Girl on a Wire (17 page)

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 feats 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
un
fallen. “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 different 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.

Mom’s act combined liberty elements with trick riding. Sam was a trick riding natural. And that night he was going to stand tall on the backs of two horses with one foot on each as they raced around the ring. While Mom did the same.

As we stopped in the kitchen, Sam said, “I wouldn’t mind you showing me the hands again.”

Nodding, Mom went to the living room. We stayed where we were. Nan hadn’t been up that morning before we left, but now she sat on the couch watching an old movie. She muted the sound without being asked as Mom took over the floor.

Mom’s feet were not quite shoulder width across, her knees the slightest bit bent as she raised her arms over her head. Her hands moved in a victorious flourish. “If at any point you feel your balance going or the horses become erratic, drop onto Beauty, halt her, and dismount. Safety first. Always. Understand?”

She waited for Sam’s nod. It came quickly.

“But don’t worry. Beauty’s a pro. And you are more than ready. I’ve seen you do this like you were born in Russia.”

She dropped her arms to reach forward and pinch Sam’s cheek.

“Thank you for everything,” he said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Dork,” I said.

“From you? I’m flattered,” Sam countered.

Nan was staring at us as if we’d betrayed her in the worst possible way. “Does this mean what I think it does?” she asked, standing and shifting a hand to her hip.

Dad passed me to go to her side. “What’s wrong?”

“I mean, am I to understand Sam had his first performance and I wasn’t invited?” Nan turned a gimlet eye on my mom, who suddenly appeared guilty.

“It wasn’t a full performance,” Sam said, jumping in. “Just a couple of commands.”

“But tonight you’re performing?” Nan prompted.

“Only a small part of the act,” Sam said.

“Then I’m coming,” Nan said.

Sam started to protest. “Nan, don’t feel like you have to—”

“Nonsense,” Dad said, using his patented
don’t you dare argue
tone. “It’ll be an honor for Sam to have you there.”

Nan relaxed, no longer offended. “This way’s better. Now I’ll get you in your full glory. No first-time jitters.”

Sam and I exchanged a look.

He didn’t know I planned to tell my parents that Remy and I were seeing each other later, but he was no doubt remembering his promise to keep Dita a secret from Nan for now. He probably hadn’t shared that tidbit with Dita yet. The night was going to be interesting.

“Maybe a
few
jitters,” Sam said.

Nan scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. Maronis are born with a talent for hiding them.”

I hoped she was right.

My performance nerves were a tiny flicker in comparison to the burning candle of uneasiness about how the rest of the night would go. I could ask Remy if we should wait one more day. I was sure he’d understand.

But it wasn’t like I could just pull him aside and discuss it. Not until my parents knew. The closest we’d come to talking so far tonight was a smoldering look across backstage as I made my way to the curtain.
That
was a flame I didn’t want to douse.

I’d just have to be careful about my timing. Remy knew I worried about Nan. I had to keep Nan calm and let her carry on, blissfully unaware of me crossing what she perceived as enemy lines.

These preoccupations circled while I was doing my act, and it wasn’t my best performance as a result. I still did everything I was supposed to, and the audience still applauded, but it was hard to believe they hadn’t noticed I wasn’t fully in it. Worse, as I left the ring, what I felt most was relief to be done.

Mom and Sam were heading through backstage with the horses, and I perked up at the thought of watching Sam’s truly big moment. He was even wearing a spiffy costume for a change—black, knee-high equestrian boots that matched Mom’s, and tight blue pants, with a classic black vest embroidered with various colorful designs.

I jogged over to tell him, “Now
those
are appropriately shiny boots.”

“Thanks.” He rolled his eyes at me, but he had the flushed happiness of a new performer in love with the spotlight.

The music picked up tempo, and Mom entered the ring with the first of the horses. Sam passed me, following with the rest.

The flash of emerald green on the back of his vest drew my eye because green was
never
part of a costume. It was another old superstition. The fluttering green fabric looked like it was attached to the vest somehow, not sewn into the fabric like the other designs. But Sam was already through the curtain. He didn’t notice me stop.

