“I have MBA.”
“You’re kidding.”
Mariska put her arms around her husband’s waist. “From ULCA.”
“UCLA,” Sergei corrected. “Where do you tink I learn to speak English so well?”
Mariska took the telegram from the boss. “My babushka always said it is nice to have sometink to—how you say?—fall back on. Sergei, I must call this number to confirm the acceptink of aerialist position. Inquire about manager job as well.”
“Lemme help,” I said. I whipped out my cell phone like a quick-draw artist. In minutes the deal was done. The other circus was thrilled to have someone who had an MBA and experience under the big top. Sergei and Mariska kissed passionately before breaking off their embrace so Sergei could speak to his coach about terminating their employment.
Before Mariska went skipping off to give her friends the good news, she paused to give me a hug. “Tank you for your hospitality, Officer Crane.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you and Sergei have a chance to make a new start.”
“Yes!” Mariska said, clearly delighted. “I cannot vait to go and tell that beetch, LuLu-san!”
Sergei and his boss shook hands and the older man walked away. “Tank you for everyting, Officer Sandy Crane,” Sergei said.
“That was quite a sacrifice you made for your wife,” I said. “Being a business manager can’t be half as exciting as being a lion tamer or knife thrower.”
Sergei sighed. “It vill be worth eet,” he said. “I really scored some points today. She owes me—how do you American say?—beeg time.”
Some things are the same in any language.
Harry
WHEN WE TOLD the manager, Quinn James, about Yuri’s new plans, she threw up her hands and laughed. “That’s just great. Sergei and Mariska are leaving to join another troupe. Cowboy and Roxie got married. The mimes want to stay here and work for Win Allen, and even though he says No they may throw themselves on his doorstep and pretend to cry until he gives in.”
She gestured at the performers and Creekites hugging each other goodbye outside the newly fixed bus. There were tears and smiles, photos were being snapped, video cameras and cell phones were recording the action, and penpal information was being exchanged. It was a love fest. “My circus is never going to be the same.”
“Mossy Creek has an amazing effect on people. We like to say it’s something in the water.”
“You’re right. But I have to say, Yuri’s decision to stay is the least shocking. I like Yuri and all, but he isn’t much good to us without a partner.”
“He’s got one now,” Josie told her.
Quinn smiled wryly. “One better for him than Tatiana. I knew she was trouble the first time I laid eyes on her. Too bad we’re not equipped to handle circus animals.”
“I think both Yuri and the bear are going to be happier where they’re going,” I said.
“No doubt. Thanks for letting me know. Give Yuri my regards, and tell him that we all wish him the best of luck.”
“We’ll do that.”
Quinn James smiled past us, and after a second we realized she was smiling at a performer named Erik, who was smiling back at her. Her vertigo had cleared up, and so, apparently, had her love life.
“Something in the water,” I repeated to Josie.
She grinned and nodded.
Louise
I DROVE LISA TO the troupe’s bus, wishing she could stay a little longer and keep me company. Most of the town was there at the church to see the performers on their way. There were lots of hugs and even a few sentimental tears. I admit to my fair share. Lisa wiped her eyes and we shared a smile at our mawkish goodbye. As Lisa climbed onto the bus, she leaned back and waved at me. Then she said, one last time, “Let the plates go.”
I took a deep breath and nodded.
Sagan
THE WEATHER WAS cooperating, turning surprisingly warm for a February where snow had fallen in the mountains the night before. The parking lot at Mount Gilead Methodist was alive with activity. Nikoli, dressed in new American jeans and cowboy boots, was as excited as if the celebration was in his honor. I tried to explain that staying with me was only temporary, but he didn’t understand. Or, maybe he didn’t want to understand.
Mayor Walker gave a short speech thanking the performers for being such good guests and also thanking the Creekites who’d hosted them. I was surprised when she walked over to me. Nikolai was busy learning a “high-five” from Willie Bigelow, Sue Ora’s son.
