Junie smiled.
“She broke my damn heart,” he said. His mouth squirmed like he’d bitten into a bad peanut. “Women, right?”
Junie kept smiling, but her face crumpled, leaving her mouth out there like a weird island. She didn’t have a map for navigating these sorts of conversations. I didn’t, either, but I’d be danged if I’d let him make my sister feel bad like that.
Except he turned to Maureen before I could gather a comeback. “How about we head out into the crowd so I can show you off?” he asked.
That was the right thing to say to Maureen.
“What about my party?” Ricky whined.
“It can’t start until we get there,” Ed said. Despite his coarseness, I still saw what Maureen saw in him, his silky edge. But couldn’t she sense what I did, that he was stamped with about fifty blaring danger signs?
“Girls!”
I turned toward a familiar voice. Father Adolph Theisen, our priest at Saint Patrick’s, was walking toward us. I’d never seen him out of his collar, and tonight was no exception.
Ricky stiffened. Ant melted behind him, clearly hoping to disappear. Ed glared at Father Adolph, as if daring him to speak to him.
If Father Adolph noticed any of it, he didn’t let on. “Wonderful to hear that music coming out of four of my favorite parishioners. Can I count on you returning to choir to share some of that beauty with God’s children?”
He was staring at Brenda, the only one of us who could carry a tune—which the father well knew—his eyes twinkling.
Brenda nodded, but she otherwise didn’t respond. She’d dropped out of choir last year, shortly after her and Maureen had returned from one of Father Adolph’s summer retreats. The getaways were held at a cabin in the woods, just outside Saint Cloud on the quarry end of town. My dad and Sheriff Nillson helped Father Adolph organize them as one of their community initiatives. Rumor was the cabin had a sauna and you got to eat pizza all week, but neither Maureen nor Brenda had wanted to talk much about it when they got back.
“Lovely,” he said to Brenda, before swiveling to Ricky. “And will I see you at church this Sunday?”
“Yes, Father,” Ricky said. It didn’t matter how tough you were around your friends; when the priest asked you a question, you answered.
“Good,” Father Adolph said. He was young for a priest, not much older than our own parents, and he had all his hair and teeth, so each of us girls had crushed on him at one time or another. “How about you, Anton? You know I can see you back there, right?”
Claude and I both stifled giggles.
“Yes, sir,” Ant said, remaining behind Ricky.
“Wonderful,” Father Adolph said. “I’m off to partake in the roasted cinnamon almonds I smelled earlier. I hope you all enjoy the evening.”
Ed waited until Father Adolph disappeared around the stage before spitting loudly. “Rotten, buggering priests. Don’t trust any of them.”
It took everything in me to not cross myself.
A guitar screech indicated the Johnny Holm Band was about to play.
“Let’s blow this pop stand,” Ed said. “I’m done with the carnival.”
Brenda glanced over at me. We both loved the Tilt-A-Whirl, rode it every fair. This year, we’d gotten a roll of free tickets as payment for our show.
“We’ll catch up with you at the cabin,” Brenda told Ed. “Gimme the address.”
Ricky and Ed exchanged a look, a low one, like a growl, or the smell of plastic burning.
“We have to drive out there together,” Ricky finally said.
Brenda shrugged. “Then you’ll have to wait. Me and Maureen and Heather just played the set of our lives. We deserve some rides.”
There was some more negotiating, with Claude agreeing to deliver our instruments to Brenda’s parents’ car （they’d watched the whole show from afar）， Ricky, Ed, and Ant going off to buy some weed from one of the carnival workers, and Brenda making sure Junie got safely back to my dad.
That’s how I found myself alone with Maureen for the briefest moment, the two of us standing close in the crush of the crowd and heat, so close and in such a pocket that I could see what she’d been trying to hide all night with her broad grins and her glittery eye shadow and the dark swoop of her eyeliner: her face was tormented, razorblade shapes—memories?—pulsing beneath her tender skin. I pulled her into my arms.
“You okay, Mo?” I said into her hair. She was trembling.
“I’ve always been after something,” she whispered.