Dad tugged on my arm, “Jules, let’s go watch.”

Frowning, I let him lead me away. I wanted to see the act, reassure myself I was imagining a problem that wasn’t there.

“Dad, isn’t green on a costume supposed to be bad luck?”

He blinked, but he didn’t strike me as troubled by the question. “Yes, but I’ve always heard it’s just an unflattering color under the lights. It makes your skin look green. Like a Martian.”

“I guess.” Something about Sam’s costume continued to bug me.

The small crowd clustered at the side curtain made way for us. Dita stood where she’d have a good view. The rest of the Garcia troupe was behind her, showing support for her in a nice way—though Novio looked bored, like someone had twisted his arm to get him there. Maybe Remy had. He stood at his sister’s side.

He smoldered at me again when our eyes met. I couldn’t help but think of that last kiss the night before.

I forced my attention to the ring. Sam was waiting outside it, as usual. “Sam looks so dapper,” I said.

Dad grunted, ignoring me and the Garcias, and watching Mom. Dita said, “He does,” with a shy smile.

Recent developments might mean she and I could be friends. The thought was a happy one.

Mom took the horses through their first set of paces, circling the ring, kneeling, and raising on hind legs. They danced in circles in tandem, and she jumped from horse to horse. As Mom’s act went on, I became increasingly convinced that the green I’d spotted on Sam’s costume was nothing. It probably was just part of the design, in some other color that had just
appeared
green in the relatively dim light backstage.

About ten minutes in, Mom called Sam into the ring. The horses each raised one of their front legs, letting them hover six inches off the ground.

Sam commanded their feet down with a verbal cue, and drew a circle in the air with a short—ornamental only—whip. The horses began to trot slowly around the edge of the wide center ring. On their second trip around, Sam leapt onto Beauty, grabbing the thin set of gold reins she wore. All the horses had them. They weren’t for control, but for slight guidance or to use as a steadying grip during tricks like this. He swung onto the pad on her back, crouching there, and the audience applauded. I could just see Mom get up on her horse on the opposite side.

Mom and Sam slowly rose to their full height as the horses sped around the circle. Sam looked to Mom, and at some silent signal I didn’t see, they raised their arms into the stance she’d demonstrated earlier with perfect timing. They flourished to acknowledge the audience’s applause.

After one pass, they each signaled a second horse to come alongside their current mount, and placed one foot on its back. They were riding the horses like waves, steady as the ocean.

When Sam passed our side, with his feet on the two giant horses, I saw it again. I blinked, but it was still there. A flash of green fabric waving off the back of the vest. I had to wait for him to come back around to focus in on it. I stared with all the intensity I could muster.

There.

He was moving, so I couldn’t get a great look, but I saw the flash of green again, better this time. It was a square of emerald green fabric. Was it a scarf? Where had I seen a shape like that before? Why was it so familiar?

Oh God. No.

The old photos on the murder board were all in black and white. But now I remembered the clowns gathered around the old steamer trunk, how one of them had held up a square scarf.

I stepped out past the curtain, drawing murmurs from the stands nearby. The Cirque’s clowns were also at the edge of the side ring, and one of them said, “What’s she doing?”

Dad said, “Julieta, get back here.”

There had to be some way to alert Sam. To stop this. But the horses were moving so fast, and they were big as buses in that moment. What if I interrupted for nothing? What if
I
spooked them? The act was going fine. But
I’d
been fine on that wire above the bridge until—all of a sudden—I wasn’t.

“Jules?” Dita asked, curious.

Remy left the curtain for my side. “What is it?”

“Sam’s costume,” I said. Not caring that Dad was witnessing me talk to Remy.

Remy joined me in scrutinizing the ring, trying to see what had spooked me. “Where?”

What if the scarf really was part of the costume and not the one from the picture? There was no way to be sure, not when the photo hadn’t been in color. But what if we’d been too quick to dismiss Nan’s worries about the objects? What if it was one and we didn’t do
something
.

