Something She's Not Telling Us

by Darcey Bell

  “Is the circus in town?” She’s stalling. “Where?”

  “Where it always is. Under a tent at Battery Park City.”

  “Daisy’s got parties coming up. And school and . . . she has a lot on her plate.”

  “Charlotte. Seriously? How much can a five-year-old have on her plate? I’m asking you. As a favor. Daisy’s my niece, Ruth is my girlfriend. We won’t keep her out late. We could pick her up at school and bring her home afterwards.”

  It’s the most that Rocco has said to Charlotte at one time in a long while. “I’ll ask Daisy.”

  “Good,” says Rocco. “Do that. Ask a five-year-old whether or not she wants to go to the circus.”

  Charlotte says, “Let me ask Eli too.”

  Rocco says, “Is this a complex decision?”

  “You should try making one of those sometime.” Oh, why did she say that?

  “A pleasure to see you as always, Alma,” says Rocco, and he stalks out of the store.

  A few minutes later Charlotte gets a text.

  Yes or no on the circus. Don’t contact me to discuss.

  She knows that Eli will urge her to say yes. He’s sure to think that a tiny bit of independence will be good for Daisy. And, though he’s too tactful to say it, that it will be good for Charlotte as well. A baby step toward . . . the future.

  She texts back to Rocco, OK. GIVE ME TIMES AND DATES.

  It feels right, like a gesture of surrender, of trust and faith. At the same time Charlotte is praying that the circus will be sold out, or that Daisy won’t want to go.

  10

  Ruth

  I was Daisy’s age when Mom left Dad and loaded me and Tweets the parakeet into the family car. I’ve seen films in which a movie star does something like that. But real life was less of a madcap adventure than it looks like on-screen. Tweets died outside Taos. We stealth-buried him in a church known for its sacred dirt. We drove around a lot. Mom waitressed and met the kind of guys who pick up waitresses.

  I was ten by the time Mom landed in Tucson with my stepdad, who was not interested in having me around.

  One day Mom took me to visit my grandparents in New Jersey and went out to get something from the car and didn’t come back. I loved my grandparents so much, I didn’t even miss her. Or maybe I did, for a while. Granny Edith says I cried myself to sleep at first, but I don’t remember that. I just remember how sweet my grandparents were. How safe they made me feel.

  Maybe Mom did me a favor. The best times I ever had were with Granny Edith and Grandpa Frank. At Christmas, we’d go into the city to see the department store windows. Wonderlands, Victorian holiday parties, scenes from “The Night Before Christmas.” That pure wonder was what I wanted Daisy to experience when Rocco and I took her to the circus.

  I couldn’t wait to see Daisy’s reaction to the opening act, which borrows from Chinese acrobatic ballet, with pyramids of silver-clad gymnasts and rippling silver streamers. Everything is silver because the circus is supposed to be taking place on the moon. There used to be a silver tiger, but I was glad that the animal rights people stopped that. I wouldn’t want to bring Daisy somewhere where there was a wild beast, even in a cage.

  I couldn’t remember looking forward to anything as much as I looked forward to the circus. From the minute Rocco told me Charlotte agreed, nothing they did to me at the office bothered me.

  When one guy accidentally-on-purpose spilled hot coffee on my desk, I said, “That’s okay. Accidents happen.”

  Maybe it wasn’t even all about Daisy. Maybe it was that Rocco cared about me enough to ask his sister, which couldn’t have been easy. She struck me as the type who didn’t trust anyone with her kid, not that I would, with my kid, if I’d had a child like Daisy.

  Rocco kept reassuring me that his sister and brother-in-law liked me, that they thought I was good for him. That we were good together. But I wasn’t convinced. I’d had a bad feeling about Charlotte ever since that first dinner at her loft. What a disaster! I’d thought it would be such a nice, friendly gesture to bring them some of Granny’s sticky buns. But as soon as I met them and saw their amazing loft and looked at how Charlotte was eyeing the greasy bag of pastry I was holding, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. Of course I realized immediately that she’s one of those super-health-conscious moms who’s extremely careful about what her child eats—and who thinks sugar is the devil. After that, nothing seemed to go right. I was so uncomfortable, and everything I said sounded so stupid and trite. I couldn’t wait for the evening to end.

