by Gwenda Bond
My response to Dad was cautious. “Dad, it’s no big deal. I think it’s nice.”
He gave a curt nod, said nothing more. I sighed as he stalked back to the dressing table and retook his seat. His scowl this time was real. But at least he wasn’t threatening to kill Sam or anything extreme.
It gave me hope I, too, might survive.
There was no way on earth I was missing Remy’s act, worry about drawing Dad’s attention or not. Sam came back in time to join the crowd at the side curtain to watch the last performances of the evening—and Dad made his way over too, which he’d never done before that I knew about.
Dad had always been a fan of the philosophy of not watching the competition. Noticing their achievements means having to acknowledge them, and this takes energy away from your own efforts. Better to stay focused on the act you have to do, he’d say.
There was logic to it, but I liked watching everyone else hitting their marks. Not to mention, I’d have been glad to lend my energy to Remy to help him make the quad. I felt like I was the one about to perform. He could do this. I’d seen him. But would he? Would this be the night he finally caught it during a performance? Was there going to be a party?
We were packed in tight, Dad on one side of me and Sam on the other, a crush of people around us. Mom had stayed outside with the horses, but I was certain that by now she’d heard about Sam’s girlfriend. Dad had yet to acknowledge Sam.
I nudged Sam with my shoulder, and said under my breath to him, “That was subtle.”
Sam shrugged one shoulder. “Painful but quick. Band-Aid approach.”
“Didn’t look so bad.” I raised my voice for the next thing I said: “Have I mentioned how excellent you were tonight? That was a big deal, performing.”
My intention was to remind Dad that the outing of Sam’s relationship wasn’t the only important event of the evening.
“It was just two little commands,” Sam said. “Nothing major.”
“Hear that. Nothing major, he says,” I said to Dad.
Thurston launched into the patter lead-in to the Garcias’ act, and they started to dash out into the ring from the main entry, one by one. Dad leaned in front of me, bringing his face close to Sam’s. He said, “Please do not mention the . . . other thing to your grandmother. After the shock earlier today, I worry for her.”
“Dad, don’t be so dramatic.”
“Promise you won’t tell her. Not now,” Dad said.
Sam didn’t answer right away, and I could see an anger forming on his face that I hadn’t seen since the night he fought Novio. I reached for his arm, discreetly, gave it a supportive squeeze. “Let’s all be calm,” I said.
“I live under your roof and we’re family, I know that,” Sam said.
I held my breath against the sure-to-come but. It didn’t take long.
Sam was as serious as I’d ever seen him. And he did have guts, to look my dad in the eye and hold his ground. “I’ll wait to tell her for now, but not forever. And I’m not keeping Dita secret from anyone else. I’m the lucky one here, to have her.”
Dad nodded. Sam gave me a sympathetic look, and I knew what he was thinking. That I was screwed. Well, I’d have to burn that bridge when I came to it. Remy and I hadn’t even talked about how . . . if, when . . . to tell anyone. The concept of us was too new.
Sam directed his still-tense gaze above the ring to watch his girlfriend. That was when I realized that the clowns behind us weren’t just idly standing by. One was taking bets from the others about whether Remy would make the quad.
Almost no one was betting on Remy. I wanted to lecture them, but I bit my lip. And crossed my fingers.
Remy and Novio were flying in their first swing, exchanging trapezes, while Thurston did his well-rehearsed commentary. Dita was as good as I’d ever seen her, dazzling in her triple, spinning so fast her costume glimmered like an in-the-sky star.
“Such a flyer. She might as well have wings,” I said for Dad’s benefit, but he didn’t react.
Sam smiled, smug. “I know.”
She made a multiple-turn-in-midair fall down to the net, as graceful as any of the flying trapeze elements we’d seen so far. Making a fall appear effortless and under control at once was not easy.