“I’ve got some connections through the governor’s office,” the mayor whispered. “If I can find a way for Nikolai to stay permanently, are you serious about being responsible for him?”
“Yes.” It was as simple as that. I didn’t have to think about it.
“Good.” She went back to her official hosting duties. I stood there watching Nikolai trying to teach Willie a few words in Russian. A soft hand touched my shoulder. It was Emily.
“Looks like you may have found what you were looking for.”
“Emily. I thought you’d gone.”
“I heard about you taking care of Nikolai. I wanted to see for myself.”
I got caught up in watching her face. Why hadn’t I noticed before how lovely she was, how melodious her voice was? How come I’d let her go before I realized how much I missed her?
“I feel like I’ve been on a long flight,” I told her. “And now I’ve come back to earth. I traveled back to my childhood, and I visited my forebearers on the reservation. Through the sweat lodges and vision quests, I searched for a vision, but I never saw one—until I came back here. I’m home, in a place where people genuinely care about each other.” I studied her intensely, looking for signs of forgiveness. “Or at least they tolerate the imperfections of others. My imperfections. My mistakes.”
“What did you learn from your long trip home?” she asked gently.
“I’m not sure yet. I . . . only know this much. I was meant to find Nikolai, to help him. And . . . I’m glad you haven’t left town.”
She smiled and linked an arm through mine.
Emily and I were okay.
It was as simple as that.
Peggy
I KISSED MARCEL chastely on the cheek and put him on the Cirque d’Europa bus. Mossy Creek gave the troupe a nice send-off. There was a crowd, and I got quite a few curious looks and wink-wink smiles from Marcel’s many admirers. I went home, walked into the back yard and sat down in the swing. In a few hours I’d go to Carlyle’s place for dinner—and more.
I began very slowly and gently, barely moving my feet off the ground. It’s like riding a bicycle. You don’t forget how to pump a swing. The higher I rose, the more I pumped my arms and legs, the freer I felt. I wanted to hit that apex Marcel had touched, and when I did, when I lifted past gravity for a nano-second, I shouted.
I was going to Valentine’s Day dinner with a man who wanted to make love to me. I intended to let him. I darned near fell off the swing. I gripped harder and started to kill the cat. Then I laughed and pumped for that nano-second one more time.
It felt great.
Ida
AS I WENT THROUGH the crowd at the church, wishing each performer a fond farewell, I mentally checked off the weekend’s astonishing results. Found: one dancing bear and a Russian to care for him. Married: one bizarre pair of acrobats. Informally adopted: One runaway boy. Reunited: A matched set of knife throwers. Named an honorary circus performer: Eula Mae Whit. Newly minted or happily restored romances? Too many to name, both among the performers and the Creekites.
What a weekend. I craned my head at the sight of Hannah Longstreet hugging her guest, Monique, goodbye. Hmmm. Hannah looked a little pale and worried. My guess was that Dave Brodie hadn’t explained himself to her, yet. When he
did, Hannah would be fine.
Dave’s reasons for coming to Mossy Creek were complicated, and when he first arrived and spoke to me about his intentions, I considered strangling him then using his own camera to photograph the crime scene. But my intuition told me Dave was a good man, so I stood back and let him learn a few lessons about Mossy Creek on his own. I had a feeling I was right about his integrity.
I also had a feeling I could use his circumstances for a nice little bit of blackmail against my dear nephew, the governor. But more about that, later.
“Bye!” I heard loudly. “No. You’re not staying. You’re going. Bye!” I pivoted and watched Win Allen looking up at his two mimes. They were wearing their white-face performance make-up, black sweaters, slacks and Bubba Rice aprons Win had given them. They stood on the bus steps, miming goodbye and rubbing tears from their eyes. Clearly, they weren’t leaving until Win mimed goodbye in return.
Win raised a hand. For just a second I feared he was about to mime a message involving his middle finger, but he got himself under control and merely waved. The mimes sighed, made an elaborate show of dejection, then disappeared inside the bus.
