by Gwenda Bond
But it was too late to explain. Remy was already gone. Leaving me alone in the enormous dark of the tent, holding the “good luck” charm I’d sworn to give back.
thirty-six
* * *
I put the coin back inside my slipper and used it for the next two shows, the night show and the following day’s, and during them I was more aware of its presence than ever. There was heaviness in my feet, but that didn’t translate into any klutzy mistakes or problems. My performance was as perfect as ever. The Valentines in the stands roared after my act, both times. And every second that passed, I was thinking.
After breakfast the next day at the mess hall, I plodded back to my room and stretched out on top of my covers fully clothed. In my gut, in my bones, was the knowledge that this needed to be resolved by the end of the season. I just didn’t know how I could keep that resolution from being awful.
But I had to do something.
I considered Bird for a few moments, until my eyes drifted away—as they always did these days. She hadn’t had the benefit of an ancient good luck charm keeping her buoyant above the city. She’d been strong enough to do it alone. Who had I become?
When Dad poked his head into my room, I bolted upright. “Jules? You busy?”
He sounded skeptical, with a slight undertone of concern.
“Nope, just killing time.” I should have known that would earn a frown. I wasn’t much of a time-killer.
But he didn’t ask why I was moping in my room. Instead, he said, “Thurston asked for you and me to come see him.” I nodded, barely curious, sure it was nothing to pull me out of this dilemma, and got up.
On our way out, Dad paused at the kitchen table and took in the state of Nan. I did likewise. She hadn’t been up when I went to the mess earlier.
She had not a fraction of makeup on, but she was dressed. Her hair was not bound up by a colorful scarf. She looked plainer than I’d ever seen her. And still beautiful.
“Are you feeling okay?” Dad asked her. He gave me the eye again, as if her appearance and my mopey staring were related. They were, of course.
“I’m feeling like myself,” Nan said. “More than I have in a long time. Where are you off to?”
“To see the boss,” I said.
“Thurston, she means,” Dad clarified, his frown lingering.
Mom was the boss as far as he was concerned. Thurston was our employer.
“Right, that’s what I meant,” I said. “We’re off to see Thurston.”
“Have a nice time,” Nan said.
Dad cast one last worried glance at her before we continued out. Light rain pecked at our arms.
“Did something happen that I missed?” Dad asked.
Yes. “Not really.”
“You know I’m proud of you, Jules. You’ve worked hard for all this.”
The only time in my life I don’t want to hear that. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I know it’s been tough on you with Sam gone. You’ve been isolated, but dealing with all this”—he raised his hands and framed an invisible marquee—“Julieta and her Valentines. I haven’t checked in with you like I should have.”
Because with Sam gone, Mom had needed to be with the horses more—especially with their equine leader, Beauty, also missing in action—and Dad had supported her. “I understand. Being there for Mom is more important right now. I’m fine.”
Nothing can touch me up there, and it’s down here I have to deal with now.
“You’re a good girl.”
I was spared from having to respond by our arrival at Thurston’s trailer. Dad knocked, and a Thurston making a poor attempt to hide a grin admitted us. “Maronis, it’s so great to see you both. Jules, you know I’ve been thrilled with how your season has gone.”
Thurston was fighting that grin hard. I didn’t like it.
“Let’s all sit down,” he said.
I shrugged. Dad and I took the smaller sofa beside the long one. Thurston stayed standing, despite his having asked us to be seated. Oh well. He could be a space cadet when he was distracted.
“I had a call from Hollywood about you, Jules. The network team here called someone important and raved about you.”
“What?”
“They’d like to feature you in a special of your own. Like Nik Wallenda, but younger and hipper. Your stunt walks caught their attention. They want you to do something even bolder than the ones you’ve done already. This will cement your stardom, make you a household name . . . which you’re already well on your way to being. Say yes? You’ll say yes too, won’t you, Emil?”
Dad said, “Whatever Julieta wants to do, her mother and I are behind her.”
Thurston had stopped battling the smile. I nearly cringed. Since when was I a cringer? I should be more thrilled by this than anyone. I should be beaming. Dad and Thurston noticed my reaction at the same time, and both frowned.
I covered as fast as I could, pasting on my best fake smile. It was a good one. They relaxed when it showed up. “I’m thrilled.”
Thurston said, “I’ve got another surprise too. In order to celebrate, I think for the last show, you should do the finale, Jules. We’ll make the announcement about this right after it’s over. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Emil? Turning over the spotlight for that last big moment?”
“Wait—” I started, but Dad shushed me with a look.
What he said was awful, unimaginable. “Of course. She deserves the finale.”
I kept pretend-smiling, ignoring the sting in my eyes. Ignoring that terrible tightness in my father’s face and body. Couldn’t Thurston see it? He’d refused to wear a mask since we got here, and now it was plastered on him. I’d put it on him, as surely as I’d gotten a TV special I didn’t deserve. That coin never did anything for me except raise me up so high I’d never survive the fall.
I held up a hand and rose. “I’m just going to go tell Mom. Dad, you stay here. Have some champagne.”
Thurston paused at the fridge, as I made my way to the door. “Congratulations, Jules. Who needs magic with you around?”