I started forward, Remy alongside me.

My dad called, “Julieta! Come back here!”

I glanced over my shoulder to find him heading after us.

But it was too late. We were all too late. I knew it as soon as the audience gasped. Not in amazement, in horror.

When I turned to the ring, Beauty was rearing. Her hooves were the size of dinner plates, pawing the air. Sam was nearly horizontal, hanging off her back by those thin reins. If he didn’t let go, he’d pull her over right on top of him.

My mother was on the complete opposite side. She dropped down, but I couldn’t see what she did next.

Sam hung even farther back, Beauty continuing to beat the air with her hooves.

I screamed. “No!”

He released the reins and fell to one side, landing hard in the ring. I ran forward, hearing others join me. No one cared about the performance any longer. Sam’s leg was twisted at a terrible angle.

Beauty was stomping, spooked, sending up a storm of dust clouds. My mother was in the middle of the ring, and she managed to command the other horses into stillness. She was walking slowly toward Beauty, barking a command.

But Beauty rose again on her hind legs, pawing furiously. We weren’t going to make it to the ring in time to help.

The band stopped playing in one abrupt, off-key blast. I watched in horror as Sam clawed the dirt, trying to crawl out of the ring, away from Beauty. She lowered her hooves only to rear again over him, her feet about to come down—

Mom jumped forward to grab the reins, but costumed arms and pale hands knocked her aside. She sprawled in the sawdust, safe. The clown who’d saved her dove out of Beauty’s path. And the horse’s hooves landed on Sam, even as the creature whinnied in fear and tried to shy away.

On the ground, Sam wasn’t moving. The gem-green scarf was just past him, the square of fabric unmistakable in the dirt. I lunged forward to grab it, but a hand closed weakly on my arm.

Sam’s.

I sank to his side, the scarf forgotten. Blood trickled down his temple, and another thin line of it ran from his mouth. His pupils were shot through with red.

“Oh God,” I said.
Not helping.
I sucked in a breath, then said, “Hang on. Sam, you have to hang on.”

“I’m so sorry.” Sam gritted the words out.

“No, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t—”

His head shook, the barest no. “Jules, don’t let them . . . don’t let them kill Beauty.” Sam’s eyelids fluttered, and his eyes rolled up and then closed. “Sorry.” And he didn’t speak again.

“Hold on, Sam. Somebody, help him,” I cried out, and hands were pulling me up. The clown’s.

I pushed him away. I had to get the scarf. I turned to where it had been moments before. And it was gone. Nothing but sawdust where it had been. The ring was too chaotic to lock on a culprit. Horses milled with disconcerting unease, and people dodged through them to help.

Remy appeared at my side, and I had a moment’s hope. “Did you get the scarf?” I asked him. “It was green. From the photo with the trunk.”

“No,” he said, “I didn’t see it. Is Sam . . . Oh no, Jules.” He tried to pull me to him, but I dodged away. There was no time for comfort. Sam couldn’t die. He couldn’t. I wheeled around, trying to find Nan.

Dad helped Mom off the ground, and she shouted a command loud enough that it was audible over the noise around us. The horses stopped, just stopped. They lowered themselves to the ground and rolled onto their sides, as if they were the ones that had been trampled.

The trick would have been a showstopper during a performance.

Beauty was the only one who didn’t obey. The white horse snorted softly and advanced on Sam. He lay sprawled in the ring. Dita, sobbing, knelt beside him now. Thurston was just behind her, calling into his microphone, “Medics! We need medics out here now—”

Thurston stopped talking, trying to pull Dita’s shoulder to get her up and away as Beauty stalked closer. Mom moved forward in an attempt to grab the horse, and Dita scrambled back from Sam’s side.

Before Mom could reach Beauty and grab her reins, the horse lowered her big body down next to Sam’s. And she . . . she gingerly nudged him with her nose. And again.

Sam didn’t move.