Griffin picks up the rings. I’m standing just behind his left shoulder, watching the set of his jaw.
He throws the first ring. On.
The crowd tightens.
Second ring. On.
Griffin holds the last ring for a moment before he glances over his shoulder at me.
“For the penguin,” he says.
“For the penguin,” I confirm.
He throws. The ring drops over the bottle neck and settles with a small plasticclack.
The crowd goes absolutely berserk.
Griffin turns around, and I launch myself at him, wrapping both arms around his neck, because we did it. The penguin is ours. He catches me without hesitation, one arm aroundmy waist, lifting me slightly off the ground with the impact. He’s laughing—actually fully laughing, the kind that takes over his whole face—and I’m laughing too, face pressed against his shoulder.
The crowd applauds again as Griffin sets me down, still grinning.
It’s a very good grin.
I file this away without examining it.
Dale lifts the penguin off its hook and hands it across the counter. It’s even bigger up close. When I take it in both arms, its head comes up to my chin.
Griffin looks from me to the penguin. “What are you going to name it?”
I look down at the round belly and the enormous, peaceful eyes. “Gerald. After the string man.”
Griffin looks at the sky and barks out a laugh.
I hug Gerald the penguin and walk back toward the fair with my head up.
Nineteen
We crawl back to the motel at eight-thirty, sunburnt and fueled entirely by things that were deep-fried on sticks. Gerald the Penguin is currently taking up most of the back seat, staring out the window with his judgmental eyes.
I’m exhausted, but it’s the good kind. The kind that lives in your calves and makes your shoulders feel heavy. My skin is humming from the sun, and my feet are throbbing.
It’s a strange sensation, but I don’t hate it.
The motel is one of those classic roadside setups where the doors open right onto the parking lot.
Griffin stops at the door to our room.
“Can I borrow your phone? I need to check in with the family.”
“Yeah.” He pulls it out of his pocket and hands it over. “Take your time.”
“I’m going to take a walk. Get some air while I talk.”
He’s already swiping the keycard. “Don’t go far. It’s dark out.”
I look at him, my eyebrows halfway to my hairline.
“Just—you know.” He pushes the door open and glances back. “Be careful.”
