By a Charm and a Curse(20)
“Yeah, but…” Shawn makes a circling motion with his hand, as though encouraging Juliet to put the pieces of some obvious puzzle together. “She was kind of a bitch, so I don’t see why you’re so worked up.”
Juliet slaps him, fast enough he didn’t see it coming and hard enough to leave a mark. My jaw drops. I want nothing more than to run out there and hug her, one of those bone-crushing hugs where neither of you can breathe but no one dares to let go. My chest feels tight, like it’s clamped in a vise.
Shawn skulks off, rubbing his cheek and leaving Jules in the middle of the alley. Once the crowds swallow him up, Juliet tilts her head to the night sky. Her lids are swollen and pink from crying, and her whole body sags, like all the fight’s gone out of her.
As she turns away, her gaze roves over the booth and our eyes meet.
I don’t want her to see me like this. If she looks at me with an ounce of pity, I’ll break. I’ll let her convince me to leave, to go home where I can’t be fixed. And I want to be fixed.
Jules runs to the booth, her palms slapping against the glass. “Em!” she screams, her words slightly dampened by the glass, “Em, thank God! Get out of there!”
Tears make her eyes jewel bright. My chest feels like bands of iron are constricting around me, but I can’t give in, I can’t.
“Where have you been? Your dad won’t stop crying, Emma; we’re all going crazy.” She looks lost now, like I should have given up the ruse already. Her fist hits the wooden frame. “This isn’t funny, Emma. Come out, please.”
My dad hasn’t stopped crying.
I almost break. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to tell her now, so she can let everyone know I’m okay. Well, okay-ish. But I can’t. I cannot. My fingers twitch, and I pray Jules doesn’t notice. I turn the movement into a slow sweep of my hand toward the coin slot.
Jules looks down to dig in her purse, and when she does, I remember how Sidney had worked the box, and I change my pose. Let her think that I’ve been doing this for years. Let her doubt. Just let her think that I’m not Emmaline.
Jules finds a quarter, and she slips it into the slot. The coin falls down the track and lands next to the others I’ve collected tonight. Fine. Again, I pretend that I’m Sidney, a coldhearted jerk who doesn’t care, just another part of the show.
I turn and twist and pretend to think about just which fortune is the right one for Jules. I need her gone, as far away from here as possible. If the cops think I’m a runaway and Leslie is saying she never saw me, I need Jules to believe that for now. I force every thought of Jules and home away and play my part. The card in the corner seems as good as any, and I pick it up.
My chest hitches, spasms with tears I can’t shed. Just let the card go, Emmaline. Just drop it into the tray and get it over with. The card falls into the tray.
Juliet chews her lip and I know that she’s doubting now, unsure as to what she should do. The card I’ve given her has just four words on it, four words that I was mentally shouting as I plucked the card up from the shelf. She pulls the tray open, retrieves the card, and reads them now. Her eyes fill with new tears.
Know when to quit.
Jules drops the card. There’s almost nothing to her voice, as though the very essence of it has been wrung out when she says, “It’s not you. Emma would never be so mean to me.”
Something inside me cracks, a fissure of stinging pain radiating out from my heart. I force myself to hold my pose as Juliet throws one more glance my way. It’s only when she’s melted into the crowd, when the squeezing around my chest subsides, that I pull the curtains of my booth closed. I am done for the night, done. I crash to the ground with enough force to rock the tiny box. A gust of wind swirls the curtains when the door opens, and Sidney looks down at me, his eyebrows arched in pity and panic.
And that is when I know that I am well and truly fucked.
Chapter Eight
Benjamin
The stripped carnival grounds echo with the sounds of car doors slamming and shouted instructions. The tents and booths and rides are loaded up, and this tiny town is about to become one more memory to fade as we put it in our rearview.
I sit behind the wheel of the Gran Torino, waiting for Marcel to finish checking the fluids. A few workers dart from truck to truck, making last-minute checks before we drive off. The windows are cranked down, and a breeze carrying a hint of rain rushes through the car.
“Ben!” In the rearview mirror, my mother storms toward the car.
Marcel peeks around the extended hood, and I can just barely hear him say, “Aw, shit.”
My mother is a study in determination. She strides toward us with purpose, her long golden braid swinging in time behind her. In the last two days, she’s been on a rampage. The to-do list she gave me yesterday was a mile long, and included some things I’d taken care of not even a week ago. When I’d asked her about it, she said I hadn’t done it right the first time and needed to do it again. Which is bullshit. The day my mother lets me get away with doing a half-assed job at anything is the day she goes into the ground. As my mother draws closer to the car, she gives Marcel a quick nod before bending down to peer at me through the open window. “I want you to ride with me.”
Around us, the other trucks and cars rumble to life, exhaust fumes wafting in the open car windows.