Claire looks over at the Tilt-a-Whirl, the giant laughing clown head in the middle of the track, the cars wheeling around and up and down, thumps and screams escaping from underneath the metal canopies. She steers her charges toward the Ferris wheel, looking doubtfully at the attendant leaning against the fence. He is shirtless and tanned a deep red-brown. When he smiles, his teeth are very close to the same colour as his skin. The colour of baked beans, thinks Claire.
“Two please!” Mercy hands him the tickets as Claire loops the leash around the fence. Speckles howls after them as they get on the ride. The attendant puts the bar down in front of them, which touches Claire’s belly but looks to be about six inches from Mercy. Claire puts her arm around the little girl and pulls her close. She closes her eyes as they rise up, up into the air, the metal of the contraption screeching. “Grandma! I can’t breathe!”
“Sorry, hon.” Claire eases her grip on Mercy, opens her eyes, and looks with wonder across the fairground. She sees the other rides, the tops of the chip trucks, the tops of peoples’ heads in groups here and there, and to the left of it all, the wide grey rippling St. Lawrence River. “Oh, Mercy. Look at that.”
Mercy is leaning across her grandmother’s lap, her hair blowing around, getting into Claire’s eyes and nose. “Jules is gonna jump right over that whole thing. He is gonna fly, Grandma Claire!”
Oh, I hope not, thinks Claire. Surely not.
Mercy spreads her arms wide like wings as they drop over the crest of the wheel and begin their descent.