One last fake blast of blinding white smile and I was out of there.
I felt like I’d hit my head. Like I was tumbling through the air, already falling even though my feet were on the ground. My father’s quiet nod replayed itself over and over. His “Of course. She deserves the finale.” The emotion that showed in his face was pride, but that wasn’t all it was. He was injured, and doing his best to hide it.
I didn’t want to take the finale, or his career. Dad wasn’t anywhere close to retirement. He didn’t need to, he didn’t want to. He lived up there. He was made for the wire. The earth was an inconvenience. He wasn’t showy about it, had no need to brag, because it was just the truth. What he did up there was something true.
He would never have used the coin.
What I did next would determine whether I ended up with years of regret like Nan. I didn’t want that. I could still make things right, couldn’t I? I had to.
A series of ideas lined up in my mind like dominos. Just like that, I had a plan.
thirty-seven
* * *
All that was left was the finale. As the minutes ticked by, I felt more like myself than I had in weeks. Jules Maroni didn’t wait for a shoe to drop on her. She didn’t shrink away from trouble like a violet. She made a plan, and she carried it out.
And that was what I was going to do.
Standing in my room before the evening show, I removed the coin. I held it in my hand. Bird was Zen cool above the Chicago skyline on the wall in front of me. “Do you even know what you’re really capable of?” Remy had asked me.
“It’s time I found out,” I told Bird.
Half-past time, I imagined her saying back.
I could face my hero again. I’d earned that back. The coin went into a small velvet drawstring purse.
My phone lay on the windowsill. I picked it up, thumbed through the screens to the saved drafts folder. I ed
ited the latest version of the message that had been waiting there for Remy, adding two words of punctuation.
I’m sorry STOP Forgive me for being an idiot STOP
I didn’t hesitate before I hit Send. Maybe the telegram style would clue him in about the magnitude of how sorry I was. With that, phase one of my plan to set things right was complete.
Now for phase two. I was already wearing my costume, and I tied the creepy red, white, and blue scarf around my neck, knotting it at a jaunty angle. It wasn’t the best look I’d ever rocked, but it definitely made the statement I wanted. I painted my lips a red that matched, and went out to the living room. I brought the velvet bag with the coin inside along.
Nan sat on one end of the couch. She wore a slight gloss of lipstick, but otherwise was as subdued in appearance as she had been all week. She wore a plain black dress, belted. She could have been a widow waiting to go to a funeral instead of a grandmother preparing to attend the final show of the season and announcement of her granddaughter’s big score.
My father sat on the couch too, on the opposite end from her. He wore a suit.
“Ready to head over?” he asked.
I settled between them, my tutu rustling. I shifted toward him. “I have a condition.”
Dad said, “We don’t have enough ti—”
I put up my hand. “I’ll go, but only if you perform with me.”
He stopped cold, taking it in. “That’s sweet, my heart, but you don’t need to do that for me. I will be fine. I’m your father, still.”
I didn’t budge. “My father is the best wire walker in the world. It would be my honor to perform alongside him. It would be no honor at all to prevent that crowd from seeing him up on the wire tonight.”
We’d performed together plenty of times in our one-ring. The truth was, much as I liked having my own wire, I missed that. I’d brought us here to be us, to be amazing. Not to lose what we had.
He was quiet, but then, “You’re set on this?”
“Remember when I ran away to bring us here?”
His face slipped into a frown. “Like I could ever forget.”
“Well, I’m three times as determined as I was then. Maybe three thousand times. Three thousand million even. So get dressed.”
He gave his head a shake, but he rose and made his way into the back. Nan turned wide eyes on me. She touched her neck. “Explain. Why are you wearing that?”
“The time for explaining is done.” I smoothed a stray hair back into place. “It’s half-past time for action.”
Her head tilted. “Well said.”
“What is it?” I asked, because there was a note of disbelief in her voice.
“For a minute there, I thought you must be quoting one of our movies, but . . .”
“Nope. Tonight’s all me.”
She took in what I was saying. There’d be no magic protection tonight. She stood, and I could see her fear. Feel it. “No, you’re provoking . . . whoever it is. Jules, it’s not safe.”
“I’ll be as careful as I can live with,” I said. “I haven’t always been, but I will be tonight. Promise. But this can’t go on forever. It just can’t.”
Dad rushed out of the back, clad in his simple black walking outfit. “Our costumes aren’t that well coordinated,” he said.
“Maybe if you lost that scarf?” Nan suggested to me.
“Maronis always look good together,” I countered. “It stays.”
Backstage was the kind of frenetic chaos that only comes for the first and last shows of a season. From Thurston’s patter, I judged that the Garcias were getting ready to begin their act. I’d hoped to catch Remy before, but we were too late for that. Nan being with us had made it uncouth to suggest running to get here faster.
We barely made it before the panic about my whereabouts—and the night’s new finale—set in. Or maybe it already had, because when I found Thurston’s assistant she vibrated at an extra-high pixie frequency. “Jules, thank God, you made it.”
She stopped and absorbed the fact that my father and I were both in costume.
“We’ll be performing as a duo tonight,” I told her. “Can you find Nan a seat?”
