Page 43 of Masquerade Mistake
How can I feel this alone when it’s been like this most of my life? I don’t need Ethan. What the hell did I do before I met him?
When we arrive at the carnival, I have a backpack full of healthy food and a wriggling six-year-old’s hand in mine. He’s full of ideas on how we’ll spend the day, from the roller coasters to visiting the animals at the petting zoo. The way he talks, it’s obvious he remembers what the carnival was like, and I’m amazed at his memory. It was only a few years ago, but to him that’s half a lifetime.
“Can we get corndogs?” he asks.
I shake my head, ignoring his immediate groans. “You saw me making bento boxes,” I say.
“I know, but I thought they were for you. I want regular food.”
I laugh. “This was regular enough for your lunch yesterday,” I remind him. “You didn’t seem to complain when you brought it to school.”
“I traded for Brie’s turkey sandwich.”
“Well, obviously Brie got the better end of the deal.”
Finn looks up at me and rolls his eyes.
“Mom, no one brings food like this. They have normal food like chips or cookies or sandwiches.”
“I would have killed for a lunch like this when I was your age,” I tell him. “Back then it was called Lunchables, and every cool kid had them.”
“Did you?” he asks. We reach the line to the ticket counter and wait our turn to buy tickets. It occurs to me right then how lucky I am to have the money to bring him here. I’m not rich by any means, but I have enough to splurge at a carnival. I have enough for groceries so we can eat healthy food, to pay the rent so we have a place to live, and all our bills are paid with money left over.
“No. I was on a special lunch program,” I tell him. “I ate the school lunch.”
“Lucky,” he mutters. But he doesn’t know what it’s like to hand over the telltale tickets—the one that labeled my family as poor—while everyone else had a packed lunch from home. But if it weren’t for those tickets and the bland hot meal I received in return, there were days I wouldn’t have eaten.
Finn stays with me until we’re through security. Then he’s off, running toward the first roller coaster ride he sees. He’s all wiggles and smiles until they strap him in and cinch the belt tight. I see his smile fade, and he looks at me with round eyes.
“What if I fall out?” he asks, his voice shaking. I smile, covering his cold hand.
“You won’t,” I promise, though secretly I had just been thinking the same thing. This carnival was up and running in a day, and they’ll tear it down just as fast once the weekend is through. How secure does that make me feel? I peer over at the carnival worker who’s still tightening belts. His skin is weathered and dark from the sun, and his beard reaches the middle of his chest. He wears his hair in a ponytail, and the toothpick in his mouth could easily be a cigarette in his off hours. Does he know our lives are in his hands?
The ride starts and Finn grabs hold of my hand, squeezing it as if I’ll anchor him if we hurtle into space. Each half second is marked by the click of the tracks and the slow ascent up the steep hill. Finn squeezes his eyes shut, and I nudge him to get him to open them again.
“You’re missing the whole ride.”
He squints at me, then finally opens his eyes. He even looks over me to see the carnival getting smaller below us. But that’s when we reach the top and whip around a corner.
“Mom!” His grip is surprisingly strong as we jerk side to side. But then he loosens his hand before letting go, grabbing hold of the plush bars over his chest. I look at his face and see he’s laughing, the fear completely gone as we climb and drop before the ride comes to a quick end.
“Can we do that again?” Finn asks as he trots beside me after the ride.
“Maybe,” I say. “But there are a bunch more rides to go on.”
“Finn!”
We both turn to see Brie, Finn’s friend from class, running toward us. Her mom is behind her, and they wave hello.
“Hi,” Brie says to Finn, who is suddenly leaning against me like he’s afraid of her. He peers up at me, and I realize he’s shy. I nudge him, just like I did on the roller coaster, and he hides a small smile.
“Hi,” he says to the ground.
“Hey, Claire, great to see you here,” Brenda says once they reach us. “We were just thinking how much more fun this would be if Brie had a friend to go on rides with.”
I like Brenda. She sometimes volunteers with me in Finn’s class, and she’s always so kind and patient—even with the kids who like to follow their own path instead of going with the flow of the class. She’s at least a decade older than me, which is the norm for all the parents of Finn’s classmates. They’re also all stay-at-home moms with husbands who work.
I start to speak, but a familiar face just past her catches my attention.