Page 26 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

“Can’t believe we pulled it off,” I say, looking around, trying to take it all in. There are carnival games, food stands, a rickety roller coaster ride for children, and a Tilt-A-Whirl. A clown inflates balloons, twisting them into swords and poodles for the kids. Brian’s voice, amplified by a microphone, cuts through all the noise. He calls out B9, as ten tables full of people all ages focus on their player cards, marking their bingo sheets with dabbers.

“Youpulled it off.” Susan bumps her shoulder against me.

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I think you could have, but I’ll accept the compliment.” She laughs, crinkling up her nose.

“Hey, let’s get a quick photo,” I say, gesturing for her to come closer. I remove the thick strap hanging from my neck. It’s attached to a Nikon 28Ti camera, not one we could afford. Brian surprised me with it last Christmas. I told him to take it back, that it was too much, but he claimed to have lost the receipt. I knew he was lying. He’s always been a terrible liar. But he was lying for my sake because he knew I’d never spend that kind of money on myself. So, I let him lie to me, and I kept the camera.

“Cheese,” I say, holding it out as far as I can from us. We stand next to one another, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, and smile. The camera clicks and makes a winding noise.

I loop the strap back around my neck, letting the camera hang freely, just above my belly button.

“I want a copy of that,” Susan says.

“Of course, I’ll make sure to get double prints.”

She thanks me, and we turn to observe the park again.

I spot Nicole dressed in a Nirvana tee and jean cutoffs that used to be a nice pair of pants. One of her father’s flannel button-downs is tied around her waist. She counts down for the start of a sack race, while a line of children and even some adults stand shoulder to shoulder waiting for her to sayGo. Their hands clutch the potato sacks, holding them up to their waist, feet and legs snuggled inside. Nicole started the counting at twenty rather than three like we talked about, and people are starting to groan. Finally, she saysGoand the competitors hop forward.

“Look at Emma!” Susan beams. My eyes find her daughter, wearing a Britney Spears tee and a determined look. She quickly takes the lead, smiling and laughing, while others fall behind or fall to the ground.

“Go, Emma!” Susan cheers.

“She’s fast,” I say.

“Yeah, I can barely keep up with her most days.” Susan chuckles and claps for her daughter.

Christie Roberts gets a burst of momentum and catches up to Emma. She’s got five years and over a foot on her, so she has the advantage, but Emma is beyond intent on winning. The two are neck and neck, that is until Christie slips and tumbles face-first into the grass. Emma’s blond hair blows in all directions as she crosses the finish line, taking first place. She hops out of her potato sack, and Nicole holds up her arm, declaring Emma the Groovin’ in the Grove sack race champion.

I scan the park again, searching for my other two children. Although Michael is at the far end with his back turned toward me, I know it’s him. I can spot my children from anywhere, regardless of the distance, even if my eyes were blindfolded. Mothers just know. He’s in the fenced-in petting zoo, feeding a baby goat hay pellets. In the far-right corner of the park, a local band kicks off their set with “Chattahoochee” by Alan Jackson. The stage they’re performing on was supplied by the local Boar’s Nest dive bar. Bartenders serve cold beer from fresh kegs while people swig from their Solo cups, swaying and dancing to the music.

“Mom, Mom!” Emma calls out, running full speed at Susan. “Look what I won.” She holds up her hand, showing off a First Place blue ribbon. A mood ring colored orange sits loosely on her slender finger.

“Wow! You gotta display this proudly,” Susan says, pinning the ribbon to her daughter’s T-shirt.

“We saw you out there.” I raise an eyebrow and smile. “You even beat a few teenage boys.”

“And they say boys are stronger than girls.” Emma giggles and slaps her knee.

“The egg toss is about to start. Are you playing?” Susan points to a group of people halfway across the park, who are in the process of pairing up and filing into two lines.

“Yeah, I’m going to collect all the blue ribbons today,” Emma says with a firm nod. She has the confidence of a girl three times her age, and I can already picture her taking on the whole world one day.

“You better get out there and find a partner then,” Susan says, giving her a pat on the back.

Emma turns on her heel and bolts toward the egg toss, switching between a casual skip and a full-on sprint.

I scan the park again, looking for my oldest daughter, hoping she hasn’t run off with her boyfriend.

“Have you seen Beth or Lucas?” I ask.

“Not since earlier, when we were setting everything up. They should be around here somewhere,” she says, flicking her hand.

Susan doesn’t worry like I do, and I envy her for that. She hasn’t encountered loss like I have, so she can’t fathom it. But I know the worst things always happen in an instant, and once you’ve experienced it, you’ll forever be on the lookout, bracing yourself for it to happen again. It’s both a blessing and a curse because it forces you to live in the moment while also fearing the next.

Susan places her hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you go and mingle? It’s my turn to watch admissions.”

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