My mayoral duties were nearly done. Now, for the hard part. Now, it got personal. I walked into the crowd, my eyes going to Philippe and his family. Among them, standing out like a red-headed poppy in a field of Asiatic lilies, was June.
June, my proper Scottish housekeeper, thirty-two years old and never yet married, quoter of poetry, a couch potato barely able to leap tall dust bunnies in a single bound, June was running away with the circus. More precisely, with Philippe’s son, Jean. Who was ten years her junior, two inches shorter than she, and able to leap entire stages while twirling a pair of hoops.
“Please say you forgive me,” June begged as I helped her carry her luggage to the bus.
Philippe and his family walked discreetly ahead of us, allowing me one last chance to examine June’s head for holes. “I can find another housekeeper. It’s just that I think you’re being impulsive.”
“I’ve waited all my life to be carried away by passion.”
“Passion, yes. But a tour bus headed for Dollywood? I don’t . . .”
“The joy is in the journey, not just the occasional strange destination.”
We reached the bus. As Philippe and his sons loaded June’s things, I gave up all pretense of disapproval. She and I hugged. “You’ll write and call, won’t you?” I ordered. “Send text messages and emails? And update your coordinates so I can find you on a Google map?”
She smiled, cried and nodded. “Yes to all of the above. I’m so going to miss you! When I came to Mossy Creek I assumed my only adventures would be escaping into fantasy at the library, but working for you has given me a whole universe of bizarre and unsettling experiences I shall never, ever regret.”
I made a motherly fuss with the collar of her tweed overcoat. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is, it is.” She bent her head close to mine. “The one thing I’ll miss most is seeing you get it on with Chief Royden. I had so hoped to see that.”
Get it on? “I should never have given you a Marvin Gaye CD for your birthday.”
“Please, ma’am, be serious.” She grasped me by the arms. “The chief loves you so. Don’t miss your own chance to run away with the circus.”
“Time to go, ma petite,” Jean said, bounding up beside us. His face glowed as he looked at June. She hugged me one more time. “I’ll text message you when we reach Dollywood!”
“Take care of yourself. And whatever you do, don’t sit near the mimes. They’re upset and they might start another fire.”
She laughed and waved goodbye. I stood there in forlorn farewell as she and Jean climbed into the bus. A cold finger of breeze made me shiver despite a long leather coat. I felt lonely.
Philippe finished loading the luggage and slipped through the crowd. “I won’t say goodbye, I’ll say A plus. I’ll see you later.”
I smiled. “And I’ll say ‘Adieu.’ Goodbye.”
He laughed. “Ida, you are a cool-hearted heartbreaker.”
“I’m actually quite fond of you. Under different circumstances—”
He kissed me. Just lightly, on the mouth, cupping my chilled chin with one hand as he did. He packed a lot of know-how in that quick kiss. “Why, sir!” I said with a dramatic chagrin, “how dare you, right out here in front of God and a passel of acrobats!”
“Mademoiselle Scarlett, I simply want you to remember me, should your circumstances ever change.”
“I’ll never forget you,” I said sincerely, then added, to keep things light, “because your son has seduced my housekeeper, and tomorrow is vacuuming day.”
“Your June will be well cared for, I promise you.” He raised my hand to his lips. “Take care of yourself, Ida. And don’t forget what I told you about love.”
I said nothing, just smiled gamely. He boarded the bus, blowing me another kiss right before he disappeared from sight.
A minute later, the bus rumbled out of the parking lot. I waved and applauded alongside my fellow Creekites. It was a sunny, cold, Valentine’s Sunday, the kind of winter day when the air seems blue with clarity and the world can feel both fresh and lonely.
It was bittersweet to watch the reckless magic of Cirque d’Europa roll out of Mossy Creek. The experience seemed to leave the slightest swirl of glitter in the air. Around me, dozens of Creekites waved until the tour bus could be seen no more. They lowered their hands slowly. We all heaved a collective sigh of sorrow but also relief. A dose of hot-blooded theatrics goes a long way.
