Circus by Claire Battershill

gallery or her Sunday art classes. Despite his warnings, Jess had somehow failed to realize that her artistic skill would never earn her a proper wage – that no matter how inventive her sculptures, how careful her drawings, it was never quite enough. For a while she juggled three jobs while taking care of Sam and barely made anything beautiful at all, until finally Kevin had told her that they would still manage if she cut back on work. Edward had moved by then, hoping that he would be able to help by taking care of Sam after school. But her small complaints about the community centre have accumulated in the past five years, and so their porch conversations are nearly always vocational. Lately, he has noticed a tiredness in her face that never used to be there, and a small red vein just below her eye has burst, like a beauty mark gone wrong.
    She tries on new job ideas for him like outfits. When she told him her latest idea of going back to school to train as achef, Edward tried to catch himself, to think of what Wendy would have said, but instead he blurted out, “Hard life. Terrible hours.” He has always been the first to point out the drawbacks in someone else’s plan.
    “I suppose you’re right. It wouldn’t be the best thing for Sam. I just wish I had thought it all through a bit more, you know, longer term. I knew that the sculpture course was right at the time. It wasn’t even a question. Now, I’m just not so sure about it, you know? Like maybe it
was
wrong and now it’s too late to switch up my whole plan.”
    “Well, I’m not the right person to ask.” Edward couldn’t help but feel that he’d told her so: that if she’d done what he’d wanted her to at the time and taken chemistry at university, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.
    “No. No, you’re not.” She touched him lightly on the arm as she spoke and Edward interpreted this as a gesture of affection. As soon as Sam was all set, Jess rushed him into the car, leaving her aspirations at Edward’s door, and reversed out of the driveway without waving.
    At the gas station, Edward hands Sam a dollar for candy and sends him into the convenience store while he waits outside beside the phone booth. Edward picks up the receiver and tries to remain calm as he dials her number. Of course Jess is happy for Sam to sleep over, and Edward is amazed by the brightness of his own voice as he reassures her that the two of them are getting along famously. “Great! We’ll see you tomorrow after school, then!” His hands are strong and unwavering too, wrapped around the base of the phone. Perhaps he is cut out for this kind of escapade after all.
    Sam returns with two licorice sticks and some fuzzy peaches. Only then does Edward notice that he’s still wearing his soccer shoes and hasn’t brought a jacket. After spending a whole afternoon preparing for their trip, he can’t believe he still managed to forget Sam’s green windbreaker, which is hanging on a hook by the back door at home. Well, there’s a rain slicker of his own in the back that Sam can borrow if the March air gets chilly. They climb back into the Toyota. Not the most ninja-appropriate vehicle, Edward decides, momentarily regretting the pine-scented cardboard tree hanging from the rear-view mirror. But, then, Edward himself is still wearing an argyle sweater-vest, so even the Batmobile or James Bond’s Aston Martin would have done little to counteract the quaint exterior of their research expedition. Ninjas have many enviable skills, but peer-reviewed articles are not, Edward supposes, their usual contributions to culture. Perhaps the Toyota is for the best.
    Edward has not been shopping for clothes since Wendy died. Actually, he is wearing the last pair of trousers she bought for him the year before she went to the care facility and, eventually, to hospice. Jess has tried to buy him a shirt or two for Christmas, but it was no use. He has to become accustomed to his clothes