Touch the Stars

by Pamela Browning

  Touch the Stars

  The Keeping Secrets Series

  Book Four

  by

  Pamela Browning

  Award-winning Author

  TOUCH THE STARS

  Reviews & Accolades

  "Pamela Browning's characters are warm and human with unique personalities and endearing quirks."

  ~Romantic Times

  Published by ePublishing Works!

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  ISBN: 978-1-61417-438-7

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 1986, 2013, 2015 by Pamela Browning. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  This book is dedicated to the memory of my two wonderful grandmothers, and also to the memory of Caroline Zabovnik Browning, who made delicious goulash.

  "Some say that only a fool walks the high wire. But am I a fool to want to touch the stars?"

  —Stephen Andrassy

  Dear Reader,

  When I was a child, I loved the circus. One of my earliest memories is of attending a small one-ring circus where I sat with my parents and sister on a pile of hay close to the ring. What with the elephants and their special delivery packages slightly upwind, I decided then that if I ever joined a circus, I'd take to the high wire.

  Maybe that's why I was fascinated by the great Karl Wallenda, a wire walker who died in a fall at the age of 73. As one of his biggest fans, I was immeasurably saddened when I heard the tragic news. But I had to hand it to the guy. At an age when he was entitled to sit on the sidelines with the elephants, he was still vigorous, healthy, and living the life he wanted. He never ceased to reach for—and touch—the stars.

  What goes into a lifelong passion? How does it affect relationships, family, children? I couldn't know, ever, how it was for Karl Wallenda. But I could invent a family with struggles such as his must have faced. And I could create beautiful Julie and charismatic Stephen to fall in love within that milieu. Add some quirky characters plus a never-revealed secret and you've got a book. A good one, I hope.

  So that's how Touch the Stars came to be. I enjoyed living within my imaginary wire-walkers' world as I wrote it, and I assure you that this invented world has no basis in fact, nor are any of the characters based on real people, living or dead. It's a work of fiction that took place only in my head, and I hope you'll find it a fascinating read!

  Please look for the other three books in the Keeping Secrets Series: Through Eyes of Love, Ever Since Eve, and Sunshine and Shadows.

  With love and best wishes,

  Pamela Browning

  www.pamelabrowning.com

  Prologue

  From Entertainment Now:

  Las Vegas—Former Moscow Circus headliner Stephen Martinovic-Andrassy stepped off the high wire and into a media blitz.

  The personable wire walker announced last week that he's filed for permanent residency in the United States.

  "As soon as my contract at Cirque du Soleil is finished, I will reunite my family's performing troupe," he said at a televised news conference on Friday.

  Andrassy's performances since arriving in the U.S. have been solo. His family, the Amazing Andrassys, fell from the wire at the New Orleans Superdome eight years ago while performing their signature nine-person pyramid walk. Several family members were killed.

  "It is time to put the past behind us," Andrassy said. "Yes, it is a dangerous way to make a living. But we are Andrassys."

  No word about Stephen Andrassy's lofty ambitions from members of his family. Our reporter recently talked with a self-proclaimed spokesperson at his grandmother's home who said, "You've got to be kidding. That must be some seriously rarefied air he's breathing up there on the wire."

  Umm... yeah. Must be.

  Chapter 1

  Julie Andrassy held her breath. Dusty shafts of light streaked through a high window, illuminating the gymnast on the balance beam. A swing roll, a V split, a walkover. Then Julie's best student tipped her body into a move called the needle scale. One leg supported her and one angled up in the air; then the gymnast nimbly bent her torso so that her head touched her supporting leg.

  Julie exhaled slowly. She needn't have worried. Molly, at age twelve, was good, very good. Her routine was almost flawless.

  "Wonderful, Molly," Julie called as her student dismounted with a leap. "Be careful to keep your supporting leg straight, though."

  Molly wiped her face with a towel. "I'm having trouble with that move," she said.

  "Maybe it's because you're not fully recovering before you go into the needle scale. Here, I'll show you."

  Julie mounted the beam with a front split, swinging her supple body into Molly's routine easily and naturally. The light from the window washed her olive skin with a golden tint, and her long ponytail danced behind her. Molly watched intently from the corner of the gym, and the man who had come searching for Julie watched, too.

  It wasn't until she was in midair with her dismounting leap that Julie noticed the man standing in the doorway of the gym.

  "That was perfect," Molly told her. "I'll try it again." Molly leaped onto the beam.

  Julie bit her lip, mentally going through the exercises with Molly move by move.

  "She is a very good student," the man said as Molly dismounted.

  Julie didn't know this man, and she knew he didn't belong in the gym of the Venice Gymnastics Club. She opened her mouth to ask him to leave, and that was when she got her first look into his eyes.

  They were dark blue, darkest blue, set deep beneath a prominent ridge of bone. That face, that face with its strong, square jaw, its high Slavic cheekbones—Julie had seen that face before. She had seen it many times in Nonna's precious pictures.

