WATER FOR ELEPHANT - Sara Gruen [107]
The clock now says two fifty-three—just seven minutes to showtime. My blood pressure is so high my entire body buzzes like the fluorescent lights above me.
I’ve entirely given up on the idea of not losing my temper. Whoever shows up is going to get a piece of my mind, and that’s for sure. Every other old bird or coot in the place will have seen the whole show, including the Spec, and where’s the fairness in that? If there’s anyone in this place who should be there, it’s me. Oh, just wait until I lay eyes on whoever comes. If it’s one of my children, I’ll lay right into them. If it’s one of the others, well, then I’ll wait until—
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jankowski.”
“Eh?” I look up quickly. Rosemary’s back, sitting in the chair next to me. In my panic, I hadn’t noticed.
“They plum lost track of whose turn it was.”
“Well, who did they decide? How long is it going to take them to get here?”
Rosemary pauses. She presses her lips together and takes my hand between hers. It’s the expression people wear when they’re about to deliver bad news, and my adrenaline rises in anticipation. “They can’t make it,” she says. “It was supposed to be your son, Simon. When I called, he remembered, but he’d already made other plans. There was no answer at the other numbers.”
“Other plans?” I croak.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you tell him about the circus?”
“Yes, sir. And he was really very sorry. But it was something he just couldn’t get out of.”
My face twists, and before I know it I’m sniveling like a child.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jankowski. I know how important this was to you. I’d take you myself, but I’m working a twelve-hour shift.”
I bring my hands to my face, trying to hide my old man tears. A few seconds later, a tissue dangles in front of me.
“You’re a good girl, Rosemary,” I say, taking the tissue and staunching my leaky nose. “You know that, don’t you? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She looks at me for a long time. Too long. Finally she says, “Mr. Jankowski, you do know I’m leaving tomorrow, don’t you?”
My head snaps up. “Eh? For how long?” Oh, damn. That’s just what I need. If she goes on vacation, I’ll probably forget her name by the time she comes back.
“We’re moving to Richmond. To be closer to my mother-in-law. She’s not been well.”
I am stunned. My jaw flaps uselessly for a moment before I find words. “You’re married?”
“For twenty-six happy years, Mr. Jankowski.”
“Twenty-six years? No. I don’t believe it. You’re just a girl.”
She laughs. “I’m a grandmother, Mr. Jankowski. Forty-seven years old.”
We sit in silence for a moment. She digs into her pale pink pocket and replaces my saturated tissue with a new one. I dab the deep sockets that house my eyes.
“He’s a lucky man, your husband,” I sniff.
“We’re both lucky. Very blessed indeed.”
“And so’s your mother-in-law. Did you know there’s not a single one of my children who could take me in?”
“Well . . . It’s not always easy, you know.”
“I never said it was.”
She takes my hand. “I know that, Mr. Jankowski. I know that.”
I am overcome by the unfairness of it all. I close my eyes and picture drooling old Ipphy Bailey in the big top. She won’t even notice she’s there, never mind remember any of it.
After a couple of minutes, Rosemary says, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No,” I say, and there isn’t—not unless she can deliver me to the circus or the circus to me. Or take me with her to Richmond. “I think I’d like to be alone now,” I add.
“I understand,” she says gently. “Shall I take you back to your room?”
“No. I think I’ll sit right here.”
She stands up, leans over long enough to plant a kiss on my forehead, and disappears into the hallway, her rubber soles squeaking on the tiled floor.
COLLECTION OF THE RINGLING CIRCUS MUSEUM, SARASOTA, FLORIDA
Twenty
When I wake up, Marlena