“Do you want Irv to carry you, too?” Layla asked him.
I was somewhat out of breath, both from Mac’s fast pace and the distance. Irv, however, hardly seemed winded, even with an additional hundred-plus pounds on his back. We kept walking.
And then, right when I was sure someone—maybe even me—was about to voice more displeasure, I saw a clearing ahead. The trees thinned, then disappeared altogether, leaving us facing a large metal structure, plopped down in the middle of all that forest like God himself had dropped it there.
“Finally,” Layla said, as if she had walked the whole way. Irv slid her off his back. “Beer me, someone.”
Mac had already put down the bag he’d been carrying and unzipped it. As I watched, he tossed a can to her, which she caught with one hand, then passed one to Eric as he set his guitar down. Then he held one up to me. I looked at Irv, as he was closer and, as far as I was concerned, had seniority. But he shook his head.
“Don’t drink,” he explained. “No point.”
“He can’t get drunk,” Layla told me. “Too big.”
“That’s why we call him HW,” Mac said. “Heavyweight. As opposed to . . .”
“Don’t say it,” Eric warned him, popping the tab on his beer.
“LW,” Layla finished. “Another one of Eric’s many nicknames.”
“I am not a lightweight.” As if to prove it, Eric sucked down a bunch of his beer, then belched, loudly. Then he looked at me. “Want one?”
I was not much of a drinker, especially after Jenn’s piña colada disaster. But I wasn’t driving, and we were in the moonlight. So I nodded. Mac went to throw one to me, but Eric took it first, then opened it before bringing it over.
“Thanks,” I said. It was cold in my hand.
“My pleasure.” He held out his can. “To you.”
Layla rolled her eyes but withheld comment, letting her civic duty slide as she walked over to sit down on the edge of the structure I’d seen earlier. I’d thought it was a vehicle, maybe an old truck, parked off what I now could see was a logging road that twisted into the trees. Looking closer, I saw it was something else entirely: an old metal carousel, so corroded it almost blended into the dark. I stood there a minute, taking it in. If I’d had more than one sip of beer, I would have assumed I was imagining it.
“Cool, right?” Layla said. She was perched at the base of one of the horses. “Mac found it, during his weight-loss wanderings.”
“They’re called runs,” Mac said.
“Whatever. The point is, someone left this here at some point. But why? And how? Did they bring it on a truck and plan to come back for it? Or build it here?”
I walked around the front part of the carousel, taking in several more horses and a rickety-looking chariot with grass growing up through a hole in the seat. “It’s amazing,” I said. “You really don’t know who it belongs to?”
“There aren’t any houses for miles.”
“What about this road?” I asked, nodding toward it.
“If you follow it, it just ends, long before the woods does.” Layla took a sip of her beer, swinging her legs. “It’s so creepy.”
But it wasn’t scary to me. Instead, it felt magical, like the kind of thing Peyton and I could only have dreamed of discovering during our own explorations. The chance of finding something like this was what brought you into a woods in the first place.
Thinking this, I looked over at Mac. I was surprised to find he was watching me over the rim of the can as he drank, and I returned his gaze, remembering that five-dollar bill tucked safely away in my wallet. Unspent.
“You should check out the other side,” Eric said, appearing suddenly beside me. I heard a pop: he was moving on to his next beer. “That’s where the ring is. Come on, I’ll show you.”
I followed him around, past the chariot, to where a large horse was rearing up, head thrown back, mouth open. Whoever had made this had taken their time.
“You kind of have to get in the right place to see it,” Eric said, climbing up beside the horse. He held out his free hand. “I’ll pull you up.”
I looked back at Layla, who I could now barely make out in the dark. Mac I’d lost sight off entirely. Only Irv remained fully visible, but it wasn’t like he was one to blend in. I gave Eric my hand, feeling his fingers tighten around mine as he lifted me up next to him. Beneath our feet, the carousel creaked.