  "Stephen? Is it you?" There was no mistaking his elegant bearing and air of command.

  "It is," he said.

  "I've been expecting you," Julie said slowly, and she held out her hand.

  * * *

  "I have had an offer from the Big Apple Circus in New York. But that is not what I want. My wish is for the Amazing Andrassys to walk the wire again together." This conversation was taking place a half hour later at the café down the street.

  "It won't work, Stephen. Take the job."

  "Juliana, I need you," Stephen said earnestly. "The Amazing Andrassys need you."

  Julie leaned her chin on her hand and stared down at the scrunched-up paper wrapper from the straw in her Coke. She dipped a fingertip in her glass of water and dribbled a few drops on the wrinkles in the wrapper. Slowly the wrinkles unbuckled; the wrapper twisted and turned. She looked up to find Stephen staring at her with
a puzzled expression.

  "What is this?" he asked, gesturing at the now-sodden paper. "An old American custom?"

  Julie grinned. "Nonna always did that to keep me amused in restaurants when I was small. We ate in restaurants a lot, traveling with the act."

  "So—is not old American custom. It is a Nonna custom, no?" He smiled.

  Julie shrugged. Then she sighed. It was painful to talk about it, but she knew she must. "It won't work, Stephen. Putting the act back together, I mean."

  "What? In America everything is possible. I believe this. Why don't you?"

  "You don't understand. You don't know what it did to us when the Amazing Andrassys fell." What it did to me, she thought, but she didn't say the words.

  "The others—Michael, Albert, Paul, Bela. And Eva. How do they feel?"

  "Uncle Bela's injury was too severe for him ever to go back on the high wire. He lives in an assisted living facility in Miami."

  "The others?"

  "Michael has a good job as a catcher with the Flying Cordonis at a circus-theme amusement park in Texas. I can't see him giving it up."

  "Albert? Paul?"

  "Albert is working with a small truck show in Mexico. We don't even know where to find him. Paul has given up the circus. He married a woman with two children and lives on a farm in Georgia. He's happy, Stephen. I don't think you can depend on Paul. And Eva—she's recently gone through a painful divorce. She's working as an aerobics instructor in Sarasota and hates the wire."

  "But you, Juliana. You have so much talent. I watched you on the balance beam. Such grace! You want to see the Amazing Andrassys on the wire again, do you not?"

  "I have a good job as a gymnastics coach. One of my students may be Olympic material. I never want to go on the high wire again. Never!" Her eyes, black as night, flashed fiery sparks.

  "I cannot believe you mean this," he said slowly, refusing to give up on her. "Have you not felt the lightness, the peace of giving yourself up to the wire completely? The centering down in yourself, that moment of concentration when you are one with the air? Haven't you?" The ferocity in his expression frightened her.

  "I have felt it," she whispered, "but I can't anymore."

  "You will again if you want to! I know it!"

  Julie wadded the paper wrapper and tossed it into a trash bin. She looped the handle of her duffel over her arm and stood.

  "Stephen, the Amazing Andrassys no longer exist," she said fiercely. "Leave us alone."

  She whirled and ran out of the restaurant so that she wouldn't have to see the bewilderment in his eyes.

  * * *

  "And this—this is your mother, Stephen. You look like her." Nonna's gnarled finger trembled as she pointed at a faded photograph carefully pasted in a red leather album. Other photos, some fading with age, were scattered across the kitchen table.

  Julie leaned closer to inspect the photo of Stephen's mother. Yes, Stephen did look like his mother, the lovely Tina Martinovic of the Martinovic Magicians.

  "Tina was like my own daughter," Nonna said. "Our families went back a long way together in the Hungarian circus tradition. I loved her. And you, my Stephen. I cared for you when you were a tiny boy. How I have hoped that I would see you one more time before I die, and now you are here! My prayers have been answered."

  "Nonna," Stephen said gently. "I would make all your wishes come true if I could. And your big wish—to see the Amazing Andrassys on the wire again—I want to make this happen more than anything."

  Nonna's faded gray eyes blinked up at him from a brown face mazed with wrinkles. "This cannot be," she said, her voice quavering. "My sons Mihaly and Sandor are dead. My son Bela is so crippled that he'll never walk the wire again. My grandchildren don't care. Our art, our livelihood are no more."

  Stephen knelt beside her chair. "Nonna, I care. I want to put the act together again."

  "You, Stephen? You'd do this?"

  "I will do this out of my pride in the Andrassy name. And for you, Nonna."

  "My husband, Julie's Grandfather Anton, wouldn't have liked to see the wonderful tradition of the Andrassys end. He'd be so unhappy if he knew that we had given up the wire. The wire! It lived for him. It sang, he said, it talked to him. It was his livelihood and his life. He loved the high wire, and he taught his family to love it, too. But then, with the accident, the heart of the Andrassys was stilled."

  "I want to be the heart of the Andrassys," said Stephen. "I want to be the one to bring the Andrassys together again."

