Tiger's Eye Read Free

10–2. As promised, Thor and I made our way over to the grill and I bought us each a hot dog. One with sauerkraut, one with mustard. I’ll let you figure out whose was whose.
    I grabbed a water and a beer (for myself) at the neighboring tent, hydrated the dog, and made my way over to a weathered picnic table already claimed by Birdie and the aunts. En route, I spotted Cinnamon accosting a clown near the cotton candy station so I walked over to see if I could help. The clown, not my cousin.
    Her voice was raised, her face twisted in anger. “Listen, Bozo, I said I don’t want a freaking balloon. I don’t care what animal you can turn it into. Now get out of my way before I tie your nuts in a knot.”
    The poor guy was about Cin’s height, which was to say he was slightly taller than a member of the Lollipop Guild. He looked to me for help.
    “How much?” I asked.
    “It’s only five dollars. It’s for the kids.” He had a nasal voice and watery eyes. Not to mention a big red nose.
    “I’ll give you ten dollars to stay twenty feet away from this woman at all times.”
    We made the deal and Cinnamon gave the guy an Italian hand gesture.
    It wasn’t her fault, really. Cinnamon has had a great fear of clowns ever since she was robbed by one in New Orleans on her honeymoon.
    The way her husband, Tony, explained it to me, the newlyweds were standing outside of Café Du Monde, about ready to take a romantic carriage ride across the city when a seemingly innocuous clown approached them. He was a smooth-talker, telling my cousin what a beautiful woman she was while distracting her with fast-moving hands and shiny balloons. At the end of his spiel, Cinnamon was up one blue giraffe and down one engagement ring.
    Being recently married and being Cinnamon, she noticed the absence of the ring immediately. A police report corroborated what happened next.
    In her defense, Cin gave the clown one chance to rectify the situation. When he denied all knowledge of the missing ring, Cin literally took the law into her own hands by grabbing the guy’s collar with one hand—nearly lifting him off the ground—and shaking him down with the other. She tore through his apron, tossing tiny scraps of colored latex all over Decatur Street, destroying the seeds of dozens of potential balloon animals. When she finally heard the ring drop, she released the clown and bent down to pickit up. She held it to his face, waiting for an apology or, at the very least, admission of guilt.
    The poor bastard still denied taking it.
    His nose is permanently red and Cinnamon isn’t allowed near the Big Easy.
    “You okay?” I asked her.
    Cin was shaking. “I hate clowns.”
    I hugged her. “Who doesn’t?”
    I handed Thor his hot dog and he lumbered over to a shady spot and sat down to eat. My cousin and I approached our grandmother and the aunts and scooted onto the bench.
    “Anastasia,” Birdie said.
    “Grandmother,” I said.
    Birdie stiffened and I couldn’t help but grin. She was proud of the fact that she was named after the goddess Brighid, keeper of the hearth and fire. She hated being called grandmother as much as I hated being called Anastasia. Especially since my birth name was Stacy.
    “Aren’t you going to congratulate us?” Fiona asked in that sultry voice that made her sound like she should be draped over a piano.
    “You cheated.” I bit into my hot dog.
    Fiona looked shocked. She put a hand to her ample bosom. “Well, that is a terrible thing to say, young lady.”
    Always with the theatrics, these three.
    I swigged some beer. “Okay, maybe not you.” I pointed from Birdie to Lolly. “But you two. I’m almost positive.”
    “Oh, you think you have it all figured out, do you?” Birdie was sitting across from me and she leaned forward.“Perhaps there are things about your family that you don’t know, Miss Smart Aleck.”
    That was the understatement of the year. For instance, until a few months ago I thought my mother had