Now that the bus was gone, people suddenly turned their attention to me. “Why, I haven’t seen this many wide eyes and arched brows since I stumbled into a meeting of the Mossy Creek Facelift Club,” I said dryly.
“We saw the kiss,” my cousin Ingrid retorted. “We’re just wondering what else you did to entertain Philippe over the weekend.”
“It was just a kiss. He couldn’t help himself. He’s French.”
Old Ed Brady, never one to mince words, asked solemnly, “Was it a French kiss, mayor?”
That brought a flurry of snorts and snickers. I rolled my eyes and strode up the street to town hall. Del was picking me up there. He and I had a Valentine’s Day date. We’d go to a movie down in Bigelow, have dinner afterward at Bigelow’s new (and, so far, only) sushi restaurant, and then come back to my house for champagne, cheesecake, and a little privacy, if you know what I mean.
And my life would get back to normal.
The instant I walked into my office and saw Del’s haggard face I knew “normal” was a lost hope. “What’s wrong?” I rushed to him, thinking something had happened to his son or grandson.
He planted his hands firmly but gently on my shoulders and held me at arm’s length. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since yesterday. It comes down to a simple question. Just answer me honestly, Ida. Do you love me?”
I froze. I wanted to say yes, I wanted it to be so, but the words and the emotion refused to cooperate. Finally, defeated, I looked at him and shook my head.
Del held his breath a few seconds, composing himself, then exhaled. “I just needed to know before I made a decision,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. “I’m going back to my ex-wife.”
Chapter 8
Sunday Evening
Curtain Up—Life Goes On
Sagan
I DIDN’T KNOW what would happen or where my path would lead, at least not until Nikoli and I started home. We rode my Harley up the mountain, followed by Emily in her car. There was a mystical shimmer in the late-afternoon air. “Interested in dinner?” I asked Emily. “I have grits.”
She smiled. “I’ll raid my pantry and bring some food over. See you in a minute. Nikolai, want to help me carry things?”
I watched him follow Emily, his head up, his walk jaunty. They made a good picture, together. I turned to watch the sunset. And then it came, the flutter of wings and a shadow of movement. The bird soared, hung for a moment in the gold-and-red sky, then disappeared. It’s fine to follow dreams and seek visions, but a person needs more than wings to be happy. A person needs both feet on the ground, too. I was walking a new path, now. And I wasn’t alone, anymore. I didn’t know what would happen next between Emily and me, or how Nikolai’s new life would turn out, but now we all had a chance at happiness. I knew I’d truly come home.
Harry
AFTER THE CIRCUS bus left I took Josie’s hand and pulled her toward our truck. I still had one more Valentine’s surprise for her, and I wanted to get there before dark.
Josie was thoughtful as we headed back toward Bailey Mill. Suddenly she said, “Colchik.”
“Pardon me?”
“The bear’s name. Why not call him Colchik? Name him after the mountain. That’s where he was born, in a way. At least, for the life that he’s about to live.”
I ran it around on my tongue. “Colchik. It even sounds Russian.”
“A little bit, doesn’t it?”
“I think it’s the perfect name, and I think Yuri will, too.”
She settled back against the seat. “Well, that’s settled, then. Just in time for—wait a minute. You passed our driveway.”
I couldn’t contain my smile. “I’ve got something to show you.”
“What?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“A Valentine surprise, my impatient wife.”
“But you already gave me the Martha Stewart Baking Cookbook and apron.”
“As if those qualify for Valentine gifts,” I scoffed.
“Yes, well, that’s pretty much what I was thinking, but hey, I figured this is your first Valentine’s Day with a wife. I have years to train you.”
I chuckled and put on my right turn signal.
“Why are you—” She turned to watch the unchained gate I passed. “This is Nate Hankin’s property. It’s always locked.”
At Home in Mossy Creek Page 21