After what felt like an age trapped between Sam and my dad, it was time for Remy’s big attempt. My stomach gathered in a tight ball, and so did my hands. Keeping them in fists was the only way to ensure I wouldn’t grab Sam’s or Dad’s.
Remy and Novio might have scrapped earlier, but they were in rare form tonight. Novio was as relaxed as I’d ever seen him. And when Remy swung out, his angle and speed were perfect.
He might just do this. My nails bit into my palms as my fists tightened.
Remy went back and forth, gathering speed, but not too much. Novio was swinging idly back and forth in wait, giving his brother space to prepare . . .
And Remy tensed for one breath, then released the bar, curling into his first spin—his second—his third—his fourth and—
He extended his hands, dropping out of the tight spin, as Novio swung toward him—
Novio’s hands touched Remy’s taped wrists and—
Touched and held.
Novio grasped tight, Remy dangling from his solid grip.
He made it. He made it.
In front of everyone.
I was jumping up and down, but no one noticed because—other than Dad—everyone else was too. The audience’s cheering turned from enthusiastic to thunderous, while Thurston’s booming voice made clear the rarity of what they’d just seen. Sam folded me in a hug, slapping my back like I’d done it.
Novio released Remy’s wrists and Remy went down, knifing into the net. After he landed on the ground, he allowed himself one celebratory fist pump, before cooling his reaction and taking his sister’s hand. Novio fell to the net and then was on Remy’s other side and they were bowing, accepting adulation from the crowd, and finally leaving the ring at Thurston’s cue.
When I turned, Dad had already gone. He was up next regardless of what happened before his walk, so of course he had.
I wished that were the only reason.
The performers who’d been watching with us headed off to mob the Garcias, the clowns grumbling about the money they’d lost. Sam went with everyone else, toward Dita.
I stood, torn. I could join the congratulations party, get us out in the open like Dita had with Sam earlier. But when I caught Remy’s smile, that was all I got. A smile. And when I tried to read in more, I was trying. Did I see a slight regret there, or was I imagining it? And Novio was right next to him, slapping his back, bro-hugging away. Sam and Dita were leaving already, and Novio rolled his eyes in their direction to Remy.
Remy didn’t respond, but he stayed in Novio’s half embrace.
I could wait until later. This was one tiny moment out of every moment left to come. That’s what I told myself, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I wished I had the nerve to just go over to him, make it clear how proud I was, let him decide on the next steps. I moved closer.
Their mother streaked across the space to enfold both of her sons. Novio elbowed Remy, crowing at her, “Someone was channeling Granddad’s luck tonight!”
I stopped where I was. It wouldn’t go well if I interrupted them.
I’d just have to be content waiting for the party I was invited to.
twenty-three
* * *
The party was in the dining tent, which was near one of the park’s baseball diamonds. I was smack in the middle of it, but it might as well have been happening in some other universe. Stepping around tables toward my parents, I located a mob scene around the Garcias out of the corner of my eye. Thurston was introducing someone in a suit to Remy and his mother. I didn’t see Sam or Dita among the throng.
Mom appeared to be in a social mood, despite the tense afternoon. She broke off her excited conversation with the woman who hung from her long brunette hair and did aerial fea
ts just after each intermission. The woman took off abruptly, after being favored with my father’s dark expression.
“Emil, don’t be so glum,” Mom said, kissing his cheek as I came up. “It’s not the end of the world. He’s a good boy.” So she had heard the news about Sam. “Will you get me some more champagne? And some of those cream puffs?”
Dad softened slightly and headed toward the refreshment spread. Mom pulled me down beside her. “Did you know?” she asked.
I wasn’t crazy enough to try to lie to my mother when she was watching for it. “Not for long.”
She tipped her head toward the corner. There were Sam and Dita, sitting next to each other at a back table. People gave them a wide buffer of space. They were the picture of adorableness. Her in a sharp men’s suit, him in a T-shirt with an Avengers logo. They held hands on top of the table and talked, eyes only for each other.
