Moving On Read Free Page A

“Them steers wouldn’t take after a photographer. He probably just wants you to bring him some flashbulbs. Ask the clown, he’ll know. That’s him there with the cop.
    Patsy saw the clown and the cop and turned to thank Royce Jones, but he had mounted his mare and was already riding away. When he was halfway across the dusty road he stood up in his stirrups and turned and waved his rope at her, as if to acknowledge the thanks he hadn’t waited to receive.
    As Patsy turned back toward the arena she bumped smack into a little girl who had been racing along carrying a Sno-cone. The Sno-cone popped out of its cup and fell on Patsy’s foot, and the little girl looked at her angrily and neglected to hold the cup upright, so the lump of ice was followed by a stream of strawberry-colored water, part of which splashed on Patsy’s ankles.
    “Oh, damn,” she said. “Why can’t anyone see me coming? Don’t worry, I’ll buy you another one. I’ve got some money right here.”
    “Okay,” the little girl said smugly. She knew the world owed her a new Sno-cone. “My name’s Fayette,” she added in a chummier tone.
    Part of the ice Patsy managed to kick off, but most of it slid into her pump and began to melt beneath her instep and trickle between her toes. She dug in her purse but could find nothing smaller than a dollar. It made her feel a little desperate. Jim was somewhere, probably hurt, and the world was coming to an end amid an absolutely ridiculous mess involving her. Something in her rebelled against giving the little girl the whole dollar. She had taken a dislike to the little girl, and she hated to be exploited by anyone she disliked. She felt that her nerves were beginning to split and curl like the ends of her hair sometimes did, and she was on the point of raking things wildly out of her purse when she looked up and saw the clown approaching. He had on baggy overalls, a ridiculous derby hat, and red and white greasepaint.
    “I bet you’re Mrs. Carpenter,” he said in a quiet, agreeable voice. It was in complete contrast to his garish appearance.
    “I’m so rattled I’m not sure,” Patsy said. “Do you have any change?”
    But he had squatted down and was already holding out a dime to the little girl. “I seen your plight,” he said, glancing up at Patsy.
    Fayette was slightly awed by the clown, but not too awed to be practical. “They cost fifteen cents now,” she said. “Do you still have your skunk?”
    Patsy would have liked to kick her, but the clown stood up and pulled a quarter out of his pocket. “If you got a nickel you can buy one for your little sister too,” he said.
    “I only got brothers. Did your skunk die?”
    “No, it got stolen in Tucumcari.”
    The quarter grew bigger in her mind and Fayette said a perfunctory thanks and rushed off to find her best girl friend and tell her about the skunk.
    “Thank you so much,” Patsy said. “I guess I’m scared—my legs are shaking. Could I lean on you for one second? I’ve got a Sno-cone in my shoe.”
    She handed him her purse, quickly emptied the water out of her pump, and, with one hand on his shoulder, slipped the shoe back on. “How did you know me?” she asked.
    “Kind of an educated guess,” he said. “You don’t look like nobody else here. Your husband met with a little accident, not very serious. Let’s go see if he’s come to yet.”
    His voice was low and unworried and sure of itself, and it made her feel better. She snapped her purse shut and he took her firmly by the arm, his hand above her elbow, and they hurried into the bright dusty arena. Sand stuck to her wet shoe. A crowd of cowboys stood near the heavy wire fence, all of them looking healthy and very cheerful. They parted for the clown, and she saw Jim lying stretched out on the ground, his head on a pair of brown chaps. She had never seen him stretched so flat. His lower lip was split, and there was dirt in his blond hair and a raw skinned place on one