All the Broken Things (26 page)

“Promised who?”

“It was an unusual sort of deal, especially for him. He’s not that sentimental, as you know. But apparently, he and your mum got married.”

“You’re lying.”

Gerry stopped to pull a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He shook one out and grabbed it with his mouth. He looked at Bo the whole time. “I’m a lot of things,” he said, tilting his head to light his smoke. “But a liar isn’t one of them.”

“What happened to my mother?” He had visions of Max and his mum being married, his mum in a flouncy white dress he had once seen in an advertisement. Max killing her. Max watching her die. Max—

“I hate to be the one to tell you.”

Bo saw how old Gerry was then, a man who was trying too hard to hold onto something born in another time, something that retained less and less meaning. People pointed at the bear and at Bo, but Bo let it blur, keeping his focus on this man, Gerry, who had given him a job, and whom he had once seen as a kind of saviour.

“I’m sorry,” said Gerry.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t do this sort of thing well.”

“No, you don’t,” said Bo.

“Jesus, kid.” He set a warm and tobacco-fragrant palm upon Bo’s shoulder again. When Bo only stared back, Gerry lifted his palm and tapped once, twice in a little faux slap, and then, with a look that suggested Bo should follow, he sauntered ahead. “Let’s get you settled first.”

“I should have stayed in the park,” Bo shrieked. He had been just fine. He wanted to go back in the quiet of that forest, with no one but Bear, the hush of the woods at night, and the forgetting.

“Yeah, but she’s my damn bear, Jangles,” said Gerry over his shoulder as he began to move again.

No—she was
his
god-damned bear.

Bo followed Gerry behind the twister and the roller coaster—the Ferris wheel loomed above them—to another gate, another security guard. Behind him was a grassy knoll dotted with caravans and trailers. Bo craned but saw no sign of Max or Orange or his mother. Rose was dead, Gerry had told him, and he couldn’t believe it. He whispered, “Doctors,” and saw Teacher’s face the last time she came looking for Rose, recalled the way she had implored his mum to honour her appointments.

The guard let them into the carnie village. “Backstage,” said Gerry.

People loitered at the metal fence, on the outer perimeter of the fairgrounds. Was there no end to people watching people?

“What do they want?” Bo asked, shooting his thumb toward those at the fence.

“A life, I guess.”

This comment was meant to be funny, but Bo could only think of his mum, and whether she was really dead. He and Bear and Gerry moved among the many trailers,
past assorted carnies who worked the Ex, who belonged here in this temporary world.

“Hi,” said Gerry, and “Hey,” when they passed someone he knew or liked. He did not introduce Bo to anyone, but kept moving even as he greeted people.

The bear pulled ahead, her nose pursuing what scents even Bo could not know. He could smell only the rank reminders of foot-longs and candy floss.

“First my place,” said Gerry. They stood outside a dilapidated taupe caravan. “Home sweet home.”

Bo could see his truck behind it. Gerry had detached the trailer and put it up on concrete blocks, like every other caravan. There was a huge crate in the bed of the truck.

“Loralei?” But Bo already knew, and couldn’t pretend not to be happy about this one tiny thing, at least. Bear was yanking him toward the truck, and no amount of skidding and heel digging would stop her. Bo had to let go the leash. Bear lifted off the ground and stood swaying to the scent. Loralei. Had Bear ever smelled another bear? She seemed drunk on it now. “Is Lora in there?”

“Yup.”

Bear jumped up to peer in the crate, swinging her head in recognition of her own kind. Loralei did not reciprocate. Bo heard her before he saw her, a chuffed warning that soon got louder. Bo picked up the leash and tugged Bear down, so that she would not present so large to the caged bear, but already Loralei was beyond caring.
She backed up in her crate, rubbing her ass hard, her chuffs turning growly, scared and ready. Bear was too stupid, too young, too un-bear to understand the warning. She pressed her face into the cage mesh, which brought the older bear to the edge of her patience.

Loralei threw herself at the door of her cage, jamming her snout and right paw through the spaces in the metal grating, teeth chattering, fierce. Which would have been the end of it, if the door to the crate had not swung open and left her briefly hanging there. She was furious. A clanging—then, the dangle of bear, tumbling and collapsing into a pissed-off mountain of fur. Loralei took no time to reorient and locate her main objective.

“Down, Loralei,” said Gerry, through clenched teeth. There was nothing calm in the way he said it.

Bo wondered if Loralei might still recognize him—she never once looked in his direction.

She rose and leapt toward Bear, landing just in front of her on the ground, and then swiped her paw over Bear’s muzzle. Bo pulled the leash taut, thinking he might have to let Bear go again if Loralei didn’t back off. He’d have to give Bear a fighting chance.

Gerry backed away toward the caravan, muttering, “Crap!” Bo tried one last time to pull Bear back, but she wouldn’t budge, so he dropped the leash and followed Gerry.

Bear batted at Loralei, lips pulled back, the muzzle now a big problem for her. They rose onto their back legs
and began to twist and turn against one another, both creatures looking for a piece of neck to bite. It was beautiful and terrible, somewhere between a game and a fight. They bashed and whacked each other, low growls vibrating along the ground. Gerry waved a can of root beer above his head, futilely calling Loralei’s name, overly shrill—the sound of fear. Loralei couldn’t hear him, her ears and teeth and malice all attuned to Bear.

She clacked her teeth at Bear, and swatted, growling. Gerry just kept yelling and waving the can until Loralei at last cocked her head toward the root beer, softened her stance and backed off. Bear lowered to all fours and watched, head bobbing in lingering anxiety. Finally she sat. Gerry cracked the tab and let Loralei guzzle a little, then led her back into her cage.

