Bound in Blue (24 page)

“Of course. Make it what you want.”

She could make it a story of her struggles, a
story of a lonely, blue-eyed girl from Mongolia torn between two
worlds. A story of a girl who couldn’t please everyone, no matter
how hard she tried. The story of a girl trying to balance
selfishness and ambition on the way to achieving her dreams. She
threw out ideas as they came to her, egged on by Theo. He helped
her refine her vision and put the depth of her feelings into
words.

Before long, the two of them had sketched out
a loose story for an act. They began to talk about transitions and
tricks, even costuming and colors to support the theme. Blue. They
both agreed the colors had to be blue.

Sara got so excited, she took to the trapeze
and started practicing, ignoring the pain in her ass cheeks. This
was more important. This was progress and inspiration. This was
expiation, a way of making things right. She’d create a solo act
and perfect it, and Jason would be proud, and Lemaitre would
forgive her—

Lemaitre! She looked at the clock, shocked to
discover they’d spent two hours practicing. It was already
three.

“I have to go,” she said. “I have to shower
and change before I meet with Mr. Lemaitre.” She started for the
locker rooms, then turned back and gave Theo an impulsive hug.
“Thank you. I feel so much better. But...if he’s mad at me... If he
tries to fire me...”

“He’s not going to fire you.”

“But he might be mad.”

“He’s probably stressed out, yes. You and
Baat stressed out a lot of people.” He squeezed her extra hard,
then tilted her head up. “Listen,
ma chère
. If Lemaitre
starts scolding, tell him about your big plans for the act. Tell
him everything. The theme, the story, the colors.” Some shadow
crossed his face, and he hesitated. “Most of all, share the things
you shared with me, about your struggles and fears, and your
loneliness. These are things he should hear too.”

Sara didn’t know if she could be that open
with Mr. Lemaitre. She looked at the clock and ran for the showers.
She wished she had time to find Jason and tell him about her new
ambitions for solo trapeze, but that would have to wait.

* * * * *

Sara ended up running the last half of the
way to Mr. Lemaitre’s office, so she arrived winded and disheveled
after all the care she’d taken with her appearance. The
receptionist asked her to sit a moment while she notified him she
was here. Sara waited in a row of chairs outside his office, her
heart beating with nervousness. Would he be angry? Kind?
Encouraging about her future? If she had to beg to stay on, could
she do it?

Yes.

She smoothed back her hair, blowing away an
errant strand when it fell in her face. She loved the color and
beauty of the Cirque CEO’s office, but it was always so quiet. She
drew in a deep breath and before she let it out, the receptionist
looked over and signaled her to go in.

As soon as he greeted her by the door, she
sensed she wasn’t in for a scolding. He used her full Mongolian
name and gestured her toward a chair, and then sat down behind his
massive desk.

“Thank you for your promptness,” he said. “We
have many things to talk about. Yesterday...” He stopped and leaned
forward. “First of all, how are you feeling?”

“Feeling? You mean, physically?”

“Let’s start with that. You didn’t sustain
any injuries?”

Only to my ass
, she thought. “I’m
doing fine,” she said aloud. “I practiced with Theo today and
everything went well.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And emotionally? How
are you holding up?”

He asked so gently, so kindly, when she’d
expected anger. “I’ve been feeling guilty,” she admitted. “And a
little scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Losing my job. Finding my way forward. I was
with Baat a long time.”

Her emotions were so close to the surface.
Her throat tightened and she dug her nails into her palm so she
wouldn’t cry. It was bad enough to cry in front of Theo, but
Lemaitre?

“You mustn’t worry about your friend,” he
said. “Baat is bound for an alcohol rehabilitation center in
Ulaanbaatar. They have excellent programs there, and Baat agreed it
was a necessary course of action.”

“Oh. Thank you. I...I tried to get him to
stop drinking so much. I didn’t know how to help him.”

“I knew how to help him.” There was the
censure, the intimation that she ought to have said something.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lemaitre. I’m sorry for
causing all this trouble.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“Let’s be clear—Baat caused the trouble. You exacerbated it by
staying quiet. But Jason tells me you’ve been corrected on that
point.”

