21. Charity

For some, the vernal equinox in late March heralded the beginning of Spring, while for others it was the first pitch of the baseball season, or the arrival of the Easter Bunny. For Bonnie, however, it was not truly Spring until the weekend of the Annual B & B Foundation Carnival for Children's Charities.

The carnival that had launched the family tradition had been the brainchild of then Special Agent Seeley Booth, who had organized the event to provide an evening of fun and frolic for children suffering from neurofibromatosis. He had done so out of the goodness of his heart and without fanfare; indeed, he would have kept his charitable work secret even from his wife if he'd been able, but that had proved impossible. Encouraged by his initial success, Booth had put together a second, and then a third carnival, each so well-received and so rewarding that, before he quite knew how it happened, the Carnival for Children became a highly-anticipated yearly event. For a decade, the carnival remained small in scale and scope, bounded by the size of the hospital parking lot in which it was held and by the children it benefitted. Over time, as friends and family were allowed to contribute help and ideas, the aims of the charity expanded to include raising funds as well as kids' spirits, and the event was transformed into a whole-day affair open to the general public. To accommodate the greater number of rides, games, and concessions, the carnival was moved to spacious fairgrounds in Arlington, Virginia.

When Christine Booth-Hodgins took over directorship of the B & B Foundation, she made it clear to her nephews, sons and daughter that she expected them to take an active role in the family's charitable endeavors. Leading up to each year's carnival, the children were tasked with contributing in ways befitting their ages and abilities. The youngest typically helped out with publicity, tacking flyers up on their schools' bulletin boards and talking up the event with their classmates, while their elders engaged in a friendly competition to see who could sell the most advanced tickets, a competition invariably won by Eddie, of course. On the day of the event, the older children were required to work for a time, too, either selling or taking tickets alongside the carnival employees, or wandering the grounds as a goodwill ambassador of sorts, handing out free balloons and volunteering help as needed.

In her freshman year at university, away from home and up to her eyeballs in final papers and exams, Bonnie had, for the first time, been unable to assist with the preparations for the carnival. Determined nonetheless to do her part, she had hit on the idea of purchasing as many tickets as her finances allowed, and donating the lot to the Arlington Boys and Girls Club for distribution. That had turned out so well, she had made it her standard practice, and her cousin Sonny, inspired by her example, now did something similar. This year, Bonnie had purchased even more day-passes than usual in order to be able to offer each of her co-workers a pair. Everyone had accepted the tickets with thanks and every appearance of pleasure, except for Dr. Baer, who had tried to insist on reimbursing her. "No," Bonnie told him resolutely, clasping her hands behind her back. "If you have to repay me, come to the carnival and buy lots of fried dough and cotton candy. Half of all concession sales goes to funding our charities."

He tucked the tickets into his shirt pocket without further argument. "I'll pass these on to Val. She has Danny for the weekend."

Bonnie felt a pang of disappointment; Val Dunbar did not strike her as the carnival-going type and she hated to think Danny might miss out. "I really hope she can bring him. There's a mini-dinosaur aerial ride in the kiddie area he would like, and a dragon roller coaster, too."

"I'll tell her, and, if it looks like she won't use the tickets, I'll make sure they don't go to waste."

The long-range forecast calling for cloudy skies and unseasonably cool temperatures had caused several days of anxiety, but happily the weather did not conform to predictions. The morning of the carnival dawned bright with sun, and by the time Booth and Bonnie climbed into the SteerE, they hardly needed the light jackets they had pulled on. As planned, they arrived shortly after the gates opened, but even so, there were already small groups of teens scoping out the games and rides, excitedly discussing how best to use their time and money. The crowd was still small enough that Bonnie, her arm through her grandfather's, did not need to worry overmuch about his being jostled as they strolled slowly down the midway. The stalls that lined the way were noisy with the calls of barkers, and festive with their multi-colored stuffed-animal prizes enticingly on display. An older carnie whom Bonnie recognized from previous years broke off his patter to call out, "Good morning, Mr. B.," a greeting Booth returned with a wide smile and cordial wave. The concessionaire at the fried dough stand, also recognizing Mr. B., would have pressed free samples on them, but Booth declined politely, temporizing, "Maybe later!"

