Wes, they don’t seem like the type of people who’d do anything that didn’t benefit them.”
“You’re right about that. Apparently, one of Lydia’s friends decided to become a foster mom in order to look…charitable. These women suffer from what I like to call one-up syndrome. They’re constantly looking for a way to out-do one another. So if Lydia wanted to one-up her so-called friend who decided to foster, she needed to adopt. On paper, Lydia and James are the perfect candidates. Wealthy. Great neighborhood. A private school education. Able to afford the therapy I required. But that’s all the Bradfords are. Perfect on paper. When you get a peek into the family’s private life, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
“I take it you didn’t exactly like life as a Bradford.”
“I tried. I really did. I was so worried about messing up. Worried they’d decide they didn’t want me. So for years, I did everything to be the perfect daughter I thought Lydia wanted. Just like Wes. All his life, he had unrealistic expectations placed on his shoulders to be the perfect son. The perfect student. The perfect, well…everything. But I eventually broke free. Met someone who…” She hesitates, pulling her lip between her teeth in contemplation. Then she shakes her head. “Well, someone who made me realize I’m enough as I am, more or less.”
“And Wes? Has he realized that?” I ask, although I fear I already know the answer.
“I don’t think he has,” she says with a sigh. “He still tends to carry the weight of the world on his back. Which was why buying back Meemaw and Gampy’s place was so important.” Her face lights up when Imogene glances back at us, beaming enthusiastically as we approach a few carnival rides I’m convinced she’s about to drag Julia on. “Why it was important to us. I hope he’s able to feel what we did all those years ago whenever we spent time there.”
“And what’s that?”
“It’s the only place either of us could feel normal, could feel love.”
“You didn’t have that with your adoptive parents?”
“Not even close.” She pauses, then adds, “Neither did Wes.”
I stop walking, those three words hitting me harder than they should. I knew he didn’t have the best relationship with them as an adult. But to never feel a parent’s love, even as a young child? I couldn’t imagine. My life may not have turned out like I’d envisioned, but at least I knew my mother’s love. Felt my mother’s love. My heart breaks for the little boy who never experienced that. Whose mother probably only got pregnant because another woman in her social circle was.
“Mama! Mama!” Imogene’s excited voice cuts through, and I look to see her tugging on Julia’s hand. “Can we go on the Ferris wheel?”
“You know it goes pretty high.”
She scoffs. “That’s okay. Uncle Wes told me I’m fearless.”
“And that you are, my love.” Julia tousles her daughter’s hair, then looks at me. “Guess I’m going on the Ferris wheel.” She feigns enthusiasm. “Joy of joys.”
She allows Imogene to pull her along the dusty field, past various carnival games offering large stuffed animals as prizes, and toward the ticket booth. Julia purchases the necessary number of tickets as Wes and I stand off to the side. I crane my head back, the setting sun making it difficult to see the top of the Ferris wheel.
“Aren’t you guys coming?”
I tear my eyes forward, praying the voice that sounds alarmingly like Imogene’s doesn’t actually belong to her. Unfortunately, my prayers go unanswered, as they have most of my life.
“I—” I glance between her and the Ferris wheel, heat covering my cheeks as dread sets in.
“Please?” Imogene clasps her hands together, her eyes imploring me.
It’s official. The little girl is some sort of witch, because when she peers at me like that, I am powerless to tell her no, regardless of the sweat forming on my nape over the idea of being suspended in the sky on that thing.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” Wes whispers into my ear.
“A master at her craft, it seems.”
“What do you say? Want to go for a ride?” He extends his hand toward me.
I look from him, to the spinning circle of death, then back, unease visible on my expression.
“Come on. It’ll be fun.” He grabs my hand and drags me toward the ticket booth, buying two.
“I’m not sure I’d call getting on a ride that’s been disassembled and reassembled dozens of times in a year by minimum wage workers