The Carnival at Bray Read Free

corporate takeover of radio stations, his dog-eared copy of
Ranters & Crowd Pleasers
—were all the reasons her mother deemed him an unfit caretaker, godfather, and brother.
    â€œMay I interject?”
    Nanny Ei, dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and an Andre Dawson jersey that was at least two sizes too large on her little-old-lady frame, came in from the kitchen carrying a plate of sliced pears.
    â€œIt
is
only one night, Laura.” She put the plate on the coffee table next to a pile of Maggie’s balled-up tissues. “And everybody deserves a second chance. Sometimes even a third and a fourth. Now eat those, young lady. They got Vitamin C.”
    That settled it. The rest of the family left for Milwaukee while Maggie and Kevin stayed back and watched a marathon of
This Old House.
Halfway through the fourth episode, Kevin reached across the couch and poked Maggie’s socked toe.
    â€œYou’re not really sick, right?”
    â€œOf course I am!” Maggie sat up in her cocoon of blankets. “I’ve had a fever for, like, three days!”
    â€œBullshit. You just didn’t want to go to your sister’s karate thing. And I respect that.”
    â€œUncle Kev, I swear to God, I really am sick. If I wasn’t, I would tell you.” She bit into a droopy piece of pear while Kevin reached over with the back of his hand and felt her forehead.
    â€œFeels just fine to me.”
    Maggie batted his hand away.
    â€œNanny checked me like an
hour
ago. I was almost 102 degrees!” Maggie lifted her own palm to her forehead. But Kevin was right. It was as if he had channeled some strange godfatherly powers: she could feel the fever draining out of her.
    Kevin stood up and stretched.
    â€œWell, okay, Mags. If you say you’re sick, you’re sick. It’s just too bad though, because if you
were
faking it, I was going to bring you out to see a show with me tonight—a
big, huge, epic, life-altering show.
But it looks like you need your rest.” He deposited his empty beer can in the kitchen trash. “I’m going to hit the shower. If you make a miraculous recovery by the time I get out, let me know.”
    An hour later, Maggie, her face slick with Nanny Ei’s rose-scented makeup, was strapped into the passenger seat of Uncle Kevin’s silver Chevy Nova. He’d bought it a few months earlier at a stolen car auction in Galewood for $800, and had just enough money left over to order a vanity plate. He dubbed the car AG BULLT—“AG being the periodic element for silver,” he explained to her as the engine roared to life. “Remember that next year in chemistry class.” As they peeled out onto Milwaukee Avenue, he shoved Soundgarden’s
Badmotorfinger
into the tape deck and began to lecture her, mainly about music, but also about religion, economic trends, and the situation in Kosovo. Maggie tried to absorb it all as her skinny butt floated off the seat every time he turned, pressing her chest against a duct-taped seatbelt that she prayed would hold.
    They stopped in front of a decrepit apartment building andKevin trumpeted AG BULLT’s horn until three of his friends emerged, all dressed in slight variations of a faded black uniform. Maggie recognized Rockhead, Taco, and Jeremy from their late-night forages through Nanny Ei’s refrigerator. Taco, the fat one, threw open the passenger side door.
    â€œGet in the back, kid,” he said. “I need the leg room.”
    Maggie looked at Kevin, who was switching out
Badmotorfinger
for Jimi Hendrix’s
Are You Experienced?
    â€œGo on, Mags,” he said, turning the music to its loudest possible volume. “I can’t have Taco’s fat knees jabbing into the back of my seat. It interferes with my concentration.”
    She climbed into the back, sandwiched between Jeremy and Rockhead, who passed a joint back and forth over her head as they drove east through the summer