“Up,” he said. “Up,” and she did this without too much trouble. “Atta,” he said, and handed her the can. She hoisted it and chugged. “My lady,” said Gerry, turning then to grin madly at Bo.

“She cut Bear,” Bo said.

A red rivulet trailed down Bear’s neck.

“She’ll live.”

Bear sidled up to Bo and tucked her head behind his legs, hiding, trying to turn her head so she could lick the blood. The wound was small, nothing to worry about, but she shook behind him.

“Loralei’s getting feisty these days,” said Gerry. “Gonna
have to retire her if she doesn’t calm down and get with the program.” He slammed his palm on the door of the crate, making Loralei start and cower.

A woman stepped out of Gerry’s caravan. Spike-heeled sandals and an electric blue dress that ended in a little wavy hem above her perfect knees.

“Meet Beverley,” Gerry said, not taking his eyes off her. “Beverley?” He beckoned to her. “Meet Bo and Bear.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance,” Beverley said. Her voice was octaves higher than any voice had a right to be. She put her hand out, to be shaken, or kissed, Bo did not know.

Gerry laughed at the expression on Bo’s face.

“Hello,” said Bo. He put his hand out, testing, and she took it, shook, with a tighter grip than he ever would have imagined.

“I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh,” he said.

There was pity in her smile.

“Come on,” Gerry said to Bo. “I’ll show you your sleeping quarters.”

Beverley kept smiling as they led the bear away.

When they were out of earshot, Gerry said, “She hates what I do, so I don’t expect it to last. Also, she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, so boredom is already setting in. The midgets are taking odds on when we’ll have our first big argument—well, the second. We had a whopper two
nights ago—but who will throw the first punch, eh? Morgana, who reads tea leaves and the crystal ball, and hasn’t ever been wrong about anything, says it’ll end badly, and I don’t doubt it. What do you think, Jangles?”

“I don’t think anything about it.” Bear was riding up the back of his legs, her head down. Bo stopped, turning and crouching to cup her face in his hands, scratch her neck, careful to stay clear of the wound. “Good girl,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

There was a crazy feeling racing through his body. “I need to know,” he said, standing again. “I need to know what
exactly
happened to my mother.”

“Kid.” Gerry stopped outside a big canvas tent, and had Bo sit down in one of the folded wooden chairs set out on the grass. He sat down beside him, cleared his throat. “It’s sad,” he said. Gerry’s face crumpled a bit and he nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just really shitty to have to tell you.” A long silence passed between them. “She hanged herself, kid.”

Bo’s guts seemed to spin. “Where is Orange?” he managed.

“Safe.” That was all Gerry would say, his brow furrowed so hard it was a wonder he could see.

“You’re not gonna tell me.”

“It’s not my news to tell.”

He saw his mother’s feet dangling above a floor somewhere. Who had found her? He did not like to think that Orange might have witnessed it. Why had she done
this, left them behind like this? There were too many questions and so he did what he had always done. He did not ask them. Instead he glanced around, biting his lip hard; the pain of it was good. Bo wished badly to hit something. He would pretend it was Max’s face.

“When can I fight?” he said.

“That’s the spirit.” Gerry grinned wide. Bo had saved him from going deeper into that awful story. He gestured to the tent. “You’ll be sleeping in here. Don’t know what we’re going to do with the bear.”

“She can stay with me.” Bo looked at Bear, who sat watching him.

It sickened Bo to imagine her crated, but that wasn’t it. It sickened him to be alone.

I
NSIDE THE TENT
, Gerry introduced him to Morgana. She was three and a half feet tall, of exquisite proportions, a walking doll. The most beautiful person Bo had ever seen.

“Enchantée,” she said, and then she bowed to Bear and added, “How do you do,” which made Bo laugh despite his sadness.

Morgana showed Bo his living quarters—a sectioned-off area of the industrial tent, with an army cot against one tent wall, a piece of dowelling hanging on ropes from a brace in the tent, for clothes.

“Normally we don’t allow animals in the sleeping quarters,” she said, looking over at Bear.

Gerry said, “It’s okay, Morgana. I’ll get the boys to bring in a bear crate for her.”

“Thank you,” said Bo. He had no intention of putting her in a cage.

Bo turned to Gerry after Morgana had walked away. “How old is she?”

“Old,” and then Gerry pulled a suitcase out from under the cot, and handed it to Bo. When he looked perplexed, Gerry added, “Performance clothes. Something in there for you. Something in there for the beast.”

Bo opened the suitcase and inside found a tutu, a couple of sparkly bodysuits, a pair of leather boots, and a suit made of black silk.

“The tutu’s for the bear, Jangles. In case you were wondering.”

“She’s never been dressed. I never did that.”

“You better get busy teaching her, then. You can’t insult the crowd with a naked bear.”

And then it was just this: the show going on.

W
ITHIN TWO DAYS
, Bo was fighting Loralei. He was billed as Bear Boy because Gerry felt that would bring the crowds into the tent. The banner paint was wet that
first fight. Gerry kept Bo busy, those first days, between perfecting Bear’s act and wrestling, so he had scant time to look for Orange, and when he asked around, eyes glazed over.

“Anyone seen Max Jennings?” he said to a mingling of half-dressed clowns as he was returning to his tent from a fight.

“You think I pull the boss outta my ass, kid?”

He persisted. “Come on, where is he?”