Page 47 of Steinbeck
“Family tradition,” Austen said.“We’ll hit the horticulture barn next, and then the dairy barn—check out the butter girls?—”
“The butter girls?”
Boo had joined them, carrying a bag.She reached in and handed her mother a disfigured donut dripping in glaze.“Amish donuts.”
“The butter girls are local pageant winners whose likenesses are carved into slabs of butter, and even as I say that it sounds creepy.”Austen laughed.
“We usually get ice cream at the dairy barn,” Mama Em said.“That’s a tradition on Grover’s side.”
Boo had ripped a donut in half and handed a piece to Emberly.“Try this and tell me you haven’t died and gone to heaven.”
The words hit her, burrowed in.“How long has the state fair been running?”She took a bite.“Oh, this is good.”
“Right?”Boo said, grinning.
“Since 1859,” Mama Em said.“It closed down six times—during the Civil War, the US-Dakota war, during the Chicago World’s Fair, of course, World War Two, and then twice for epidemics—polio and Covid.It’s one hundred and sixty-six years old.And I believe the Kingston family has attended every year since the early 1900s.”
She leaned over to Emberly.“At some point I’m going to park myself in the bandshell and listen to the polka bands.”She winked.
Yes, Emberly had walked into a different life.
The sun started to bake the day, seasoning the streets with the smells of fried food, beer, cotton candy.The crowds thickened.
They got newspaper hats, wandered through the horticulture barn, bought apples, then went to the dairy barn, ate more ice cream, visited something called Heritage Square.Then Austen grabbed cheese curds, and they shared as they watched a parade with marching bands and fire engines and baton twirlers and rescue dogs in need of adoption.
And finally, they indeed parked on a bench, watching polka.
Steinbeck came over and handed her a root beer float.
“I swear to you, I drink that and I’ll explode.Bam.Human shrapnel everywhere.”
“That’s disgusting.And I’m sorry, but you have to have at least one sip.It’s a state-fair rule.I’ll let you opt out of the deep-fried Twinkies—but after we talk to Declan, you have to leave room for a turkey leg.And the finale—cookies and milk.”He sat down next to her as someone played an accordion on stage, women in red hoopskirts dancing.
“They clearly have not eaten their way through the fair.”She took a sip of root beer.“Oh my, this is good.”
“Right?”He took a sip from the other straw.“Everything is more amazing at the fair.”
She looked at him.The sun had kissed his face, and he hadn’t shaved this morning, burnished whiskers on his chin.He wore a black T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, loafers.A normal man enjoying a normal day.
Admittedly, she didn’t hate the way his arm fell naturally around her, or the way that Boo, like a normal sister, handed her a big piece of her funnel cake, the powdered sugar dusting over her pants.Or how Penny leaned up from behind her and pointed out a couple of kids, a boy and girl around five years old, dancing the polka, a perfectly normal gesture.
She could survive normal.
“It’s almost time for Dec’s exhibit,” said Austen, and she got up.“You coming?”
Stein held out his hand.And of course Emberly took it.Why not?
“We’ll meet you guys at Oaken’s show,” Stein said.
“He has backstage passes for us,” Boo said.
“So what will your parents do after the polka?”Emberly said as they walked away with Austen.
“Oh, they’ll head over to the natural resources building and Dad will watch the muskies, and then they’ll grab some sweet corn and eat it near the WCCO building.Maybe read a paper.Then they’ll tour the grandstand and Dad will buy something random, like a waffle maker or homemade caramel sauce or some other fair special.And then they’ll mosey back to grab a turkey leg, and maybe end watching a horse show.”
“And eating cookies.”
“And eating cookies.”He grinned down at her.“You like the fair.”
