George saw the former cage area from above. It was a small square of lights and people among hundreds of other attractions. Last year it had seemed to contain the entire world. From this height it occupied hardly any space at all.
Sadie leaned toward him. “Look, Dad. You can see the river.”
He followed her pointing hand. Beyond the fairground, the river reflected the darkening sky. He had lived in Oak Haven long enough to know every turn of that water, but from here it looked new.
“That’s a good view,” he said.
“Worth the money?”
He thought about the question. He had not won the ride. He had not fought for it. He had paid the price printed at the ticket booth and sat beside his daughter while the world became a little wider.
“Every penny,” he answered.
Chapter Forty-Four: The Last Item on the List
The fireworks began at nine.
By then Sadie had checked off every item on her list except one. George had not seen the final line because she kept the paper folded beneath her notebook, guarding it with the seriousness of a person who had been planning a surprise for weeks.
They found a place on a low grassy slope overlooking the fairground. Families spread blankets around them. A child nearby waved a glowing plastic wand. Somewhere behind the crowd a man dropped a bag of popcorn, and three small children pounced on the unspilled kernels as though the accident had been arranged for their benefit.
George sat on a folding stool he had brought from the truck. Sadie settled beside him on the grass. She leaned against his good leg and watched the first firework rise into the dark sky. It burst red and gold, lighting the faces below for a second before everything returned to shadow.
“That’s better than last year,” she said.
“They probably spent more on fireworks.”
“You always think about how much things cost.”
“Professional weakness.”
She unfolded her list. “I have to finish something.”
“What’s left?”
She turned the paper toward him. At the bottom, beneath the rides and exhibits, she had written Make Dad laugh. Exactly as she had the year before.
George felt a sudden ache that had nothing to do with his knee.
“You’ve been carrying that around all evening?”
“Yeah.”
“I laughed a few times.”
“Those don’t count. I have a plan.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
She looked at him with exaggerated seriousness. “Dad, what do you call a Marine who keeps losing his cane?”
George blinked. “I don’t know.”
“A man who needs a better stick-tuation.”
There was a pause in which the joke seemed to regret its own existence. George stared at her. Sadie stared back, waiting. Then he laughed, suddenly and helplessly, louder than he had laughed in years. It was a terrible joke, the sort Elena would have loved precisely because it was so awful.
Sadie grinned and made a large checkmark beside the last item.
“Mission complete,” she announced.
George wiped his eyes. “That may be the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”
“It worked.”
“It did.”
A new firework burst over the river. For a moment it lit Sadie’s face, older now but still unmistakably the little girl who had held his hand beneath the cage lights. George remembered how frightened she had looked then, and how helpless he had felt when he saw it. He knew he could not promise to keep every bad thing out of her life. He could promise to be honest, to remain present, and to stop confusing a dramatic act with the patient work of being her father.
“Dad?” she said.
“Yeah, pumpkin?”
“I’m glad we came back.”
“Me too.”
“Do you think we’ll come next year?”
“If you want to.”
“I will.”
She watched the sky for another minute, then added, “Maybe next year we can bring Mrs. Moreno.”
“I think she’d like that.”
“And Nolan if he visits.”
“We’ll ask him.”
“And Professor Mustard.”
George looked at her. “A bear with an advanced degree should be able to make his own travel arrangements.”
Sadie burst into laughter. She nearly rolled down the grassy slope before catching herself. George steadied her with one hand and laughed again.
The fireworks continued above them. He had paid for the tickets, the lemonade, and the small bag of popcorn they’d shared. He had enough gas to get home. His rent was scheduled to be paid out of the next paycheck. There were still medical expenses, repairs, and ordinary worries waiting for Monday. None of them had disappeared because a crowd had once watched him win a fight.
But he was sitting under the summer sky with his daughter laughing beside him.
The evening did not need anything else.
Chapter Forty-Five: The Kitchen Light
Monday morning began at six with coffee, toast, and a request for help finding a missing sneaker.
