Page 57 of Meet Me on Greenwood

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Gema

Tulsa County Carnival Brings Thousands of Greenwood Residents

"Time is up!" the operator yelled, pulling the gate open.

Whatever spell I was under immediately lifted as Houston stepped out of the boat. To my surprise—and even more so the operator’s whose jaw was on the floor, Houston offered me his hand. I started to take it tentatively until I caught the eyes of others on the street and from their boats flick between our joined hands. I removed mine quickly, stepping past Houston to climb out on my own, landing on the platform trying to remain steady.

"I can manage," I said.

As we stepped outside the gate, I looked around for Rita. She was still not back. Houston must have noted my alarm, because he said, "Where is Rita? Wasn’t she with you?"

"She went back for cotton candy, but she has been gone too long."

"I think I know where that is," Houston said. "I’ll help you find her."

"No," I said looking around. "It is not—" How could I explain something I hadn’t ever had to explain before? Thankfully, Houston seemed to read my expression.

"Follow three steps behind me. No one will notice. I will lead you there."

It was dark and I didn’t have a way home. There were no cellphones to call. I couldn’t call Rita to ask where she’d gone, and I certainly wasn’t asking Houston for a ride. "Very well."

I trailed behind him as he moved past the petting zoo and the wall of food trailers on either side. Now that it was evening, more of them were selling covered containers that smelled strongly of whiskey.

I knew we were getting closer to the stand when we passed the ice cream shop, and my heart lurched when I realized the blue cotton candy stand had a large closed sign out front. I pushed past Houston to knock on the shuttered window.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

"Could she have gotten lost?" Houston offered.

I shook my head. "She said she knew many of the vendors. I don’t see how she’d get lost."

He steepled his hands together to think. "Don’t panic. We will find her."

Then the noise started behind us. There was a commotion near the livestock pens. Voices rose over each other, as people drifted that direction, drawn by whatever instinct pulls people toward trouble.

"Stay here," Houston said, already moving.

I waited exactly as long as it took him to disappear into the crowd. Then I followed, pushing through the outer ring of onlookers until I saw him—a man on the ground, back against the fence post, wrists held by two men, while a third stood over him. He was breathing in shallow, rapid bursts, eyes wide and unfocused. The man’s shirt was torn at the collar, and his head was bleeding like he’d been in a fight.

"He went after my wife," someone in the crowd screamed. "Went wild, calling her Beth."

"He's dangerous," the man standing over him said, not looking up.

"He is terrified," I said, but nobody heard me. Only Houston seemed to notice.

Houston stepped forward. "Gentlemen. Let Paul up. He means no harm."

A man turned to face Houston. He was broad across the shoulders and unbothered. "Best stay out of this, friend."

"I know this man. He's not well, can’t you see?" he asked holding his hands up as if to calm the situation. "Let him up and we can sort this out calmly."

"I said stay out of it."

"I’m a doctor. Just let me tend to his wounds in the health booth and I’ll be out of your way."