By a Charm and a Curse(29)
“Wait, wait,” I say, glancing over at Emma to see her reaction. “Did I build this shack? Is it a two-story shack? Because I’d totally build a giant shack to house my pack of feral children.”
“Shut up, I’m in the zone,” Pia says. “And nobody said they were feral.”
“Yeah,” Emma says, barely suppressing a giggle. “They’re probably just dirty all the time.”
Pia throws her head back and laughs, but as suddenly as it began, her laughter sputters and dies out, and she blinks a few times, hard.
“You okay?” I ask, ducking down to get a better look at her face. She’s gone pale, and her eyes are glassy.
“Fine,” she says, with a weak smile that’s barely more than a twitch of the lips. She resituates my palm in her hand, twisting it this way and that. “You, um…you’re going to want to build, but first you will destroy. You’ll have no home, but you will have peace.”
Duncan meets my gaze when I look his way, and he shrugs. This is not the silly fortune-telling from before, but if he’s concerned, he doesn’t show it. Pia continues in this strange, almost monotone voice.
“Things that are linked cannot be unbound. Things set in motion cannot be stopped. Your salvation will come in the form of an old woman in yoga pants.”
“That,” I say, unsure what to make of her predictions, “is the craziest fortune you’ve given me yet.”
“Yeah,” Duncan says, grabbing Pia’s hand, which still holds mine. “Like, this older woman. Is she hot? Does she have a silver-fox brother or son or whatnot for me to ogle? More info, Pia!”
Pia drops my hand like it’s a slimy fish and pivots on her heel to face her brother. “The portents tell me what they tell me. They’re not your otherworldly dating service. Oh! But they did tell me to give you this.” She reaches into her jeans pocket, and when she pulls her hand out, her middle finger is extended.
“Jerk,” Duncan says, rolling his eyes.
“Tramp!” Pia counters.
“Prude!”
“Oh, I’ll prude you!” Pia jumps up, hooking her arm around Duncan’s neck and putting him in a headlock. But Duncan digs his fingers into her side, tickling her until she dissolves into a fit of giggles.
“Um, hello?” A man holding a dripping ice cream cone enters the tent, glancing around as if he’s not sure he should be here. “Are you open?”
The twins straighten and immediately go serious. “Of course,” Pia says, her voice about two octaves lower than normal. “Please take a seat.”
I have to stifle a laugh at Pia’s faux-serious voice before I ruin her chances of making any money, and take Emma’s hand as we duck out of the tent. I lead Emma through the neat rows of the carnival. We see Leslie in her ringmaster’s garb, looking like a completely different person when covered in sequins and makeup. Her blond curls glow in the spotlight, and heeled boots add a couple of inches to her diminutive frame. The tumblers—Fabrizio with a small square of bright white gauze taped to his cheek—form a pillar three people high, beckoning onlookers into their tent for the next show. A circle of patrons gathers around one of the fire-eaters, who sends plumes of flame into the black sky.
Emma is entranced, her gaze darting this way and that. She asks questions about everything, wanting any detail I can give her, no matter how big or small.
“It must have been so much fun growing up here,” she says.
I shrug. “Well, I wasn’t always here. Mom and I lived in Virginia for a while. Before Dad died.”
Emma’s cool fingers tighten around mine. “I’m sorry you lost your dad so early. Do you remember him?”
My gaze tracks upward, past the crowds and the rides until I find a patch of clear sky. I do remember my dad, but… “Sort of,” I say finally. “I remember how loud his laugh was and how he liked to tell corny jokes. We had a little house at the end of a cul-de-sac, and the moment he got home from work, he filled the place up until it seemed twice as big. And Mom was always so much more…content when he was around. So I miss him, but I miss more than just him, you know?”
At some point as we’ve been walking along, Emma’s pressed herself as close to me as possible, our arms touching from shoulder to wrist. And even though the cold from her skin seeps into mine, raising goose bumps, it’s nice. Comforting.
“Oh, I think I know a little about missing someone.”
Immediately I feel like an ass. “Shit! I’m so sorry, Emma, I—”
“No!” she says, laughing a little. “I mean, yes, I do miss my family. But I was only in Claremore because my mom is on a research trip, and she left my brothers and me with our dad. And I love them, but my mom was the one who understood me, who talked to me in what felt like our own language. She took me to museums and let me use her employee ID card at the library on campus to check out their books on art history. I want that back. I want her back.”
I can hear the longing when she talks about her mom, the way knowing their separation isn’t permanent doesn’t make it hurt less.
And I get it.
Because it’s about missing the person but also how that person made you feel. And I think I’m so desperate to leave the carnival so I can find a place to make my own, to make a home that feels like our little house did when my dad was there.