Girl on a Wire (25 page)

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 edited 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, tonight 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.

So far, my plan had gone well. But the plan was only to right the things I’d messed up, to make up for my own trespasses and mistakes. And to try to convince our foe to blunder out into the open, revealed at last.

I wasn’t as sure of my footing as usual. I tilted the parasol this way and that to make up for the subdued quality of my performance. Hopefully Dad’s inability to be anything but jaw-droppingly wonderful would distract from any perceived lackluster on my part.

We made it to the middle of the wire where we’d agreed to the do the lie-downs. That was when I glanced up at my parasol in preparation for lowering it. I intended to hook the handle over the wire behind me, to dangle there during the trick.

The green scarf was attached to the inner net of metal ribs. Tied there, the loose ends pointed down in either direction, like some crazy grin directed at me.

This, too, was my fault. I should have checked the parasol, but I’d been in such a hurry. I’d left the perfect opening for someone else’s plan to overtake mine. Here I was, trapped on the wire with Dad.

Breathe. You have to get through this.

My hand trembled around the grip of the parasol. I placed my other hand over it, and tried to stay calm as the trembling spread to my limbs.

My whole body began to quiver like a leaf. There was so much noise. The band, the hum of conversation, Thurston’s patter.

My father smiled as he held position, waiting for me to hit my mark so we could lower ourselves in tandem as we’d agreed.

I closed my eyes, opened them. Sucked in a deep breath. Looked up again at the scarf. So bold and green. Such bad luck.

“Julieta.” It wasn’t a whisper, not with all that other noise. He spoke it with flat calm. “What is it?”

If I hadn’t given the coin to Remy, I’d be safe as ever. I’d smile at Dad and pirouette and show the world that no one could touch me.

My hands tightened around the base of the parasol. No.
No.
I didn’t need the coin. This was the moment it all became clear: What was I capable of? Who was I now, after everything that had happened? What was I willing to give up?

“Jules,” Dad said again, more insistent now.

A rivulet of sweat trailed down my temple and slithered across my cheek. Another ran oh-so-slowly down the center of my spine.

Thurston’s patter had turned nervous in tenor, but none of the words penetrated.

“Dad,” I said, my voice even, “I need to take a rain check. I’m going to turn and go back to my platform. You finish this.”

He considered what I’d said, his worry plain.

“Always trust a performer when they tell you they need an exit,” I said.

He’d taught me that. I stayed as still as I could manage, my fingers shaky around the parasol grip. I would have let it go, but I didn’t trust my stability without the aid.

Dad nodded to me. He lowered his body to a crouch, hooking one leg over the top of the wire and eased back, like he was going to take a nap. There was applause, but not wild applause. Because there I was, still standing.

I had to get off the wire.

I turned with more care than I ever had, and took one step and another. My platform wasn’t that far. If I could just make it there, I could let go of the parasol and be safe. Only a few more steps.