She flushed twenty shades of red and shifted
on her sore ass. Lemaitre seemed to take pity on her and produced a
note from his desk. “Baat wrote this for you. I understand it’s an
apology. He did realize by the time he left how badly he’d wronged
you. Please, read it. I’ll wait.”

Sara looked down at the note written in
Baat’s broad hand. It held an apology, but so much more.
When
you took the Amerik’s ring, something in me broke. I always loved
you.

I never meant to hurt you, but Sarant, I
hurt. I’ll get better. Please forgive me one day.
She stared
down at the words, shocked.

“Does it say he loves you?” Lemaitre asked in
the silence.

She couldn’t speak, only nod her head.

He made a soft, sad sound. “I don’t read
Mongolian, but I expected he was writing more than a simple
apology.”

“I never realized. I’ve been so blind.” She
pressed the back of her hand to her lips to still their trembling.
“I don’t understand, though. Baat was like a brother to me.”

“Ah, well. He saw things differently. But he
never told you, so how could you know?” Another reprimand, couched
in a cool, soft voice. “The two of you, keeping dangerous secrets.
Cry if you like, Sara. It’s a lot to process.”

“I don’t want to cry.” She shook her head,
feeling anger more than anything else. She’d never known Baat, not
really. Why had he hidden his feelings from her? And then drowned
himself in drink? “He should have told me. He should have been
honest,” she said.

Lemaitre studied her, his lips drawn down in
a frown. “Perhaps he didn’t feel capable of being honest. Perhaps
he thought it would hurt you to know.”

“Hurt me? To know the truth? To know how he
really felt about me?” She rubbed her eyes and grasped for calm.
“Please, I just want to know what happens now. Can I stay
here?”

“With Cirque du Monde?”

“Because I had this idea for an act. A solo
trapeze act. Theo and I developed the basics so I can work on it
after he leaves for Marseille.” She rushed to get the words out
before he could cut in. “It’s about a girl. About a girl caught
between the world she was born in and the world where she wants to
belong. And she has all these frustrations, and fears, and horrible
anxieties and this loneliness, because she doesn’t fit in anywhere.
But she also...” She stared down at her ring, twisting it on her
finger. “She also has love. And that scares her most of all,
because it can’t save her. She knows she has to find her own way,
her own strength, but it’s so hard.”

He looked at her a long time, then he asked,
“Is this act about you?”

“Not really,” she lied. “Well, a little bit.
But it could be anyone’s story.”

“Yes, it could be,” he agreed. “Fear. Love.
Loneliness. They’re universal themes.”

After all her efforts, the tears came anyway,
a crushing wave of emotion she hid as well as she could. While she
swiped at her eyes, Lemaitre came around his desk and sat beside
her. “Is that your ring? May I see it?”

Sara held it out, trying to still the shaking
of her fingers. He touched the stone. “Beautiful.” He gave a sigh
and took her hand. “A ring is a serious commitment, especially for
one so young. You’re sure he’s the one for you?”

His nearness shook her. His touch startled
her. It felt encroaching. Inappropriate. She got the same feeling
she’d gotten in the hall that day, that he had an interest in her
beyond boss and artist. Baat’s secret love was bad enough. She had
to set this man straight. “Mr. Lemaitre, I’m not too young to know
what I want. And I want to be with Jason. I’m in love with him,
totally and completely. I’m not available. At all.”

“Available?” He processed her rejection,
narrowed his eyes and made a face. “
Mon Dieu
. I suppose I’ve
brought this on myself.”

He looked so upset that Sara tried to console
him. “I’m sorry. It’s not that you aren’t attractive—”

He held up a hand. “I beg you, please.”

“It’s just that Jason and I are meant to be
together. From the moment we met, we’ve had this bond.”

“Sara.” Lemaitre let out a ragged breath.
“Please understand I have absolutely no interest in you. Not
interest of that kind. For God’s sake.”

Oh. Embarrassing. “I just thought… From the
way you…”

“Did you never wonder why you had eyes that
color?”