“They make a nice couple,” she said.
“I agree. But Dad doesn’t.”
“He’s just worried about Nancy. He remembers when she left the circus. It was bad, Jules, and the Garcias made her life miserable. Bad enough that it kept him away too. But this may be good for her. Prod her into finally making peace with the past. Sam deserves to be happy, and so does she. So do all of us.”
“You know I’m on board with that. He did great out there tonight.”
She said, “He was ready.”
Dad plunked down a full flute in front of Mom and—to my surprise—added another in front of me. “Just one for you,” he cautioned.
I grabbed it before he changed his mind, and stood. “I’m going to circulate,” I said, admiring the speed of the bubbles in my glass, “then turn in for the night.”
Dad slipped into my seat, and Mom put her arm around his shoulders and tucked her head on his chest. I should probably have thought it was gross, but it was nice that they liked each other in addition to loving each other. Mom would take care of Dad—and she was going to be on Sam’s side in this. He owed her, big.
Wandering the mess tent, I sipped my champagne, and wished I didn’t feel out of sorts. The Garcia table was still mobbed when I casually checked. No one wanted to make chitchat with a Maroni. I was impatient to finally get a few moments alone with Remy. From the way things were going, it wouldn’t be tonight. I decided to head outside, get some air.
It was selfish to feel jealous of Sam and Dita having their perfect moment in the corner. To feel this way after Remy’s big achievement. I wasn’t just upset because I needed to tell him something important. I hated that I couldn’t congratulate him in front of people. Even worse, he didn’t seem to want me to.
I ducked out of the tent, gazed up at the clear night sky, and took a drink.
The clown who’d been friendly to Sam was smoking by the entrance. He stubbed his cigar out when he saw me, and said, “Don’t drink too much of that. You’ll regret it tomorrow,” before he went inside. I stayed out, almost enjoying my discontent in the night air with a glass of champagne in my hand. Under my breath, I said, “Nan says only bad champagne gives you headaches.”
I tilted back the flute and finished what was left. And bit down on a squeal when a hand folded around mine on the glass as I lowered it.
“You didn’t save me any,” Remy said.
He plucked the glass out of my hand and set it down in the grass beside the tent, took my hand, and pulled me along with him.
Dizzy from the champagne, I went along after him, and when we reached the end of the mess tent, he steered us around it and pressed me against one of the swaying lines staked into the ground.
“Hi?” I said.
“I thought I’d never get away from them,” he said. “Did you see—”
I pushed his chest, lightly. “Of course I saw. It was beautiful—you should be so proud.”
“Even my mom’s proud,” he said. “And I may have saved Dita from possible excommunication.”
He must have noticed my face fall, despite my best efforts to keep it firmly unfallen. “What is it?”
I lowered my head, so he wouldn’t be able to see. He brushed my hair back, tilted my chin up. “Jules, talk to me.”
“I’m being an idiot.” Here we were hidden away, after all. I know the rules, that we can’t tell anyone. I just can’t bear to hear them. I’m jealous of Sam, not having to hide. “This is your big night.”
He shook his head. “Wait.” He held up his hand. “Let me think.”
I did my best to get hold of myself. Stupid, traitorous champagne. The security light above revealed entirely too much of our expressions. I didn’t want him seeing mine so clearly.
Then he smiled. That stupid—okay, not stupid—smile I was too susceptible to.
“Wait. I know,” he said. “You think I’m ashamed of you. That I don’t want anyone to know.”
I straightened so our eyes were level. “Not exactly. But acting afraid to be seen with me is the same thing.” I swallowed the sudden and truly stupid urge to cry. “I get it, though.”
He was still smiling. Grinning, even. Maddening.
“Why are you smiling?” I pushed him a little in the chest. “You understand it’s going to be worse for us than for them, don’t you?”