  My getting the tracker for Daisy’s inhaler helped some. In fact it had been a big plus. Score one for Ruth. But anyone could have figured that out. Anyone younger than Charlotte and Eli. Or more tech-savvy than Rocco. Anyway, Charlotte said yes.

  I wanted things to go right. At first we planned to pick Daisy up at school. Charlotte put us on the pickup list. But when I couldn’t get us tickets for the five o’clock show and we had to go to the seven, we decided we’d get her at Charlotte and Eli’s loft and take a car service to Battery Park.

  Charlotte looked haunted, bereft. I wanted to say, Chill! We’re just taking her to the circus.

  Charlotte said, “Daisy dressed herself.”

  When Daisy emerged from her bedroom, Rocco and I burst into applause. She was dressed like an Egyptian princess in a golden crown with a snake curling up from her forehead, a triangular black wig, a purple skirt, a white T-shirt, and lots of costume jewelry. A pair of silver boots completed the look.

  I was impressed that Charlotte would let Daisy dress any way she wanted, and even more impressed by Daisy’s choices. If I ever had a daughter, I’d want her to be just like Daisy.

  Daisy looked proud, then miserable—as if she wanted to run back to her room and change.

  “Fashion gold!” I said.

  Rocco looked at his phone. “We should go. The car’s downstairs.”

  “How are you getting there?” asked Charlotte.

  Rocco turned his phone around. “Suleiman in a red Toyota Camry.”

  “That’s a tiny car,” said Charlotte. “Make sure she wears her seat belt. Daisy, wear your seat belt.”

  “I will, Mom, don’t worry,” Daisy said with a clarity that shamed us into action.

  “We’ll be back by ten,” I said.

  “It’s a school night,” Charlotte said.

  “We talked about that,” said Rocco.

  “Have you got your inhaler?”

  Daisy got it out of her backpack, which she’d tossed on the floor by the door. She hesitated, deliberating over who should keep it. I opened my purse for her to put it in. I shifted house keys and old tissues so the inhaler could have its own compartment.

  “I’ve got this,” I said. But I could tell that Charlotte didn’t believe me. Or trust me.

  Daisy grabbed her uncle’s hand and hardly looked back at her mother.

  “Jail break!” Rocco said.

  I asked, “Daisy, do you want to tell the driver where we’re going?”

  Daisy shook her head.

  “The circus of the moon,” I said, squeezing Daisy’s hand.

  I was glad to see that the driver checked his mirrors before pulling out. He found Daisy in his rearview mirror.

  He said, “Going to the circus with Mommy and Daddy?”

  Daisy didn’t correct him.

  Mommy and Daddy. Sure. Why not? It was none of the driver’s business.

  He drove carefully, for which I was grateful. As Rocco and Daisy got out, I gave the driver a 25 percent tip.

  Milling among the crowd at the entrance were ticket takers and ushers dressed like astronauts and space aliens. Daisy grabbed my hand.

  I whispered, “Don’t be afraid, they’re not real.”

  Daisy said, “They are real. Real people in space suit costumes.”

  Did Charlotte know how smart her daughter was?

  Daisy said, “You can die like that. Painted all over silver.”

  THE INSIDE OF t
he tent was like a cross between an ice palace and a Mylar balloon. Daisy beamed like those glowing kids in ads about taking the grandchildren to Disneyland. My grandparents would never have taken me to Disneyland. They wouldn’t have known what to do there.

  As far as I knew, they never went farther from home than that picnic spot overlooking the Hudson—their happy place.

  When I asked Granny Edith for advice on what to do with a child at the circus, she said, “Popcorn and cotton candy. That’s how to keep everyone happy.”

  Daisy smiled when I asked if she liked popcorn. What a ridiculous question!

  It was a good thing I’d seen the circus before, because I kept looking at Daisy and forgetting about the tightrope and the trapeze, the pyramids of acrobats and unicycles. She was transfixed, bewitched. I felt like I was Daisy, starting over, redoing my childhood with a better family. She’d have a happier life than I had. I wanted to be her favorite aunt. She could learn from my mistakes.