They had gone as far as the ferris wheel when Booth drew to a halt, and, tilting his head back, gazed up at the enormous wheel with its radiating spokes and rainbow-hued gondolas, hanging for the moment perfectly still. Bonnie thought, at first, he needed a moment's rest, but then she saw a small, private smile curl his lips. "What's the joke, Gramps?"

"What? Oh, nothing! A good memory, that's all. I was remembering the time your Grammy reconciled with her brother in the shadow of a wheel like this. Russ was working for a small-time carnival outfit back then, taking tickets and doing maintenance on some pretty beat-up machinery. I can tell you, as a former carnie himself, he got a real kick out of our hiring a whole carnival to raise money for charity."

"I remember Uncle Russ," Bonnie volunteered. "He was a good guy."

Grandpa B nodded. "I had my doubts going in, but he straightened out, and made a good life for himself and his family. Got to respect a man like that."

"Yes, indeed." Bonnie waited for her grandfather to continue, but as he didn't, she nudged his shoulder playfully. "So, what do you say, Gramps? Shall we go for a spin?" He shot her a long-suffering look out of the corner of his eye, which she translated, correctly, as 'in your dreams, Tootsie Pop.'

Bonnie bit back a smile, and looking up at the great wheel, was suddenly struck by a sweet memory of her own: she'd had her first kiss in one of those gondolas a decade before. They'd been a group of six that night, boys and girls mixed, kids she knew from the tennis club. Trev had been her doubles partner by then for about six months, and she considered him a good pal and a nice person, nothing more. To cap off a great evening, they had decided on a last ride on the ferris wheel, and it just so happened, or so Bonnie'd thought, that she wound up in the same car as Trev. They had reveled in the brilliant, swiftly-changing patterns of light created by the rides so far below, and pointed out to each other the landmarks visible even beyond the fairgrounds. The night breeze had cut through their windbreakers, ruffled their hair, and blown the words from their mouths. When, finally, the wheel came to a halt, they found themselves stopped at the apex, the sky a starry vault above them, the dark spread of earth below alive with tiny beings moving among miniature structures. "I'm on top of the world," Bonnie had exulted, and Trev, without missing a beat, had leaned in toward her and said with simple sincerity, "I always feel that way when I'm with you." She had been caught so unawares, she had only gaped at him, and he had taken advantage to close the distance between them and press his lips ever so gently to hers. It wasn't until much later that she learned Trev had arranged the timing of the stop with a generous bride to the ride operator.

Coming out of her reverie, she found her grandfather eyeing her with misgiving. "Don't tell me," he said, before she could so much as open her mouth. "I know that look, and, seriously, ignorance is bliss."

Bonnie was still chuckling when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she saw a gangly, strawberry-blonde teenager with snapping blue eyes and a lopsided grin on his freckled face. He had plucked the string of a red helium balloon from the dozen he held tightly in his fist, and held it out to her. "For the pretty lady."

"Hankster!" Bonnie took the proffered string, and swooped in so quickly, her cousin did not entirely succeed in ducking her kiss on his cheek. He submitted with better grace to Grandpa B's one-armed hug, which was all the bouquet of balloons would allow. His head now topped their grandfather's shoulder, Bonnie was surprised to note. When had that happened? "Are your parents here? And Reese?"

Hank III gestured further up the midway. "Dad and Reese are over at the carousel. Mom went off somewhere with Aunt Christine." He lingered a few minutes longer, answering questions about school, sports and his new passion, drumming, but it was plain from his restless movements that he wanted to be off distributing balloons so he could get to the fun part of his day. "Catch you guys later," he said in parting, only to call back cheekily as he moved off, "And thanks for coming to the B & B Foundation Carnival!"

Booth watched his grandson's jaunty progress down the midway, saw him approach and engage a young mother and child and leave them both smiling, a sunny yellow balloon tied loosely round the little girl's wrist. "God help us all if he's inherited the man's charm as well as his looks."

Bonnie had always thought Hank III took after his mother's side of the family. "Who'd that be, Gramps?"

"Grammy's father, Max."

They resumed walking, stopping only long enough en route to the carousel for Bonnie to pass her balloon on to small child. They could heard the music, even at a distance: an aggressively cheerful polka, enlivened by tinkling scales and punctuated with the occasional crash of cymbals. As they drew near, they caught their first glimpse of the carousel turning, the oval mirrors and heavy gilt decorations of the rounding boards shiny and bright with reflected sun. Their view was partly obstructed by spectators standing along the perimeter barrier, but Bonnie could still make out the rise and fall of the painted ponies as they circled majestically past.

