Page 1 of Animal Tamer
1
ROWE
The Thistlewood town sign has a bible verse painted under the welcome. White letters on a blue board. A smear of bird shit across the wordmercy.
Logan slows the truck when we pass it. His fire-scarred hands clamp the wheel so hard that the old leather cover squeaks.
“Want me to hit it?” he asks, and I know he means it.
Caesar shifts in the trailer behind us, one deep chuff rattling through the metal walls as the lion resettles his massive weight.
“No,” I reply, struggling to keep my voice even.
“Didn’t ask if it’s smart.”
“I know.”
A muscle ticks in Logan’s jaw as he clenches his teeth. His eyes stay on the road, but I can see the pulse in his neck beating violently. We roll through Thistlewood, a spread of clapboard houses, gas stations, churches, and late-summer weeds pushing through cracked sidewalks. Every porch has a flag. Every churchhas a sign.
My inner arms burn, the scars there making themselves known.
I tuck my hands under my thighs and watch the road split toward the fairgrounds. A water tower rises over the tree line withTHISTLEWOODstamped across the tank in flaking green paint.
Samuel Harlan was born here. He learned to sing hymns here. Learned how to smile at church ladies and shake hands with farmers and hold babies in the fellowship hall before he found a place where boys and girls had no last names, no records, no doors that locked from the inside.
Logan turns into the fairgrounds, the massive truck shifting as the suspension works to keep us level.
“Breathe, Rowe.”
I look at him. Though we're not completely identical, my twin knows me almost as well as I know myself.
The carnival is already being erected, the Big Top half up, red-and-cream stripes rippling in the wind. Elias stands near the main entrance with his cane planted in the dirt, Jules beside him, arms crossed while she argues with Jerry about something like she has owned the place for years.
Silas weaves through the chaos with a tablet in one hand and a headset hooked over one ear. Nova walks backward in front of him, her auburn hair tangling around her freckled face, one hand resting on her barely-there baby bump. Teddy trails behind them, reading some documents that keep flapping in the wind.
Logan parks the animal trailer, and I'm out before the truck fully stops moving.
I open the back and climb in to greet Caesar in the first enclosure. As soon as I'm close enough, the tawny beast presses his massive skull against my sternum, and I plant both hands in the mane behind his ears and hold on. Hesmells of hay and animal musk, and his warmth seeps into me. My arms stop shaking.
“Good boy.” The words are raspy. “Good.”
He exhales, hot breath hitting my collarbone, and I stand there a moment longer than necessary.
Brutus is in the second enclosure, and he's in a mood. The brown bear has been irritable since Missouri. He sits with his back to me when I enter, which is theater. Brutus has never been unaware of anyone in his vicinity in his life.
“Don't be dramatic.”
He snorts, the sound dismissive.
I crouch and wait. Two minutes, maybe three, and the enormous head swings around, small dark eyes finding me, and then he shuffles sideways and sits close enough that his shoulder presses against my arm.
I scratch behind his ear, and he makes a sound like a broken radiator.
The monkeys are louder. They're always loud. Pip and Squeak and the youngest, Peanut, who came to us out of a collapsed exotic animal operation in Tennessee, have been shrieking at each other for what sounds like the entirety of the drive. Pip has a biscuit she stole from somewhere in the truck cab, and both Squeak and Peanut want it.
“Pip.” I hold out my hand. The capuchin looks at me. Looks at the biscuit. Looks at me again with an expression of profound personal insult, then drops the biscuit into my palm so I can break it into three even pieces.
Squeak takes his portion and retreats to the highest corner of the enclosure. Peanut eats his immediately. Pip examines hers for a long moment, then drops her shoulders before eating it.