  More than anything, I wanted to have a family of my own. I wanted Rocco and me to have a child—a little girl just like Daisy.

  When the circus ended, and all the performers strut-walked a victory lap around the ring, and the bareback rider made the silver horse’s bottom twitch goodbye, the lights came on, the magic spell wore off, the carriage turned back into a pumpkin.

  I’d hired a driver for the ride home. I didn’t want to depend on an app. The driver was waiting just where he said he would be.

  Despite everything, I was grateful to the Baroness Frieda for certain survival skills: the know-how to make a car be where you want it to be, exactly when you need it.

  11

  Charlotte

  Daisy doesn’t want to wear her Egyptian princess costume from last Halloween. She wants to wear a party dress to the circus.

  But Charlotte persuades her that it will be fun. Also it’s very cute, but mostly Charlotte thinks it might be harder to kidnap a child dressed as Cleopatra. She’d wanted to beg Eli not to go to rehearsal but to stay home and babysit her while she waits for Daisy to return. Last night she mentioned her anxiety, and Eli said, Wait until Daisy’s in high school, staying out all night and dating unsuitable boys.

  But Daisy will be older then, better able to watch out for herself. Right now she’s so little, so helpless. It’s only the circus! Daisy will love it.

  Charlotte gives Daisy an extra hug goodbye, petrified that she will never see her again. Be safe, wear your seat belt, hold your uncle’s hand. She thinks how people always warn you about the wrong things, about missed sleep and changing diapers and the terrible twos, when the real problem is the fear that never goes away.

  Please let Daisy be all right and once a month I’ll do flowers pro bono for a charity fund-raiser. I’ll never be impatient with Eli again. I will never fall apart in a crisis. I will never—ever!—wish that Rocco were easier to get along with. I will never wish that Daisy would fall asleep and let me get some rest. I will stop looking for signs that prove that Ruth is just another one of Rocco’s crazy girlfriends.

  Charlotte falls into the couch and tries to remember what she learned in the yoga classes she took a few years ago. Inhale, let the air out, count backwards from ten.

  Maybe food will help. Charlotte eats standing up at the refrigerator. Spoonful of peanut butter, spoonful of jelly. Daisy’s favorite snack. Oh, Daisy!

  It’s only then (why has it taken so long?) that Charlotte remembers the app. She practically sprints to get her phone and clicks on the icon. After a brief heart-stopping pause, she sees a little bunny stalled in traffic. A great sense of peace comes over her. Charlotte watches it, transfixed. The bunny bounces in place, then inches toward the circus, then stops. Red light. Gridlock. It’s hard to tell.

  The image shatters into pixels, and Charlotte feels a stab of panic, but now the bunny is back again, bouncing. Daisy’s in the circus tent; they must have found their seats. So far, so good. How long can Charlotte watch the bunny? All night, if she has to. But after a while she puts it aside and turns on the TV. Normally, she likes mindless Westerns and Scandinavian noir, but tonight nothing holds her attention, and she watches half of a French procedural before she realizes she’s seen it. The murdered woman is a drug mule for a Moroccan gang.

  She checks her phone. They’re still at the circus. Probably safe, but then the trip back home . . . She pours herself a tall whiskey and takes a Xanax.

  Charlotte’s asleep on the couch when Rocco and Ruth and Daisy come in. Is she dreaming? She can’t believe it’s real. Daisy’s fine. She’s fine! She buries her face in Daisy’s hair, which smells like popcorn and some sweet chemical.

  Daisy says, “I got cotton candy in my hair.”

  Charlotte says, “We can fix that.” Anything is fixable as long as Daisy is here.

  Just then Eli walks in, and Daisy flings herself against her father. Eli registers the whiskey bottle on the coffee table. He knows why she’d needed to pass out. How she loves her husband and their daughter and Rocco and even (if only at this moment) Ruth!

  Daisy’s saying, “The only thing I didn’t like was the people painted silver. Did you know you can die from that?”

  “Where did you hear that?” asks Eli.

  “This boy in my class said so, and Miss Amy said he was right.”

  “What did you like?” says Charlotte.