The angst in his question caught her off
guard. She fell back on her usual explanation. “I was born outside,
under a blue sky. My mother said I opened my eyes and the sky
changed them forever. That the sky turned them blue.”

He stood and went to the window. “What a
beautiful story. I’ll have to use that in a show sometime. It’s
just the sort of story your mother liked to tell.”

It took her a moment to unpack his words.
“You knew my mother?”

“I knew her well, once upon a time. We worked
in the same circus for a while, touring Europe. We made a baby
together, a little girl. I didn’t know at the time. She only told
me later.”

Sara gawked at him, at his carved profile
outlined by the sun outside. It wasn’t possible. Her mother only
had two children, herself and a brother who died as a child. “But
how? When did you know her?”

“About twenty-three years ago.” He turned
from the window and crossed to her, reaching in his pocket for his
wallet. He flipped it open and pulled out a small, dog-eared photo
and handed it to her. Sara stared down into her own face, her own
features as a girl of six or seven, with blue eyes, wind-chapped
cheeks, and a hint of a smile.

He stared at her, saying nothing. She
struggled to understand.

“This is— You mean, I’m— You—”

The pronouns got tangled up in her mouth,
just like the revelation got tangled up in her brain. “It can’t
be,” she said. “I can’t be your daughter. My eyes…the sky…”

“You didn’t get your blue eyes from the sky,”
he said sharply. “Have some sense.”

How dare he admonish her when he was the one
making up this crazy story? It had to be a lie, all of it, a lie.
“My mother loved my father!”

“She certainly did,” said Mr. Lemaitre.
“That’s why you grew up with him instead of me. A mercy, I’m
certain.”

Sara’s thoughts reeled, along with an
avalanche of emotions: confusion, fury, disbelief, and a terrible
sadness. “It can’t be true. I don’t look anything like you.”

He sat in the chair beside her, reserving
comment. Sara covered her eyes, the eyes that proved she was his,
as much as she wanted to deny it. “Why? Why would she have done
that to my father?”

“It was an accident, I assure you.” At her
grimace, he shook his head. “No, you weren’t an accident. You were
the result of a sublime, impetuous affair, and it was my fault, all
of it. Your mother loved your father, and he loved her. I’m not
good at love, or fidelity, or any of those things, so I left her. I
left you, because I thought it best.” He gazed at her, a look of
such guilt and pain that she almost forgave him for his crime.
Almost.

“You’re as bad as Baat,” she said, tasting
nausea in her mouth. “You’re worse. You hid even more. You
hid...
this
.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when we first
met.” He stood and paced across the room. “It paralyzed me, the
sight of you standing there. I didn’t feel worthy to be your
father. I still don’t. But part of me hoped you’d figure it out
yourself.”

“How is it my job to figure it out?” she
cried. “People should be who they are. You lied to me. You kept
this a secret—”

“You kept a secret too,” he said, turning on
her. “People keep secrets when they’re afraid. When they don’t know
what will happen.”

Sara felt numb. She seemed to know nothing
about anything going on in her life. She didn’t know what to
believe anymore, or what to do, or who to trust. “This is why you
wouldn’t let me come to the Citadel,” she said. “This is the reason
you threw me out.”

“It’s rather traumatic to discover one’s
daughter has arrived in the midst of your BDSM scene. It was one
more reason not to tell you.”

“Well, I wish you had explained. I had no
idea why you sent me away that night. I thought you were angry at
something I did. I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I care for you very much.” That confession
seemed to leave him breathless. He leaned against the wall, his
arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you.
Protecting you as best I can.”

“By avoiding me?”

“I didn’t know what to do. I’m not a father.
I’ve never been a father.”

“You didn’t even come get me yourself. You
sent Jason to bring me back for you, like some curiosity from
afar.”

“No.”

“Your little Mongolian souvenir.”

“No, it wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like then?” Anger propelled her
to her feet, and she stormed toward him. “You never had any
intention of telling me. You probably couldn’t wait to pack me off
to Las Vegas. Good riddance, right?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I dreaded losing
you, but I wanted to see you settled. I don’t feel capable of being
your father but I wanted to nurture this gift you have. I owe that,
at least, to your mother.”