22

FOR THE REST OF THE week, Filipe stays clear of my house. Wednesday night, Julia comes over and she and Mom set up an outdoor movie theater in our backyard, hanging a sheet between two trees and using Julia’s projector to screen Jaws. Turns out Jaws is way too scary for Xan, though, which I learn when he comes into my bed at two in the morning because of nightmares.

Also turns out sharing a bed with a wiggly six-and-a-quarter-year-old is its own kind of nightmare, and by the time I get back from the library on Thursday, I’m practically falling asleep on the ride home. I’m so sleepy I forget to even look across the street to see if Filipe’s out there playing ball.

It’s not until Friday, as we’re pulling out of our driveway, ready to pick up Audrey on the way over to the county fair, that I see Filipe. And even then, it’s just a flash of him as he gets into Anibal’s car.

It’s funny—Mom didn’t even ask why I didn’t invite him to the fair this year. She was too busy being excited that I’d invited Audrey.

Not long after we pick up Audrey from her house, Mom turns down the radio. “Hey, Drew, Xan? Before I forget, I wanted to let you know that I’ve been in touch with Phil and it looks like he’s about finished with the New England leg of the trip. Probably coming in late tomorrow night or Sunday morning. If it’s all right with you, he’d like to stay with us again for a few days before heading back to Colorado. What do you think?”

“Yes!” Xan pumps his fist. “Motorcycle time!”

“Drew?”

Audrey squeezes my hand, startling me. But she lets go quick. “Sounds okay to me,” I say, trying as hard as possible to contain my excitement. He’ll be here so soon—that’s a good thing. But it also means he’ll be leaving so soon. Unless what we find in the yearbook changes everything.

Mom turns the radio back up, but for the rest of the ride to the fair, it’s hard to concentrate. Thankfully, Xan is pretty good at one-way conversations. And he never met Audrey before, so he’s plenty happy to quiz her on everything.

When we get to the fair, even though it’s Audrey and not Filipe this year, Mom still feels the need to go over the ground rules. Basically, if you spend all your money on rides and games, don’t come crawling back to her for money for food. A rule she had to institute after that time two years ago when Filipe really wanted to win a huge stuffed pickle with a sombrero, and used up all his spending money, and even then failed to win it.

Once we’ve passed through the turnstiles and split from Mom and Xan, I basically explode. “Tomorrow night!”

“It’s so soon,” Audrey says.

“What if the yearbook doesn’t get here in time?” It’s a thought I don’t even want to think, but it’s hard not to. It should be here early in the week, so as long as Phil stays a couple days, we should be in the clear. Still.

“Maybe you should save some of his spit as a backup.”

“How would I even do that?”

Audrey twists her mouth for a second. “Snag a used napkin? Wait, that’ll only have food residue. A hair from his pillow, then? Is he hairy? Most men are. I’m sure there’ll be a hair somewhere.”

“He is hairy,” I say.

“Well, then, there you go.”

It helps to have a backup plan just in case. Not that I exactly have the money for a DNA test. I take a deep breath. One thing at a time, Drew. The smells of all the fair food mix together—fried dough and french fries and roast beef and clam chowder—and my nerves turn to excitement. We’re going to find out. We are. It’s just a matter of time.

Audrey pipes up, “I’m hungry.”

Clearly all the delicious food smells are having an effect on her, too. We haven’t even reached the booth where you get tickets for the rides yet. Usually Filipe and I would use up our first string of ride tickets, then get food, then go back for more rides, and then repeat until we ran out of money or it was time to go home.

“Are you sure you want to eat before we go on rides?”

Audrey stops in her tracks. “Do we have to go on rides?”

I stop with her. I can’t remember a time I came to the county fair and didn’t go on rides. But I also can’t remember a time I came to the county fair and didn’t have a stomachache half the time. Not from the food—well, maybe a little from the food—but mostly from the rides. Filipe thought it was hilarious to go on rides until he threw up.

Maybe it was the first time, but after that it was pretty gross.

“We don’t have to go on rides,” I tell her, suddenly relieved. If Audrey changes her mind and decides she wants to watch a cow give birth, I have a feeling it’ll be a whole lot more pleasant to watch if we aren’t already nauseous.

“Okay. Phew,” Audrey says. “I have motion sickness. Especially with the spinning.”

“Me. Too.” It feels good to be able to admit the truth to her, to not have to pretend the way I have been lately with Filipe.

“So what’s good to eat if I want the authentic cultural experience of the county fair? Do they have deep-fried Twinkies?”

The county fair in Rhode Island isn’t exactly like state fairs I’ve heard about in the Midwest, where the food is as fried and weird as possible. A lot of the food booths are run by local churches and clubs—at least, the best ones are.

