Girl on a Wire (24 page)

thirty-five

Thurston had set up lots of press for me in Birmingham, wanting to ensure the upcoming last dates were sellouts. Between interviews and performances, I tried to decide what to do about Remy, about everything. On our last morning in Alabama, I entered the mess tent and spotted Remy eating a bowl of cereal. I decided to text him here, so I could gauge his reaction. The message told him I needed to see him after our first show in Atlanta. Talking in person was the only solution.

I watched him glance down at the screen of his phone beside him as the alert popped up. I held my breath while he read it, but he
did
read it. That was a good sign, maybe? He looked up, and I met his eyes. He didn’t nod
yes
, but he didn’t shake his head
no
either. I grabbed a pastry and took off.

The whole Cirque caravan was hitting the road to head to Georgia after lunch, and I had a big outdoor walk scheduled for the next day. I was fine with postponing my and Remy’s inevitable conversation until after our first performance there. Never one to rush in front of a firing squad, I still needed a little more time to figure out exactly what I was going to say to him when I gave him the coin. Because that was what I had to do.

Hours and hours later, as we got off the interstate and drove into Atlanta, I was sitting at the kitchen table with my cheek against the cool glass of the window. We passed a bus shelter with a large poster hanging inside, well lit, that had the Cirque’s name and—

I sat up. Beneath the name was a painting of me, gleaming smile and glimmering red costume, balancing on a wire over skyscrapers. It advertised the Princess of the Air’s final outdoor walk of the year.

That walk would also be my last one with the aid of magic. Would this be the last poster I ever graced too?

I wasn’t going to say anything about the poster, but Mom was across from me. She had a short glass filled with clear liquor in front of her, but even mellowed by a drink she must have noticed my change in posture. We passed another bus shelter, and she spotted an identical poster.

“Look at that,” Mom said. “You’re more famous than all of us now.”

“No,” I said.

I’d never wanted that.

Our exchange drew Nan over from the couch, yawning as she joined us. The advance team sure hadn’t taken any chances. We passed yet another poster, this one smaller and pasted to a light pole.

“You’re a headliner now,” Nan said. “All eyes are on you, and what you’ll do next.”

“I can’t wait to find out either,” I said, and waved as I went to my room. I stayed there until we stopped for good at the edge of a giant parking lot.

If all eyes were on me, I had to try not to disappoint anyone. Including myself.

That well-advertised final walk arrived before I felt anything like ready for it. Already, looking down from my high vantage, I never wanted to give up this view. From so far above, I wouldn’t see anyone’s expressions of disappointment even if they were aimed right at me.

Sprawled below me was Atlanta, city of sultry summer days and our closing weekend, a mix of glittering towers and people having a lazy afternoon. It was fitting that a city famous for once having been set on fire was going to host my own personal conflagration. But if I was going down, better to be in flames, casting a bright glow.

I watched as the circus paraded up Peachtree far below, crawling along the broad street.

I was at the top of the fifty-story Peachtree Tower. The building had two crowns, which was what caused me to select it immediately from several photos of potential sites for this walk. I was the Princess of the Air, after all. I’d be too high for the people below to see the details of my performance. But there was a network TV crew positioned on the roof to get footage. The sidewalks below were clogged with red tutus and T-shirts worn by the Valentines, my fan base that had somehow just continued to grow.

This was one of the highest walks I’d done, but deceptively so. I was only walking a sixty-foot gap between the two points at the top of the golden-brown-toned building, the flat portion of roof below not nearly so far off as usual. It was still far enough to shatter every bone in my body, but not so distant compared to some of my previous stunts. There was a slight breeze, but it wouldn’t be a problem. Not with the coin safely in the side of my slipper.

I bent and rubbed it, tracing the rough circle through the thin fabric.

“It’s time,” one of the rigging crew said. He was new, his first time doing support for a building walk. “Now or never.”

I flicked open my parasol, tested it against the breeze.

“I’ve seen the footage, but you really just use that? Up here?” he asked, and waved to indicate the sky around us.

“Magic,” I said.

I went slowly to the side of the wire, took a breath, and climbed on. This was too high to expect the sound of cheers to reach me, or to risk looking down. There was something majestic and, in fact, regal about the building.

I stepped out, twirling the parasol. I danced forward on the wire, then back. I waited until the middle before executing the trio of pirouettes, feeling the wind catch in my parasol and root me in place. I high-stepped back to the side, and when the rigging crewman stepped forward to help me off, I turned and went across again.

There would be cheering down there now, but the people on the street might as well have been a dream. It was only me up here. The city and me and the air. I wanted to stay right where I was.

I pirouetted again, and knew I should be smiling, but my face refused to move. I tried to hold on to the seductive sense of certainty, the knowledge that I couldn’t fall.

You don’t have to give it up. Ever. No one will make you.

The wind sang against my ear, twisted my hair into itself, and I never faltered. I twirled the parasol into it. And I forced my feet forward. One step, then another. And another.

Easy, faultless steps that were the hardest I’d ever taken.

I climbed off, folded down the parasol, and took a bow, sinking low to the buildings, to the sky, to the world. The wind sang to me:
Don’t give this up.