  Trying to describe some high-wire artist doing flips at the top of the tent, Daisy’s talking so fast she’s sputtering.

  Just then Rocco’s ringtone sounds: the opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Dum dum dum DUM. Who’s calling at this hour? He looks at the screen, considers not picking up, then takes the phone into the kitchen, where he remains for a long time. Mostly he seems to be listening. Charlotte senses trouble, but she no longer trusts that instinct, given her pointless panic about Daisy’s trip to the circus.

  When Rocco returns, it’s clear something’s wrong.

  “Jesus,” he says. “That was Mom. She’s insisting we all come to Oaxaca for her sixtieth birthday.”

  “I’m not going,” Charlotte says.

  “I want to see Grandma,” says Daisy.

  “We have to go,” says Eli. “She’s your mother. Daisy’s grandmother. It’s her sixtieth birthday.”

  Charlotte sighs. Eli’s sense of family is so much stronger than hers, perhaps because he actually has a family. Then they all fall silent.

  Charlotte says, “It’s high season. I shouldn’t leave work.”

  “Alma can handle it,” says Eli. “There’s email. Texts. Phones. We’re not going to Mars.”

  “Great!” says Ruth. “Then it’s decided. Let me know when so I can tell the office. But wait . . . sorry . . . Is this family only? Would it be okay if I tagged along?”

  Charlotte looks at her brother. It’s Rocco’s call.

  “Sure.”

  She can tell that Rocco wants Ruth to go. He’ll feel braver if she’s with him, better able to handle their mother. Doesn’t that count in Ruth’s favor? Even if it’s just that Rocco doesn’t want to hurt Ruth, that thoughtfulness is new for him, and reason for celebration.

  Charlotte says, “The more the merrier.”

  All that matters is that Daisy is safe. Everything else will work out.

  12

  April 19

  Charlotte

  When she gets out of the Uber and runs toward Ruth’s apartment, where she’s supposed to meet Rocco—and where she prays that Ruth is back with Daisy—she can only run half a block before she’s hyperventilating so hard that she has to sit down on someone’s front steps.

  If she doesn’t stop, she’ll pass out. Then she’ll never find Daisy.

  She was right to distrust Ruth. She just had the wrong time, the wrong event. The circus!

  That had worked out fine. She’d been lulled into a false sense of security. Well, maybe not security . . . She’d learned to manage her anxiety. To tell herself that those fears were in her mind.

  Well,
they weren’t in her mind!

  She forgot the one thing—the one thing!—she needed to remember to do: take Ruth off the pickup list.

  Charlotte can’t breathe.

  This is how Daisy must feel when . . .

  The inhaler!

  She takes out her phone and presses the app again.

  A spinning blue wheel.

  Nothing.

  Inhale. Exhale. She stands. Spots jitter in front of her eyes. She sits down again. She has no time!

  She could crawl down the street if she has to.

  She starts to rise and feels dizzy again, and sinks back onto the steps.

  She texts Rocco: ???? That’s all she can manage.

  Rocco doesn’t text back. How can he do this to her? How did he do this to them—bring this madwoman into their lives? It’s all Rocco’s fault. Oh, her poor brother! How ashamed he must be!

  But . . . didn’t Rocco see this coming? How could he not have seen the signs and warned them?

  The recent past drifts back in fragments. Mexico . . . home . . . the meeting . . . the shop . . . Daisy’s school.

  Now this.

  Charlotte tries to stand and collapses again. She needs to call 9-1-1!

  Instead she does something she’s only done once before in nine years of therapy.

  She calls Ted.

  She’s called to make and break appointments, but never—except for once, from Mexico—to say that she’s in hell. Please. Can Ted help her get through this without exploding into a million pieces?

  The last time—the only other time—was not that long ago.

  She’d called Ted from Mexico. She’d felt desperate then too. But not as desperate—not as terrified—as she does now.

  Both of those calls had to do with Ruth. That’s what Ruth has done to Charlotte. She’s turned Charlotte into a person who calls her therapist—in tears. Hysterics.

  Maybe he’s between patients; maybe someone canceled. Maybe he knows it’s important. Even more important than the last time, when she called from Mexico.