But Audrey doesn’t know that. And it’s too fun to mess with her.

“Actually, my mom was just telling me about the new snack they’re debuting this year. Everyone’s been talking about it. Said it was the best fair food they’ve ever had.”

Audrey’s eyes widen. “What is it? Where is it? Oh, I want to try!”

“They put it on a stick, I think. Oh man. What was it called … oh right! Chocolate-covered opossum. The roadkill special.”

Audrey swats at me. I take a few steps back from her, not sure if there’s more where that came from or not. I’m laughing, though. It was so worth it.

“They’re not serving that at the fair.”

“No, probably not. Let’s walk around and see what looks good. Whatever’s got the longest line is usually the best.”

As we walk down the aisles, Audrey suddenly goes quiet. Hopefully she’s not still annoyed with me and is just scoping out the options. Lobster rolls. Spanakopita. Roast beef sandwiches. Apple crisp. There’s the longest line ever at Frank’s French Fries. I mean, they’re pretty good french fries and they do come in a bucket, but are they worth waiting in a line for twenty minutes?

“Hey.” Audrey jabs my shoulder. “Someone’s calling for you.” She points over to the Portuguese American Club booth. Filipe’s vovó has her head stuck way out the window as she waves at me. “Who is that?” Audrey asks.

Suddenly I don’t feel so hungry anymore. “Filipe’s grandma.”

“I bet they have good food.” Audrey sniffs the air. “Smells like pork. Mmm. The other white meat. Let’s check it out.”

I follow after her, dragging my feet in the dry dirt. Won’t Vovó wonder why Filipe isn’t here with me? Will she think it’s strange? Or did she hear about what happened earlier this week? Did Filipe tell his parents? Did Anibal?

But when we’re up at the window, I can tell she hasn’t heard a word about the fight because she gives me a big smile and talks excitedly with Audrey about the great food at their booth. “Oh, you must try bifana,” she says to Audrey. “It’s Drew’s favorite. Two bifana!” she shouts back into the prep area.

Filipe’s grandma turns to me. “I haven’t seen Filipe at the fair yet. Is he with you?”

I shake my head. Just hearing his name makes my right hand ache. It never bruised exactly, but it is kind of sore when I think about it.

“Well.” Vovó glances at Audrey just as one of the women from the kitchen slides our two plates of pork sandwiches in front of her. “It’s sure nice of you to show Audrey around. Hope to see you later this summer. You better not miss our Labor Day barbecue! I want a rematch at cornhole.”

Filipe and I creamed her and his vovô last summer. I don’t know what to say back to her, though. What if Filipe doesn’t want me to come to their Labor Day barbecue anymore? Maybe he wants to bring Theo this year. Maybe that fight was it between us. The end of everything.

I reach into my pocket for some of the cash Mom gave me.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Vovó says. “Those two are on the house.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“See you around, Drew! Nice to meet you, Audrey.”

We take our sandwiches over to an empty picnic table. Vovó’s bifana is my favorite. Even though I don’t know what’s going on with Filipe lately, the first bite I take into the sandwich, it’s like everything bad just melts away. There’s nothing like sweet caramelized onions and salty mustard on top of the juiciest pork loin. Brown juiciness drips down my chin, but I don’t stop to wipe it when I see Audrey’s in the same boat as me. Funny, I never pictured her as someone who could be a messy eater.

“What do you think?” I say when I finally finish chewing.

“Beats chocolate-covered opossum any day.”

Now I’m rolling my eyes at Audrey. She hands me a napkin and I wipe my face and hands.

“Okay, so I’m not hungry anymore,” Audrey says. “But I am thirsty.”

I point to a familiar cart with a green-and-yellow awning. “Want to get Del’s and then go check out the farm animals?”

“Deal.”

This time I don’t have to tell her which flavor to order. She knows. On our way over to the animal barns, I catch that she’s really improved her slurping technique. I’d almost call her a natural. Almost.

“Hey, Audrey,” I say, just before the brain freeze hits.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about what I said last week at the library. It wasn’t nice. I don’t even think that about you anyway. I don’t really know why I said it.” It’s funny how the words tumble out with Audrey, but when I’m with Filipe, they get all stopped up. “Anyway—it doesn’t matter why I said it or didn’t, just that I’m sorry.”

Audrey goes quiet for a few seconds, though maybe she’s just enjoying her Del’s. Mine is a really good one, one of the best ever. Top five for sure.

“Thanks, Drew.”

She doesn’t have to say anything more than that. We slurp our way over toward the barn with the rabbits and chickens. We’re nearly there when Audrey grabs my arm. “You weren’t kidding,” she says. To the right of her is the station with the huge mother cows. Their stomachs look so heavy I’m surprised they didn’t give birth months ago. Hung from the rafters are flat-screen TVs in case the crowd gets too big, and everyone’s craning their neck for a view.