“Okay,” he said, putting his hands on my shoulders and gesturing for me to look up at the roof of the carousel above us. “Now, see where the pole meets the metal up there?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then look right to the left of it.” He pointed. “It’s sort of small, but it’s there.”
It took a minute, but then I made it out: a simple ring, hanging above us, close enough that if you were on the horse as it rose to its highest point, you could grab it. “I’m surprised no one’s pulled it down,” I said.
“Oh, believe me, we’ve tried.” He took another drink. “It’s stuck in there good. Whoever made this didn’t want anyone to take it.”
I could see how it would be tempting. Who doesn’t try for the prize if it’s that close? “How do you get up there, though?”
“When it’s moving.”
I turned around, only to realize we were really close, practically face-to-face. Eric, for his part, did not seem startled by this, and I suddenly had the feeling, if not the certainty, that he had done this—all of this—before. “It moves?”
“Only when someone’s pushing it,” I heard Mac say.
Somehow, he’d approached without us hearing him and was now standing just in front of the horse. In the moonlight, I noticed again the coin hanging from the chain around his neck. Instinctively, I stepped out from beneath Eric’s hands, which were still on my shoulders. “How is that even possible? Isn’t it, like, crazy heavy?”
“Not as long as you don’t load it up with too many people,” he said. “We’ve gotten it going at a decent clip before. Especially if Irv’s here.”
“Can’t get drunk, have to push the merry-go-round,” Irv’s baritone came from the darkness. “Don’t know why I even hang out with you guys.”
“Because you love us,” Layla, who had also now walked over, called out to him. She looked up at Eric. “Your phone’s beeping, just FYI.”
“Oh, that might be about this gig next weekend. I should take it.” Eric patted my shoulder. “Back in a sec.”
Layla watched as he went around to the other side. Then, without comment, she followed, leaving me and Mac alone. We were quiet for a moment. I could hear Layla talking to Irv and another beer popping. Finally I said, “I wish I’d found something like this when I used to walk in the woods.”
He looked up at it. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “The coolest thing I ever found was an arrowhead. Oh, and a bat skull.”
“Sounds like you were out there a lot.”
“My brother and I were. When we were kids.” I looked up at the ring again. In the right light, with the moon hitting a rust hole just near it, you could see it perfectly. I took a drink. “He was the explorer, really. I just tagged along. I wanted to do everything he did.”
Another silence. I heard Layla laugh. Then Mac said, “I heard about what happened to your brother. I’m sorry.”
“It didn’t happen to him,” I said. “He did something. There’s a difference.”
As soon as I said this, I realized how angry it sounded. He said, “I didn’t—”
“No, you’re fine,” I said quickly. “It’s just . . . a tender spot. I guess.”
Immediately, I was horrified. What possessed me to use the word tender in any context around a cute guy I barely knew, I had no idea. I took a big gulp of my beer, then another.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “everyone has one.”
/>
He was looking up at the trees as he said this, his face brightened by the moonlight. Maybe it was the beer, or the fact I’d already said the wrong thing twice. But I figured I had little left to lose. So I said, “Even you, huh?”
Now he did look at me. “I was the fat, pimply kid up until pretty recently. You don’t just forget.”
I shook my head. “I still can’t believe that.”
“It’s documented.” Another sip. “Despite my best efforts to destroy any and all evidence.”
Distantly, I heard Layla laugh. “I would think you’d want the proof. That maybe it might, you know, make you proud. Seeing where you came from.”
“I’d be prouder if I had never let myself get to that point,” he said.
“Can’t change the past.”
He reached up, sliding his finger under the chain around his neck. “Doesn’t mean you should dwell on it.”
Eric wasn’t the only lightweight: the beer was hitting me now. I finished it off, then put it down beside me. “What’s the story with that coin?”
“Coin?” I nodded at it, and he looked down. “Oh. It’s actually a pendant of a saint. My mom gave them to all of us when we were kids.”
