I hope you’re right.
Another pause.
Where are you?
A carnival. Where are you?
On my way to a carnival.
He doesn’t ask for directions. After seeing him schmooze at the fundraiser, I have no doubts he’s well-connected and well-informed. If he doesn’t already know about the carnival, it probably won’t take him long to find out.
To find me.
The problem is: How am I supposed to concentrate in the meantime? And what if he shows up before I have to give my speech?
I think back to the appearance Tuesday, when I first saw Alec. I was completely distracted after I saw him in the crowd. And that was before I actually knew him, before I knew just how Mason-like he really is. I would never have imagined that the similarities would go beyond the physical, the superficial. But they do. They go deep. Very deep, it seems.
Knowing it will likely (hopefully) be a while before he arrives, I walk to the ball toss tent to watch a trio of young boys try and throw their fastest pitch for a prize. It’s obvious the three are brothers. Curly blond hair, bright blue eyes and freckles galore, they are practically identical but for their stair-stepped height. I’d guess they’re each probably two years apart, starting at maybe ten and going through fourteen or fifteen.
To my right is an older couple, proudly looking on. They are, no doubt, the foster parents. And good ones, I’d wager. To take all three boys, probably so as not to separate them, and then care for them, which they so obviously do—it’s what makes the carnival shine. Not the lights or the rides or the sparklers, but the foster parents who up-end their lives to help a child. Or three. A surge of the gratitude that’s never far from my heart rises to the surface.
I’m thankful when I see my foster mother heading my way, coming to round me up.
“It’s almost time,” she says when she finds me.
I’m relieved. I’m glad they’re doing it a little earlier this year, especially now that Alec is on his way.
We make our way to the small podium centered on the only-slightly larger stage that’s set up near the concession stand. My nerves jangle. Anytime I’m in the public eye, I worry that someone will recognize me. I reason with myself that it’s about as likely as me meeting an alien at the grocery store wearing my panties, but that never completely eradicates the fear.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of my work. It’s more that I don’t want people to know about the scars I carry. I don’t want them to ask questions and make the inevitable connections and deductions. Most of them would be wrong anyway, but there would probably be one or two that would get it right. And I don’t want people that close to me, that close to the real me. Everyone has the right to hide if they want to.
And I do.
A few minutes later, after her short speech, Mom introduces me and I make my way to her. She hands me the microphone. I look out into the crowd and smile.
“I, too, would like to thank you all for coming out tonight in support of the foster initiative. I am living proof of how the program and the wonderful people who participate in it can change the fate of a child. Without the love and direction of my parents, I don’t know where I’d be today. I tell everyone that Andre and Deandra Johnson saved my life. And it’s true. They did. As you look around the crowd tonight, know that the children you see here will one day grow up to say the same things about you. So on behalf of them, and from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
I smile again and hand the mic back to my mother.
Short and sweet. And over!
When I turn to move off the stage, I nearly trip when I see Alec standing at the periphery of the crowd. He’s watching me, his eyes hooded and mysterious, penetrating as always.
Hesitantly, I make my way to him. I stop just short of where he is. He says nothing, but continues to watch me. His forehead furrows into a frown just as Chris begins to speak. Out of respect for her and a desire to avoid Alec’s probing gaze, I turn to listen.
I feel Alec move in behind me. He’s close enough that I can feel his warmth against my back, but he doesn’t touch me.
I make an effort to focus on Chris’s tearful, heartfelt testimony. It always makes my insides hurt to hear her talk of her life before Mom and Dad took her in.
Chris’s biological mother died when she was just a baby, leaving her in the care of her father. Over the years, his anger and resentment over being left with a child and no wife turned into violence. Luckily, his abuse was discovered quickly, after only one incident.
The first night Chris spent with the Johnsons, her arm was still in a cast. She hasn’t had a broken bone since.
As Chris talks about her life now, she mentions how she wouldn’t be where she is—the owner of a thriving business—without the support of her foster parents. As she always does, she mentions me in passing. She thanks me for working alongside her every day, as her coworker, her support system, and her best friend as well as her sister.
I smile, never taking my eyes off her as others look my way. They see us both as the success stories we’re representing—me as an accountant, her as an entrepreneur. It’s only half true, of course. I’m no accountant. But since Chris has her own business, fabricating a story about working for her just made the most sense.
“You work with your sister?”
I turn to look at Alec. I swallow and do my best not to stumble over the lie. It’s the only one I can tell halfway convincingly.
“Yes, I do her books.”
“I’m sure most people find that both believable and appropriate.”
My heart stutters. There’s no way he could possibly know. Could he?
Most people don’t bat an eye when they hear that I’m an accountant. Evidently it suits my personality to perfection—bland and predictable. Alec Brand isn’t most people, though. I fear he’s the one person on the planet who can see into my soul.
“But you don’t?”
Alec doesn’t answer; he just stares at me with those sharp jade eyes. I turn away from the perceptiveness in them, hoping I didn’t wait too long, praying he didn’t see right through me.
When Mom regains the microphone, she says a few more words then introduces a woman from Social Services, explaining that she’ll be available for questions at the end of the night. Not long after, the crowd begins to disburse, people gradually making their way back to the games and the lighthearted fun of the night.