“Jules, I don’t care. We can tell the whole world whenever you want. Since when have I ever cared about making my mother happy? It’ll help take the heat off Dita. Unless you don’t want to—”
“Shut up,” I said, “and kiss me already.”
He came closer, and I added, “Congratulations. I just wanted to say congratulations. Earlier. Apparently I get cranky when I can’t say what I want.”
“Thank you.”
His lips against mine were soft.
This kiss was different than our first ones, and not just because it tasted of champagne. It was like we were promising each other something, and sealing it with an actual kiss.
I was the one who broke it off, though I didn’t move away. I snuggled against him, and he held me. It felt shivery nice. I tilted my head up and kissed the underside of his chin, his throat. He shivered too.
I hated to break the bubble we were in, but I had to. “There was another object today. It showed up outside our RV.”
“Jules, why didn’t you say so? What was it?” He pulled me in tighter for a second before he leaned back so we could see each other’s faces.
“I didn’t want to spoil your show.”
“What happened?”
“When we got back from the parade, there was this trunk—the one from the board, with the clowns? It had to be the same one, because it had the same weird pattern of gold studs on the top. Nan recognized it too. She was in shock. Anyway, it was filled with my things. Nan emptied them out, and then went into magic mode. She took Sam and Dad with her to burn it.”
His eyes narrowed. “The trunk . . . I never even really thought about it. We have a ton of old trunks. My grandfather hung on to them. I don’t know if any are missing . . . and I’ve never seen one with studs like that. But I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows anything. Jules, this does prove it, though.”
“What?”
“That whoever planted those first things is still here, and that they want to get into your head—not to mention your grandmother’s. Why act again now, I wonder?”
“Well, that’s all the photos accounted for at least, right? Except the one of your grandparents. All the ones tied to news stories, at least.”
He was bothered by it, I could tell. But he nodded. “You’re right. Maybe it was their last gasp.”
“But not ours,” I said, not wanting to be talking about this anymore. Not wanting to be talking, period. He picked up on my cue, angled his head down to mine, pulling back only after a long kiss.
“We’d better get back if we’re not telling them tonight,” I said, a little hoarse.
“You’re making an excellent case for telling them.”
This time his lips were less soft, and so were mine. We were making a d
ifferent kind of promise.
One that would have to wait. I found his hands with mine and held them as I stepped back. “We should wait on any announcing until tomorrow. Let Sam and Dita have their day.” And let Dad recover and adjust. Let me make sure Nan was okay.
“I know it’s more complicated for you,” he said. “If you’re having second thoughts . . .”
“I’m not. First thoughts only.”
“Tomorrow then,” he said.
I’d need to tell Dad and Mom before Nan, if Dad’s reaction to Sam’s news meant anything. “Tomorrow night,” I said, deciding that was best. “We get through the evening show and then we’ll tell them after. And if I’m grounded, we can sneak out after everyone’s asleep and tell each other what a disaster it was.”
“Deal,” he said. “But it’s going to work out fine. Our sneaking days will be over.”
“Spoken like a boy. We’ll still have to sneak to do this.”
“This?” He slid his arms up, forming ours into a frame, so that we were dancing together. We swayed slowly. He raised his lead arm and twirled me beneath it, and I felt like the world, like we, were moving not too slow, not too fast, but at exactly the right speed. “An innocent dance?”
“Yes, this. This is what I meant.”
“Until tomorrow night then,” he said, and stole one more kiss before we parted company.
twenty-four
* * *
Because the RV was such a hike, I ended up coming back from the afternoon show the next day with my parents and Sam. But Dad and I could have disappeared without the equestrians taking notice.
Mom opened the door without pausing in her directions to Sam. “Just remember, when you’re up, best if it looks like you barely have your footing at first,” she said.
“You’ve told me all this once or twice,” Sam said.
More like five times. But pointing that out to a coach was never wise. He was about to be in for it. Except Mom only said, “Ha,” and climbed the steps inside.
