a capsule on either end.
Each one could hold four people. Ava and I squeezed into our side, exchanging glances when we spotted the two girls opposite us.
We had only buckled in, but one of them was already screaming.
“Is this a preview of coming horror?” Ava asked.
I didn’t answer. It was hard to talk over the sounds of the girl.
“We already rode it once,” her friend yelled. “She’s planning ahead.”
Ava leaned in next to my ear. “Ridiculous.”
This was the closest we’d been since I found her again. I wondered what had made her change her mind and contact me.
I didn’t dare ask. For now, we would ride.
If I had thought to worry that any part of the carnival was bad for our conditions, my fear was quickly put to rest. Ava was hooked. The most intense rides thrilled her, so we tried them all. The Shaker. The Spinning Cups. The Tilt-a-Whirl.
“My guts are scrambled!” she said. “It’s the best feeling ever!”
“I know. It’s like you’ve taken on a death challenge.”
“Huh. You’re exactly right. I’ve survived something terrible, and I’m elated that it didn’t kill me.”
We wandered through the lines of booths on the Midway.
“These games look rigged,” she said.
“A lot of people would agree with you. But I’m the master of Whack-a-Mole.”
“The master of what?”
“Whack-a-Mole. It’s a game. I’ll show you.”
We both sat in the semi-circle of stools.
Ava picked up her rubbery hammer. “Do I whack you with this?”
I laughed. “No. Those five circles will have moles pop up randomly. You’re supposed to whack them.”
She practiced her swings, slamming the mallet down on the empty holes. “I might like this a lot.”
I passed tickets to the operator. Another couple sat down on the other seats.
Ava watched them, her hammer on her shoulder. The girl picked up her mallet and pretended to whack her date. He laughed and leaned over to kiss her.
As she studied them, I wondered if she was trying to compare their behavior to ours. A relationship might not come naturally to her.
The lights blinked on, and the first moles popped up.
Ava let out a shriek and smacked her first mole. I paid little attention to the game, content to watch her. She had her full concentration on the circles, smacking the mallet as hard as possible.
The buzzer sounded.
“How did I do?” she asked.
Our scores lit up the display.
“Looks like the bright yellow lady wins!” the man said.
“What? Me?” She tried to stand up with the mallet, plunking back down on the seat when she came to the end of the tether. “Oh!”
“What would you like?” He gestured to the stuffed animals hanging from a beam above the game.
“I don’t know!” Her glee was so childlike, so pure, that several people stopped to see what she chose.
She selected a soft brown bear and clutched it to her chest. “I’ve never had a bear.”
The man bowed. “Then enjoy this one.”
We walked away, Ava holding the bear out in front of her. “At least I don’t think I’ve ever had one.”
“You told me once that your dad mailed you one for your birthday,” I said. “Your mother trashed it, but you rescued it. It disappeared later.”
“She probably erased my memory just so I wouldn’t know about it anymore.” Her tone was bitter. Did she think her mother could do that? I flashed to that final night, her mother calling the cops, locking them in the bathroom.
Yeah. Maybe.
“You were eight when you got that bear. That was probably a lot of memory erases ago.”
She bumped her shoulder into mine. “You really do know everything about me.”
“Everything you ever shared.”
She held my gaze a moment, and I didn’t let it go. She needed to remember who I was to her. Who I wanted to be.
“Okay, Mr. Loser of Whack-a-Mole. Does this big win make me the master?”
“Seems I’ve met my match.”
Our hands collided, and she accepted mine. My heart squeezed. For the first time in a year, I got to hold Ava’s hand.
“What’s that?” she asked, using the bear to point ahead.
“It’s a Fun House.”
“That sounds amazing!” She hurried toward it, pulling me along.
Her behavior was a complete turnaround from anything I’d seen since she went away. This was working. She was coming back to me.
I handed over tickets, and we stomped up the metal ramp.
“Ack!” she said when the floor started slanting at a sideways angle. And “Ack!” again when we approached a room full of mirrors, distorting us in every direction.
“This is wild!” she said.
We approached a turning tunnel with spiral walls.
“This is really disorienting,” she said.
I hadn’t even thought of that. The Fun House was a horrible choice and now we were deep into it. I wasn’t photosensitive, so flashing lights didn’t bother me. But she certainly was.
“Close your eyes,” I said. “I’ll lead you.”
She did as I suggested, and I walked her down the tube. We turned a corner.
And it happened.
A strobe light.
My hands moved fast, clapping over her eyes.
“It’s so bright and blinky!” she said. “Let me see!”
“No, Ava, it’s a strobe!”
The strobe turned off, only to activate again when we moved.
“Shit! Somebody shut that off!” I shouted.
“It’s okay!” Ava said.
“No, it’s not.” I shouted, again and again, for someone to turn it off. But the circus music drowned me out, not that an employee was anywhere close.
“Okay, Ava, walk forward. Keep your eyes shut tight.”
“I don’t feel very well. I’m not sure I can walk.” She stumbled.
I had to release her eyes to catch her.
“Keep your eyes closed, Ava.” I scooped her up in my arms.
Thankfully, she was small enough for me to carry, and I pushed through a black curtain and out into the night air.
I hauled her to a bench and sat down, keeping her and the bear in my lap.
“Ava?” My chest was so tight I could barely breathe.
She was quiet, too quiet.
Was it a seizure? She wasn’t stiff. Nothing was pulsing.
But still, she didn’t come around.
This was my fault.
I should have known there would be a strobe in a Fun House. I understood carnivals. She didn’t. This was on me. I hadn’t protected her at all.
“Ava?”
I wasn’t sure what was wrong. Her face wasn’t blue. As I held her, she seemed to breathe.
“Ava?”
Her head turned to the side and moved in a short, jerky pulse.
Damn it, a seizure. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
“Ava?” I wasn’t sure how long to wait before I called for help.
A few curious passers-by watched us, probably assuming we were having a lovers’ moment.
Her head got heavy and flopped against my arm, and then she said, “Owww.”
I was so relieved, I felt like crying. This was nothing like the one in the hospital. Short. Only her head was affected.
“Are you back?”
She lifted her hands to her hair. “My head is going to fall off. It feels like death.”
“I know that feeling.”
I still wasn’t sure she knew me. I had no idea how she came out of seizures. This was only a partial one. Her whole body hadn’t been involved. I had them all the time. But I’d missed the ending of the only one of Ava’s I’d seen, that first time in the disco room.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
She thumped my chest. “Ava, you dummy. You were saying it nonstop.”
“What’s my name?”
She gazed up at me. “I haven’t forgotten anything. You’re Tucker, and you brought me here with promises of a Ferris wheel.”
I relaxed and squeezed her against me. “Okay. So it didn’t happen.”
“I guess the medicine worked. Stopped it from going all the way.”
“That’s what it’s supposed to do.”
She slid off my lap. “I have a killer headache.”
“We can go.”
“No, I have some pain meds in my bag. Let me take them and see. I don’t want to miss that Ferris wheel.”
I smoothed her hair where it had partially fallen from her twists. “Okay.”
“Go get me a Coke, boyfriend,” she said.
My breath caught. She hadn’t spoken to me like that since I found her again.
“I’ll be right back.”
I didn’t go so far that I couldn’t keep her in my sight. She sat, clutching her bear, until I returned. After a drink and her meds, we got in line for the Ferris wheel. She leaned against me as we waited out the pain.
Despite my stupid, awful mistake, we’d faced the devil and won.