“Isn’t it just supposed to be, well . . .” she started.
“Both Maroni wire walkers will be participating in the finale,” I said. “It’s clear enough. Nan needs a view.”
She didn’t argue, perhaps assuming that Thurston had known this tidbit and forgotten to share it with her. “We’re sold out, but”—she must have read my expression—“I’ll find her a spot.” She took Nan’s elbow. As an afterthought, she asked, “The control-booth guys know about the finale?”
That was a minor problem I hadn’t foreseen. Good thing they only needed a little warning, because that was all they were going to get.
“Better tell them too,” I said.
She hesitated, then hurried away. Wearing the scarf might well provoke our saboteur, by sending the message I wasn’t afraid. But that didn’t mean I wanted to court disaster.
Mom strode across backstage toward us in her equestrienne getup. Everyone had been given dispensation to wear their costumes to the after-party, if they wanted. She extended a hand and rubbed my bare shoulder. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. She included Dad. “Both. I’m proud of you both.”
The music for the lead-in to the quad attempt started. “Be right back.” I didn’t wait to see if this earned a frown from Dad. I scurried through the crowd to the side curtain.
Remy was swinging high and fast, gathering speed. He let go and soared, curling into a tight spin—once, twice, three times, and the fourth—
And then Novio caught him beautifully.
The two of them dropping into the net meant Dad and I were up. I darted back over to the main entrance to the ring. Dad was waiting on the far side.
“Coming!” I dug for the coin and pulled it out, tossing the bag aside. Instead of joining Dad, I lingered opposite him.
The blonde flyers drifted out, giggling as they passed. Dita came next, and Novio loped out behind her. He did a slight double take when he saw me, and said, “So, you really are doing the finale? Taking it from the old man. Wow.”
I ignored him, since that wasn’t happening. He moved on.
Dad waved for me to come to him. “Julieta!”
“Just one more sec!” I held my breath, and finally Remy came through. Grabbing his arm, I pressed the coin firmly into his hand and a kiss onto his sweat-damp cheek. I stayed where I was long enough for him to take me in, and then went across to Dad before he could push the coin back to me. Or push me away.
Phase three, complete. I couldn’t control anyone else, but I could control what I did.
Dad asked, “Back together?”
I gaped at him. He had that knowing father expression on. “You knew?”
He gave a sharp nod. “We’re not imbeciles.”
“No,” I said. “Not back together.”
“Oh well.” He tried not to look pleased. Which was easier when he frowned. “Wait. Where’s your parasol?”
Oh no. He walked without any aid, but I needed my frilly umbrella for balance. More than ever, since I was doing this act without the coin.
I dodged through bodies to our dressing tables, hearing the sweeping build of our cue music, and then it building over again. The parasol lay on its side and I bounded over a chair to snag it. I raced back to Dad’s side. He caught my arm when I would have gone on through the curtain and said, “Breathe.”
I sucked in a breath. We each slipped into performance mode like a second skin.
“Now we go,” he said.
We jogged out into center ring together, Dad waving to the crowd while I twirled my parasol. A second ladder came down on the opposite side from the one already lowered. I headed toward that one.
Thurston had a momentary hiccup as he realized there were two of us coming out, but he covered it in the flowing patter he’d become so good at. “As I told you, tonig
ht we have a very special treat for you. You may have noticed that you were deprived of a performance by Julieta Maroni earlier . . .” He paused to let the Valentines in attendance shriek their approval. “But that’s because you’re going to be getting both of our Amazing Maronis on the wire together. The first performance of its kind!”
Well, the first one with the Cirque, but it’s not like we could stop and correct him.
Dad and I had reached our ladders and—with a synchronization that would have convinced anyone we’d rehearsed for days—leapt on and flourished with restrained dignity while the ladders retracted, flying us up to either end of the high wire.
The crowd was already applauding in wild approval of the surprise. Dad and I had discussed how we’d do the act on the way over. He was going to walk across to me first. I insisted he play lead to my second. I’d follow him back, adding some pirouettes if the wire felt good. We would stop at the center and do a couple of tricks—lying back in tandem, similar to what I’d done on the wire above the bridge—and then we would switch positions in a move that looked more dangerous than it was, ending up on the opposite platforms from where we’d begun.
There was no sign of our saboteur’s work so far, and it occurred to me that the gift of the scarf might have been a bluff. Why else wait so long, all the way to the end of the season?
I waited patiently on my platform, holding the parasol over my shoulder, as Dad stepped onto the wire. Watching him walk from this vantage was a pleasure. And in the tent below, the Valentines were appreciative too. Some of them had their hands clasped in front of their hearts, gripped by the spectacle.
The tent was as full as I’d ever seen it. There were people crammed in between the sections—standing room only, except there wasn’t room for another body to squeeze in. I imagined all the other performers crowded up to the side curtain watching too, and wondered if Remy was among them.
Dad reached my end of the wire, and the band launched into a drumroll. I smiled at him, and twirled my parasol. He extended his hand, whirling into a turn and stepping forward so that it would look from below like he’d led me onto the wire. I stepped onto it. Cautiously.