“He already has bad habits,” George said. “He’s stealing dinnerware.”
At the giant-pumpkin display, Sadie examined a twelve-hundred-pound pumpkin and asked whether a person could live inside it. George said not comfortably. She disagreed, pointing out that they could install windows and a door and would not have to pay rent. He made a joke about the smell, but it struck close enough to home that he turned his face toward the weigh-in sign until the feeling passed.
They watched the carousel spin three times before he paid for her ride. She chose the horse with chipped gold paint and a purple saddle. From the rail she waved at him every time she passed. George waved back with his right hand, holding the cane in his left. He found himself counting rotations, the way he counted almost everything when he was tired, and then forced himself to stop.
A small boy nearby cried because the ride was ending. His father apologized to nobody in particular as he lifted the child from a painted horse. Sadie returned to George smiling, cheeks warm, hair sticking to her forehead.
“Did you see me?”
“Every time.”
“I almost touched the ceiling.”
“You should’ve filed a flight plan.”
She grinned. “You are very weird.”
“Inherited condition.”
The ring-toss booth waited beside the funnel-cake stand. A giant stuffed bear hung from a wire above the bottles, brown and yellow and imperfectly sewn. Its left ear drooped. A sign promised a prize if a player landed three rings on a row of narrow-necked glass bottles.
Sadie stopped. She looked at the bear long enough for George to notice, then moved her eyes immediately to the price: three rings for five dollars.
“Want to try?” he asked.
“No. Those games are a ripoff.”
“That’s a pretty advanced opinion.”
“Mrs. Moreno says they’re supposed to be hard.”
“Mrs. Moreno is wise.”
She watched a teenager toss all three rings and miss. The booth operator gathered them with practiced efficiency and smiled the smile of a man who had performed the same little disappointment five hundred times that day.
“Besides,” Sadie said, “where would we put a bear that big?”
George could think of places. At the foot of her bed. In the corner by Elena’s old bookshelf. Beside the armchair where Sadie liked to read. He could think of far too many places, and none of them mattered because he could not justify risking five dollars on a prize with a drooping ear.
He bought one small paper cone of blue cotton candy instead. Sadie handed him a piece before she tasted it herself.
“Official research,” she said.
“Findings?”
“It tastes like sugar.”
“A shocking discovery.”
They followed the midway past a stall selling carved wooden signs. Behind them a ride began its abrupt mechanical descent, and the riders screamed in delighted terror. George’s knee flared with each step. He adjusted the rubber tip of his cane to avoid a shallow rut in the dirt. Somewhere beyond the livestock buildings, a crowd roared.
It was a different sound from the screams at the rides. The noise of people enjoying fear had an upward, open quality. This was low and concentrated. It rolled across the fairground like thunder from a storm no one else could yet see.
“What’s that?” Sadie asked.
“Probably a contest.”
“Can we look?”
George studied the foot traffic. The direct path to the exit narrowed where temporary barricades had been pushed into the walkway. To avoid the gathering they would have to circle the pig barn and cross an unlit stretch of gravel. He did not like the idea with his knee swelling and Sadie tired. He liked the noise from the crowd even less.
“Only from the outside,” he said. “And then we get ice cream.”
They moved toward the lights. The Ferris wheel disappeared behind the exhibition hall. The air lost the smell of kettle corn and took on sweat, dust, and spilled beer. Men stood three deep around a square of chain-link fencing erected on a platform of plywood and rough canvas.
Inside the cage, a young man in a varsity jacket was struggling to stand.
George stopped.
The young man’s friends hurried through the gate to help him. One held a bloodied shirt to his nose. The other was saying something urgently, but the crowd drowned him out. Across the canvas stood a massive fighter with a shaved head and heavy tattooed arms, raising both fists as though he had conquered something difficult.
A promoter lifted a microphone.
“Who else wants to make some money tonight?”
The crowd yelled back. The fighter laughed.
George put a hand on Sadie’s shoulder. The sensible decision was immediate and clear: turn around, take the longer route, pay four dollars for two ice creams if necessary, go home.
Then the promoter raised a stack of hundred-dollar bills beneath the lights.