“A saint?”
“Yep.” He pulled it out, angling it to the moonlight. “Bathilde. Patron saint of children. I guess she figured we’d need all the help we could get.”
I moved closer, barely able to make out a figure and some tiny words on the pendant. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah. But it’s also a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“When I was at my heaviest, this thing choked me. I mean, seriously. It left welts. I didn’t want to take it off. I wouldn’t. I needed all the help I could get.”
“Protection,” I said.
“Something like that.” He let it drop. “Now I keep it on so I don’t forget what I lost.”
It was weird, hearing this. Like no longer having something could be a good thing, and the proof of it as well. I was used to the opposite, when absence equaled heartbreak. Suddenly, I had a million questions, and between the beer and the dark, I felt like I could ask them. But then Eric came around the corner, his guitar in hand.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. I heard a slur in his voice. “But you’re kind of being impolite all sequestered over here.”
“How many beers have you had?” Mac asked him as I slid off the carousel, taking my can with me.
“An infinitesimal amount,” Eric replied. But I noticed, as we fell in behind him, that his steps were anything but sure.
“Eric’s using his big words,” Mac reported to Layla and Irv, who were now sitting opposite each other in a chariot. She had plenty of room next to her; he barely fit, as if the metal might give way at any moment.
“Dead giveaway,” Layla said. “No more beer for you, Bates.”
“He gets super verbose when he’s buzzed,” Irv explained to me. “One of his many tells.”
“I am perfectly compos mentis,” Eric protested, sitting down a bit bumpily on the grass. He strummed his guitar. “I’ll prove it by entertaining you with a musical interlude. Sydney, come join me here on the terra firma and tell me what you want to hear.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Layla held up a hand. “Please stop before you embarrass yourself.”
“Too late,” Irv said.
Eric, undeterred, patted the grass beside him. “Come. Enjoy my aural stylings.”
I felt so bad for him that I actually went. As soon as I sat down, he leaned into me, strumming the guitar. “I once knew a girl, Sydney was her name . . . She was so pretty, she drove me insane . . .”
“Can I have another beer?” I asked. Irv snorted. Mac tossed me one.
“Met her at school, there on the wall,” he crooned. “Sat down beside her, gave it my all . . .”
“O-kay,” Layla said, getting up from the chariot. “I think it’s time we head back. Mom’s going to be wondering where we are.”
“I’m in the middle of an original composition,” Eric protested.
“You’ll thank me later,” she told him as Mac picked up the duffel bag, filling it with our empty cans. Irv stepped off the carousel, and it made a sound like a sigh of relief. Beside me, Eric had thankfully stopped singing, although he was still picking out a few sloppy chords. “Before we go, though, one ride?”
“One ride,” Eric mumbled. “On the inside. Be my bride and let it ride . . .”
Irv looked at Mac, who shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “Climb on.”
Layla clapped her hands, then got back on the carousel, hoisting herself up onto one of the horses. “Come on,” she said to me. “You have to try this.”
I was buzzed now, feeling the beer and a half as I walked over and joined her. My horse was a small one, and I felt unsteady as I got on, trying to remember the last time I’d ridden a merry-go-round.
“Ready?” Irv said.
“Ready,” Layla shouted, turning around to grin at me. I felt myself smile back, even though nothing had even happened yet.
Mac and Irv got on opposite sides of the carousel and began pushing. It turned slowly at first, with a fair amount of creaking, but within a minute or so we were moving at a good clip. As my horse rose, I could feel the wind in my hair; up ahead, Layla reared back, laughing. We moved quickly, then faster still, the night and woods big and wide all around us. It was one of those moments that, even while it was happening, I knew I would remember forever, even before the ring came into view and my grasp. I didn’t reach for it, though; I didn’t need to. I felt like I’d already won.
* * *
We could hear the music before the house even came into view. One moment, the only sound was our footsteps, crunching across the leaves. Then we heard instruments and a single, haunting voice.
