“Sure. No problem,” Conor said. “Could you leave Bear at home though? I don’t necessarily think we should let him knock down any other people trying to check out the carnival.”

“I’ll take Bear to the off-leash park so he can run as long as he wants. Then we can be gone for a while and he won’t miss us,” I said. “And I’ll make sure Gretchen can handle us all being gone. What am I talking about? I’m sure she can. It’s like her dream when Brett and I leave the house.”

Conor laughed. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I don’t know what she’s going to do when I leave to go home, actually. She’s gotten really used to having me around.”

“Me too,” Conor said. Then he cleared his throat loudly. “You’re, you know, kind of blending in here. With the furniture.”

“Thanks. I guess.” I looked behind me at the tables and chairs. I didn’t see any similarities, but whatever.

“Anyway, about Winter Carnival.” Conor crumpled the now-empty plastic bags. “Normally I don’t go to that kind of thing.”

“You don’t? Why not?” I asked. “I love Winter Carnival.”

“Well, I’m not really into mini-donuts and pork chops on sticks.” Conor made a face. “Ever since I ate too many one summer at the State Unfair.”

I laughed. “That sounds like a radical political group.”

“No, it’s just what I call the ‘big get-together,’” Conor said, making a reference to the ad campaign for the Minnesota State Fair. “I definitely haven’t liked it since I lost in the pie-eating competition, actually. Though I do like the milk bar and the butter sculptures.”

“Pie-eating? Don’t tell me about it. And don’t tell me about racing to eat any butter sculptures, either. But who did you lose to?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Some guy from Roseville. Why?”

“Just wondering,” I said. I’d figured that he must have lost to Sean, since it seemed like all they did was compete against each other, and gloat over who was better.

“You know something? You have a lot of emotional baggage when it comes to the State Fair. What, do you just have to leave the state every August, so you don’t have flashbacks?” I teased him. “What’s the clinical term for that? Post-traumatic fair disorder?”

“Yeah, well, anyway. I normally avoid these kinds of organized-fun-slash-torture events, but Winter Carnival can be kind of fun. Sure. I’ll go,” he said.

“Great.” I smiled at him.

Chapter 15

“Don’t fall,” Conor warned as I stepped out of the minivan. “It’s really icy right here.”

“And I have a history of falling. Is that what you’re saying?” I opened the side door and unclipped Brett from his car seat. He looked a little drowsy, but I had no doubt he would perk up once he saw the crowds of people milling around downtown St. Paul.

Fortunately, we had a stroller with us, and it was one that Brett even liked.

“Just be careful.” Conor tapped the ice with his boot. “They could use a little more sand here.”

“That’s right—I forgot I was traveling with Mr. Snow Removal,” I teased him.

“Hey, did you or did you not whack your head on the ice? Speaking of which, you feeling any after-effects?”

I shook my head. “No, but Gretchen made me go to the doctor with her yesterday just to make sure.”

“And? What did the doctor say?”

“She said Gretchen’s leg is healing. Slowly.” I unfolded the stroller, helped Brett climb into it, then slipped the necessity bag into its bottom basket. “And then Gretchen and I went to the spa to get manicures and look at possible new hairstyles. She has this habit of trying to give me makeovers whenever she’s stressed. Her coping mechanism is to try changing me.”

Conor laughed. “You’re not really going to cut your hair, though,” he said. “Are you?”

“No.” I blushed.

“Cool.”

As we started walking out of the RiverCentre parking ramp, Conor pointed to the huge brick buildings around us. “That’s the Science Museum, but you probably knew that. And here’s the Xcel Energy Center, where the Minnesota Wild plays. The NHL team.”

“Wouldn’t it be cool if we could go to a game?” I asked. “I mean, a bunch of us.”

“Yeah. It’s fun—I’ve been to a few,” Conor said. “I used to think I could play hockey that well. Ha!”

“Maybe you can,” I said. “Just because you got cut from the school team that doesn’t mean you have to give up.”

“Yeah. Or I could transfer to a school with a bad team,” Conor said. “Not that I know of too many around here. Maybe I could transfer to somewhere in Hawaii.” He laughed. “Anyway, the state high school hockey tournament is at the Xcel, too. Have you ever been?” he asked.

“Two years ago,” I said. “Our school made it to the quarterfinals. Even that was a huge deal.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s nothing. When Sean was a sophomore he scored a hat trick. The place went wild.” Conor rolled his eyes. “I was proud of him, but it was a little disgusting.”

I decided to change the subject. “Is that like a miniature ice palace?” I pointed to a structure made of ice blocks in the park we were heading toward.

“That’s not an ice palace. That looks more like an ice fishing shack,” Conor commented.

As we got closer, we saw that it was intentional: The piece was titled “Ice Fishing Palace.” Conor smiled. “Well, we were both right.”

We walked around and checked out the other sculptures: a huge one of the State Capitol, an eagle, and a big wedge of Swiss cheese with holes carved into it, and tiny ice mice running on top of it. In the center of the park, a carver was working with a chainsaw on a plain large ice block, making a silhouette of a woman’s face, who was modeling for him.

As we walked over to another plaza to look at the snow sculptures, Brett suddenly decided it was time for him to start playing hide and seek. He hopped out of the stroller and sprinted right past the chains protecting a giant sculpture of a lion. “Roarrrr!” he yelled as he ran toward it.

“Sorry,” I said to the women working, as I scooped up Brett and retrieved him before he could do any major damage. He started crying right away, and nothing I could say made him feel better. I showed him the train made of snow, and the Santa Claus, and the dog…. Still, hekept crying.

“Hey, Brett. I have an idea,” Conor said.

“Wh—wh—what,” Brett sniffled.

“I heard there’s a snowman-making contest here. Do you want to help me build a snowman?”

Brett wiped his eyes and looked up at Conor. “A snowman?”

Conor nodded. “A snowman. You and me. We’ll win a ribbon, I promise.”

“God, you’re competitive,” I commented. “Do you ever stop?”

“Everyone gets a ribbon just for trying,” he said under his breath to me. “I used to do this when I was a kid. Okay? Come on, Brett.” He took Brett’s hand and they started skipping toward the area where giant mounds of fresh snow had been dumped, and small, very round stacked figures rose in the distance. “Let’s build!”

“Told you we’d get a ribbon.” Conor dangled the blue ribbon with a Winter Carnival button hanging from it in front of my face.

“You bought that,” I said. Buttons were used to gain entrance to different carnival events; they cost five bucks, and the design changed each year, so they made cool collectibles when the events were all over.