“Of course I wasn’t,” I say. Did she think I just made up a cow birth joke on the fly?

A tall man in denim overalls and a Red Sox cap turns around. “Just missed a good one,” he says.

Audrey makes a face like she just ate a whole lemon. “Maybe let’s save the cow births for later.”

Chickens and rabbits are probably the better way to ease her into the cultural experience, anyway. They’re in one of the biggest barns, I guess because there are a heck of a lot more types of chickens and rabbits than there are cows. Row and rows of them, each in their own cage. There’s a little card attached to each that talks about which farm it’s from, how old it is, and what breed.

Once we’re a few steps in, the smell gets kind of intense. Sawdust and animal poop. I’m used to it after years of coming to the fair, but I worry it’s too much for Audrey.

She sucks in a gaspy breath, and I expect her to complain about the smell when she catches me off-guard. “They’re so beautiful,” she exclaims, marching right toward the chickens. “Drew, look!”

I hurry up and follow her over to a fluffy white one. A Silkie bantam, it says on the card. I can barely see its little black beak peeking out from under all those feathers. It’s like it’s part chicken, part … cat? Part stuffed animal?

“People in Rhode Island have chickens?” Audrey says.

“This family down the street from me has a coop in their backyard, and when they’re out of town, we get to collect the eggs.” I don’t tell her that their chickens look more like normal chickens, not this glorious fluffy white chicken model.

“Do you think I could get one?”

“I don’t think my mom’s going to let you take a chicken home in the car tonight.”

“Not today, Drew.” She takes a picture of the little card stuck to the cage, which has contact information about the chicken’s owner. “We never had much of a backyard in the other places I lived. But we do here.” The chicken sticks its neck out like it’s examining Audrey. I can tell part of her wants to reach in and pet it, but the other part is worried her finger might get pecked off.

She steps back from the cage. “There are so many. I could spend all night here.”

“I told my mom we’d meet up with her and Xan at eight for the concert.”

“Not literally, Drew.” Audrey eyes the next chicken. It’s not as pretty as the white one, but it is more talkative.

We stay in the chicken half of the barn for at least forty-five minutes as Audrey falls in love with a dozen different chickens.

Finally I see the time and remind her we’ve got to go meet up with my mom and Xander.

On Friday and Saturday night at the fair, a musician or band from back when Mom was young plays on the main stage. Tonight it’s some band called Third Eye Blind. I’ve never heard of them, but Mom was very insistent on the car ride over that we needed to set down our blanket and claim a spot on time this year. Which was maybe referring to last year when Filipe and I got in a too-long line for the Ferris wheel and met up with them fifteen minutes late.

We meet Mom and Xander at eight on the dot, exactly where she said. “You guys having fun?” she asks. Xander’s hugging a stuffed Pikachu that I have a feeling Mom spent too much money trying to win for him in one of those rigged carnival games. His face is painted half Spider-Man, half tiger. “Someone was indecisive this year,” she says with a laugh as she pats Xander’s back.

“This fair is incredible,” Audrey says, answering for the both of us.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Mom says. “We’re always happy to have you tag along.”

“She even found a chicken she wants to buy.” I help Mom stretch out the fleece blanket in a good spot not too far back from the stage.

“Chickens, huh?” Mom smooths down the blanket, then takes a seat, stretching her legs out.

“Actually, three different ones.” Audrey is careful to make sure every part of herself is on the blanket, and not the grass, as she sits down. “My favorites were the white Silkie bantam, the Barred Plymouth Rock, and the dominique.”

I sit down between Audrey and Mom, making sure not to sit too close to Audrey and give Mom the wrong idea.

“If she’s getting a chicken, can I get one too?” Xander asks.

“Xan, you are a chicken.” Mom ruffles his hair. “And Audrey’s got to check with her parents before getting a chicken. I drive a chicken-free car and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Of course,” Audrey says. “I plan to do a lot more research first. You can’t ask your parents for something like a chicken without doing your research.”

Oh, Audrey.

When Third Eye Blind takes the stage, Mom and all the other adults start screaming, but all I can do is watch this family with a blanket set up in front of us. There’s a mom and dad with their teenage son. He’s off to the side, flipping through his cell phone like this fair is the absolute last place he wants to be tonight.

His dad’s really getting into the music, too. Waving his hands, singing right along with the band, bopping his head. Maybe the son thinks his dad is too embarrassing, too dorky.

But if it were Phil? If Phil were my dad, I wouldn’t turn away. I’d never take it for granted, how good it felt to be embarrassed by my dad. How good it felt to have a dad.

I wouldn’t even care why he’d left before. So long as this time he stayed.