Layla stopped just at the edge of the tree line, listening. “Rosie’s singing. Wow. Wonder how they swung that.”
Up ahead, the house was all lit up, and through the open back door I could see the living room was crowded with people. Meanwhile, the voice continued, high and sweet. I couldn’t make out the words, but it still gave me chills.
“Okay,” Mac said. “What’s the plan here?”
Layla looked at Irv, who was carrying a now-asleep Eric on his back. Halfway through our return journey, he’d started to really stumble, then announced he needed to rest before lying down on a bed of pine needles. Apparently, like the verbosity, this was not an unusual occurrence, so Irv scooped him onto his back without comment and we carried on. Now, his face against Irv’s sweatshirt, Eric looked almost sweet, like the miracle baby he’d once been.
“He can sleep it off,” Layla said. “He’ll come find us when he’s up.”
I followed her as she walked toward the shed they’d rehearsed in earlier, clearing some papers and a pair of drumsticks off a rumpled sofa there. Irv deposited Eric onto it, and she covered him with a sleeping bag. As she tucked it around him, he mumbled something in his sleep. The others were already heading to the house, so I was the only one who saw her smooth his forehead with her hand, lingering there as she shushed him.
The house wasn’t just crowded: it was packed. We had to squeeze in, then apologize and avoid feet and elbows all the way to the kitchen, where there was more breathing room. Once there, I looked back to see Mrs. Chatham in her recliner, her husband on the couch, head ducked down, a banjo in his lap. He was flanked by two other men, also playing, and a redheaded woman sat in a nearby chair, a violin on her shoulder. But it was Rosie everyone was watching.
She was standing at the edge of the couch, wearing jeans and a tank top, sporting her trademark ponytail. Her eyes were closed. I didn’t know the song she was singing, as I knew none of the ones I’d heard on the Seaside jukebox. But it was haunting, about a girl and a mountain and a memory, and it wasn’t u
ntil it was over that I realized I’d been holding my breath.
“Wow,” I said to Layla as everyone applauded. Rosie, her cheeks pink, gave a rare smile, then leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “You weren’t kidding. She’s amazing.”
“I know,” she said. “She doesn’t agree to sing much. But when she does, she blows me away.”
Behind us, the guys were more focused on food, busy rifling through the cabinets. “I need something good,” Irv said. “And a lot of it.”
“Carrot sticks?” Mac said. “Vegetarian jerky?”
Irv, staring into a collection of spice jars, turned his head slowly, looking at him. “Are you serious right now? Do I look like a vegetarian to you?”
“How do vegetarians look?”
“Not like me.” He shut the cabinet, then opened another one, revealing a box of Pop-Tarts. “Okay. Now we’re talking.”
“I want one!” Layla called out. “Let me see if we have any frosting to put on them.”
Irv snapped his fingers, pointing at her. “I like the way you think.”
Mac, over at the sink, sighed. I watched him open a smaller cabinet, up high. Taped inside was a handwritten sign: MAC’S FOOD. DO NOT EAT!
“As if anyone would want to,” Layla, now eating strawberry frosting from a container with a spoon, said as she came over to stand beside me. Irv was at the toaster oven, laying out rows of Pop-Tarts on the rack inside. “We have mice, and they don’t even touch what’s up there.”
Mac, ignoring this, pulled out a box of crackers, then walked to the fridge, where he dug around for a minute before producing some kind of spread. He got a knife and took a seat at the kitchen table just as the music began again. When Layla went over to consult with Irv about toaster settings, I slid into a seat opposite him. He angled the now-open box in my direction.
“You don’t want that,” Layla called out. “Trust me. Hold out for the tarts with frosting.”
It seemed rude, however, to say no, so I reached in, pulling a cracker out. It was octagonal-shaped and dotted with seeds and grains. Mac watched me as I took a bite. It was so thick, my teeth barely cut through it. And dry. Very, very dry.