Reese no sooner spotted them than he abandoned his place as assistant ticket-taker, and ran to meet them. At eleven, he was not yet of an age to shun physical affection, and willingly allowed himself to be pulled into a bear hug, kissed and mussed. Preliminary greetings over, Reese tucked himself securely under his grandfather's arm, happy as a clam. When asked his father's whereabouts, Reese pointed to the carousel. "He's sitting on one of those bench things. Look! There he is! Dad!"

Whether because the music was too loud, or the image on his vid-screen too engrossing, Hank II gave no indication of having heard his son's shout. The platform revolved, carrying him, the lone occupant of his horseless sleigh, out of sight. "Bet you didn't expect to be doing this ever again, eh, Gramps?" Bonnie said on a teasing note.

"Watching Hank ride the merry-go-round?" Grandpa B snorted, amused. "You got that right! I thought those days were long gone." He smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. "Good times, those. All you kids loved riding the carousel."

"Not everyone," Bonnie felt obliged to remind him.

"You mean your mother? True enough: she never got any pleasure out of it, always fussing and fuming to get off. Your Grammy tried to warn me, but I thought Christine was just afraid, and would get over it. But, nope, nothing doing."

Her mother was the most fearless woman Bonnie knew, and the most impatient. Young Christine had not been frightened by the blaring music and nauseating motion of the carousel, but acutely bored. She could see no purpose in looping endlessly round and round, tracing circle after circle, making no progress. From an early age, she had been all about getting somewhere, moving forward, having a destination. Riding a carousel had been an annoying waste of her time.

The music cut out, and the carousel coasted slowly to a stop. Hank stepped down from the platform and strode toward them, a broad smile on his face. Bonnie estimated her uncle had put on a few pounds since being called to the Federal bench; doubtless prosecuting attorneys had more time for racquetball than sitting judges. Even with the added weight, he looked less than his fifty years: his sandy brown hair showed little gray, his skin was relatively unlined, and his eyes were, as ever, a brilliant blue. "Dad!" He enveloped his father in a careful hug, and was clapped several times on the back in return. Stepping back, he said, "You look great! Feeling all right? I'm sorry I haven't been out to the house much lately…"

Booth waved the apology away. "You're busy. I understand. New job and all."

"Yeah, I'll tell you all about it, but first…" He turned to Bonnie, and, drawing her into a one-armed embrace, tapped his cheek meaningfully. She obliged him with a resounding smack on the spot. "How's the most beautiful of my nieces?"

It was his usual, tired line, but Bonnie didn't call him on it. "Fine, Your Honor."

"You mock," he said serenely, "but it hasn't gotten old for me yet. Which reminds me, I heard a plea from that young man of yours, Wyndham-Pryce, a few weeks back. Gave a good account of himself. Well-reasoned, solid argument. Bright future, there. Happy for you."

Bonnie smiled at this none-too-subtle stab at matchmaking and replied only, "I'll tell him you said so, Nuncle. It'll make his day."

Hank looked slightly alarmed. "Are you meeting up soon?"

"What? Oh, no. Not until late this afternoon."

"That's all right, then. I promised Christine I'd send you over to the Crafters' Pavilion the moment I saw you. Annalise is already out there, helping with God-knows-what. I know she'll be glad to see you."

Bonnie, too, welcomed the prospect of catching up with her aunt, one of the sweetest, most kind-hearted souls in existence, but she was reluctant to leave her grandfather. "You go on, do your bit" Grandpa B said, seeing her hesitation. "Hank here'll be chewing my ear off for at least the next hour or so."

"You'll be lucky to get away that quickly," Hank laughed. He patted Bonnie's shoulder reassuringly. "I'll take it from here, hon."

Bonnie did not bring herself to leave until she saw father and son settled on an aluminum bench within easy view of the carousel. She turned back once for a last look at them, and saw Hank already in full spate, his hands gesturing in support of his words while beside him, her grandfather listened, his head nodding thoughtfully. She smiled to see them, and set off with an easy heart toward whatever task her mother had in store for her.