“You do?”
My jaw opens and closes, but no words come out.
She looks worried. “What is it? What’s going on? Is it something bad?”
“I called the Dean at Cornell, and he’s willing to let me sit my exams.”
Her face lights up. “That’s wonderful!”
“And we’ve also got Rosie.”
“We’ve what?”
“It was the same as with you and the horses,” I say quickly, rushing to explain myself. “I don’t like the look of their bull man and I couldn’t let him take her—God only knows where she’d end up. I love that bull. I couldn’t let her go. So I pretended she belonged to me. And now I guess she does.”
Marlena stares at me for a long time. Then—to my enormous relief—she nods, saying, “You did right. I love her, too. She deserves better than what she’s had. But it does mean we’re in a pickle.” She looks out the window, her eyes narrowed in thought. “We’ve got to get on another show,” she says finally. “That’s all there is to it.”
“How? Nobody’s hiring.”
“Ringling is always hiring, if you’re good enough.”
“Do you think we actually have a shot?”
“Sure we do. We’ve got one hell of an elephant act, and you’re a Cornell-educated veterinarian. We have a definite shot. We’ll have to be married, though. They’re a real Sunday School outfit.”
“Honey, I plan to marry you the moment the ink is dry on that death certificate.”
The blood drains from her face.
“Oh, Marlena. I’m so sorry,” I say. “That came out all wrong. I just meant that there’s never been an instant of doubt that I’m going to marry you.”
After a moment’s pause, she reaches up and lays her hand on my cheek. Then she grabs her purse and hat.
“Where are you going?” I say.
She rolls forward onto her toes and kisses me. “To make that phone call. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” I say.
I follow her outside and sit on the metal platform watching as she recedes into the distance. She walks with such certainty, placing each foot directly in front of the other and holding her shoulders square. As she passes, all the men on the lot turn to look. I watch until she disappears around the corner of a building.
As I rise to return to the stateroom, there’s a shout of surprise from the men unrolling the canvas. One man takes a long step backward, clutching his stomach. Then he doubles over, vomiting onto the grass. The rest continue to stare at the thing they’ve uncovered. The boss canvasman removes his hat and clutches it to his chest. One by one, the others do the same.
I walk over, staring at the darkened bundle. It’s large, and as I get closer I make out bits of scarlet, gold brocade, and black and white checks.
It’s Uncle Al. A makeshift garrote is tightened around his blackened neck.
LATER THAT NIGHT, Marlena and I sneak into the menagerie and bring Bobo back to our stateroom.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Twenty-four
So this is what it boils down to, is it? Sitting alone in a lobby waiting for family that’s not going to come?
I can’t believe Simon forgot. Especially today. Especially Simon—that boy spent the first seven years of his life on the Ringling show.
To be fair, I suppose the boy is seventy-one. Or is that sixty-nine? Dammit, I’m tired of not knowing. When Rosemary comes back I’ll ask her what year it is and settle the matter once and for all. She’s very kind to me, that Rosemary. She won’t make me feel foolish even if I am. A man ought to know how old he is.
I remember so many things as clear as a bell. Like the day of Simon’s birth. God, such joy. Such relief! The vertigo as I approached the bed, the trepidation. And there was my angel, my Marlena, smiling up at me, tired, radiant, with a blanketed bundle nestled in the crook of her arm. His face was so dark and scrunched he hardly looked like a person at all. But then when Marlena pulled the blanket back from his hair and I saw that it was red, I thought I might actually faint from joy. I never really doubted—not really, and I would have loved and raised him, anyway—but still. I damn near dropped over when I saw that red hair.
I glance at the clock, antsy with despair. The Spec is over for sure. Oh, it’s just not fair! All those decrepit old people who won’t even know what they’re looking at, and here’s me! Trapped in this lobby!
Or am I?
I furrow my brow and blink. What, exactly, makes me think I’m trapped?
I glance from side to side. No one. I turn and look toward the hall. A nurse whizzes past, clutching a chart and looking at her shoes.