  "If only you could. If only..." Nonna's words trailed off and she stared into space as though reliving other times, seeing other places.

  "Stephen," Julie began. She would not have him upsetting Nonna, who at seventy-six was frail and failing.

  "Let her hear me, Juliana." He turned again to Nonna. "I want to find Michael and Paul and Albert. I want to talk to Eva. I want to convince Juliana that the Amazing Andrassys must walk the wire again. Together."

  This was too much for Julie. "Nonna, Stephen has an offer from the Big Apple Circus in New York City. They've offered him star billing and a fantastic salary as a solo performer." She shot a meaningful glance at Stephen and got up from her chair, stalking to the sink, where she ran the water noisily and pretended to wash a few glasses.

  "This is true?" whispered Nonna, looking uncertainly at Stephen.

  "Yes," Stephen acknowledged. "But it is not for this—a magnificent salary, star billing—that I came to America. I came because I wanted to get our family back together again."

  "This is my wish, too," Nonna said wonderingly. "This is my dream. My Anton would have wanted it."

  Julie turned off the water. She could stand no more of this conversation. "Stephen, you forget. You're not an Andrassy."

  Stephen stood and regarded her with an expression of incredulity. "I am not an Andrassy? In my soul I am an Andrassy."

  "You were born a Martinovic. Your name is Martinovic-Andrassy." Julie crossed her arms implacably over her chest.

  "Yes, I was born a Martinovic. But Nonna cared for me from the time I was a baby, and I was to go on the high wire with the Andrassys. The great Anton Andrassy said so himself, did he not, Nonna?"

  "Yes, my husband said you had the soul for it. The soul of an Andrassy."

  "And that is why I took the Andrassy name. It is the only name I have ever used as a performer. 'What is your name?' they asked me when I was accepted at the Russian school for circus performers. I was proud to say 'Andrassy,' a great name in the Hungarian circus for five generations."

  "You have earned the right to the Andrassy name," Nonna said as though she would brook no argument.

  Julie turned away, sickened. More talk like this would cause nothing but trouble. "I'm going for a walk," she said, throwing the dish sponge in the bottom of the sink where it landed with a loud splat. And then, for the second time that day, she fled from Stephen Andrassy.

  * * *

  The heels of her gym shoes made no sound on the sidewalk as Julie marched down the street of the where she and Nonna lived in a small three-bedroom concrete-block bungalow. Impatiently she flipped a long wavy lock of hair back from her face; she wished she hadn't loosened it from its rubber band. She dug her hands deep into the pockets of her warm-up suit, but she found nothing there with which to bind her hair, not even a loose thread. She unzipped her jacket. The night was warm for January.

  Was she wrong? Should she support Stephen in his push to get the Andrassys back on the high wire?

  No. She must harden her heart against his insane idea. The past was the past.

  The Andrassys had broken with the past often enough before. For instance, when they'd fled Hungary during the fall of the Soviet Union. That was when their family, the real Andrassys, had been separated from Tina Martinovic, who, since the death of her husband had worked as wardrobe mistress for the Andrassys. Left behind with Tina in Europe was her son Stephen. After Tina died, bureaucratic red tape made it impossible for Nonna and Grandf
ather Anton to bring the boy to the United States, much to everyone's sorrow.

  Letters had gone astray due to frequent moves; later, with the advent of the Internet, email addresses were lost. Despite Nonna's best efforts to keep in touch, communication with Stephen was rare. Once in a while through the years, Christmas cards found their intended destination, and sometimes they exchanged photos. The little boy who was meant to go on the wire with his adopted family ended up in Russia, where he trained with the finest instructors available.

  Though mourning the loss of Tina and Stephen, the Amazing Andrassys found fame in the United States. They settled in Venice, Florida, winter home of the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, with whom they performed for several years.

  Finally, there had been that tragic night eight years ago at the Superdome in New Orleans. The fall. In the plunge from the cable high above the arena, Grandfather Anton was killed. Julie's mother and father and brother were killed. Uncle Bela was seriously injured. Eva and Albert and Michael had been injured, too, although not seriously.

  On that fateful night, Julie had not gone on the high wire with the others. She'd remained on the ground, and thus she had watched in horror as the famous Andrassy pyramid fell apart in midair. She had not been hurt—at least not physically. Nevertheless, her wounds were deep, deeper than anyone knew, for she alone knew the terrible sequence of events that day.

  Without Grandfather Anton, there was no one with the expertise to pull the act together again. The new generation of Andrassys had no heart for the high wire after the fall that had taken so many of their loved ones.

  Deep in thought, reliving the pain and sadness yet one more time, Julie didn't hear Stephen's light steps approaching from behind.

  "Juliana," he said.

  She moved over on the sidewalk, making room for him to walk beside her. A sideways glance told her that he had not given up his crazy idea. His eyes pierced through her from beneath brows drawn together in determination, and his chin was firmly set. A lock of brown hair whipped across his forehead in the steady breeze from the Gulf of Mexico close by.