I suddenly understood the myth about the sirens. I was a sailor on a ship passing by the most beautiful place on earth, and the wind, the sirens’ voices, beckoned me. I could stay here forever. Protected. I’d run no risk of disillusioning anyone.

But I’d learned that was a false promise. There are some things none of us can control, some consequences that must be faced. By finally understanding that, I discovered what I was going to say to Remy.

We met at the time I’d set, after the first show here had ended. Remy stayed backstage until everyone else was gone, and so did I.

We drifted into the main tent, and sat on the second row of the stands. The lights were off, the center ring completely empty.

“This is weird, being here when it’s like this,” I said.

Remy didn’t dispute it, so he must have understood. It felt more deserted than it had for his midnight practices. Back then, the night had folded around us, and we’d been hidden in the tent like it was a pocket and we were safe inside. Now, it felt cold. It was no longer a place I wanted to linger. This conversation was a bandage that needed to be ripped off. I should just do it.

“What do you have to tell me? Is it what you found out from Nan?” he asked.

“I need to give you something.”

“What?” His eyes were nearly black in the shadowed tent. The angles of his face were familiar, but we might as well have been strangers. I couldn’t reach out and touch him. I could barely believe I’d ever been able to.

I slid my finger into my slipper and wiggled the coin free of the lining. It warmed against my skin. “Open your hand.”

His palm unfolded before me.

I placed the coin in the center of it, and he bent forward to examine its ancient contours.

“Jules, why?”

I didn’t answer. My fingers itched to grab it back, but I forced my hands onto the bench seat on either side. His palm did close then. He held the coin in a loose fist. “Explain.”

“When the accidents happened and people died all those years ago, our grandparents were . . . together. You already know that. And my grandmother
can
do things. She can make objects powerful. Make them stronger. When your grandfather found out, they worked together. It was both of them. They caused those tragedies.”

“On purpose. You’re saying it was on purpose, that they weren’t accidents?”

“I know it sounds crazy. Maybe neither of them really believed the objects would work. Who would? It makes no sense. But they tried anyway.”
Your grandfather talked people into taking the hexed objects. They were gifts.
But I didn’t say it. What he knew already was bad enough.

“Why are you giving this to me then? I know you believe it works.” He raised the fist with the coin.

“Your grandfather wasn’t lying in the letter, when he said she stole his luck. You should have the coin back. It belongs to you.”

He was quiet for too long.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you forever. I don’t think I realized what I was doing at first. I was just so angry about Sam’s death, and about getting nowhere when we tried to find answers,” I said. “Then the shows were selling out. And everyone here was nice to me. Like they never were. They accepted me.”

Remy’s expression turned to disbelief. “When your family showed up at the Cirque, the only thing anyone here knew about the Maronis was the old stories about your grandmother. But we saw how you were. Your dad acted like he was better than everyone else. You did too. But then, when Sam died, you all lost something. And despite that, you went on.
That
made you one of us. Part of this circus. That’s why people are nice to you. But you betrayed them using this.”

“I’m telling you I screwed up. I know that.”

“Everything that happened, I was right there with you for so long. But then you shut me out. You knew I wouldn’t go along with you trusting in this coin, so you didn’t tell me.”

I banged a palm on the bleacher between us. “Nan said it was too dangerous for you to know. I wanted to tell you.”

“Jules, you don’t follow orders. Nan’s instructions are not why you kept it a secret.”

“I know it was wrong. I was heartsick over Sam. It got out of control.”

“Jules, do you know how many quads I’ve made in the last month?”

“Four,” I said, not needing to stop and think.

“And you’re telling me I could make every one from here on out. That it wouldn’t ever be a problem again, because of this? That I could use this?”

“Yes.”

I wanted to reel the word back in as he reached out and grabbed my hand. He forced the coin into it and let go, like touching me had burned him.

He said, “I don’t want this. I won’t take it. You keep it. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Remy, no! I don’t want it anymore.”

“The green scarf’s out there somewhere, and the end of the season is here. Keep it for now. If you’re right, it’ll keep you safe.”

My pulse quickened, but I didn’t dare hope. “How can you care about that?”

One corner of his mouth tilted up. “You think I want you falling on my conscience? Knowing I sent you out there—never mind. But, know, like I thought you already would, that I would
never
use that
thing
. Do you even know what you’re really capable of?”

“I’m capable of using this.” I hefted my hand. “Says it all, doesn’t it? Do you think I don’t know what a fraud I am? Do you think I ever wanted you to know? I know you wouldn’t use it. I never thought you would. But I don’t want it anymore.”

He stared at me with an expression I didn’t have the decoder ring for. And I drank in the sight of him, ridiculous as that sounds. The darker separations in his irises, the way his black hair was longer than usual and messy from raking his hand through it. That little scar over his eyebrow. We might never be this close again. We probably never would be.

“Remy . . .” I started, though I had no further defense to make for myself. What I’d realized on the wire above Atlanta was that I didn’t want this magic, even if giving it up made me vulnerable. Telling the truth was one step. But playing this game, using the coin—whoever was behind the sabotage was winning as long as I kept on participating.

I wasn’t about to let that happen.

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.