She wants me to ask for help, if there ever comes a time when I need it.
“I’m okay,” I insist, which is both true and not true. I’m not okay, but not the kind that Popo or anybody else needs to worry about. “But I’ll let you know if I’m not.”
She nods. “Your mom can be stubborn sometimes. Just like you.” She laughs gently. “And maybe that’s my fault, for always pushing her to do things she didn’t want to do. Maybe she feels like she has to be stubborn, just to have control.”
I frown. “Push her to do what?”
Popo’s eyes are lost in a memory. “I never wanted your mother to join the circus. I wanted her to be a doctor. She was so good at her academics—I thought she deserved the best job she could get. We fought about it a lot, and after high school she took a job as a trapeze artist for a local circus.
“I gave her such a hard time about it. I never let up, even when I could see that she was so happy. She had just married your father then too. They had plans to join a traveling company, and maybe eventually move overseas. But then one day your mom had a bad fall. She was in the hospital when they told her that her leg was so badly broken, they weren’t sure how soon she’d be able to perform again. They also told her she was pregnant.”
“What?” My eyes are wide.
Popo’s are sunken. Tired. Apologetic. “You were okay, but I made your mom feel so guilty. I told her she was irresponsible, that she could’ve killed you. I… said a lot of things I shouldn’t have said back in those days. Things I wish so much I could take back. After that, your mom quit the circus and never performed again.”
“I didn’t know that. I didn’t know any of that,” I say.
Popo nods. “I’ve always felt like it was my fault she gave up on her dreams. And all these years later, I sometimes look at her and wonder if I kept her from being truly happy. I regret the things I said, and the way I behaved. But it’s been so many years now—years I can’t get back.” She closes her hand over mine. “I don’t want you to give up on your dreams, especially if you think they’re worth holding on to.”
“I don’t think the circus is for me,” I say quietly.
“You’re wrong,” Popo says with a smile. “From one stubborn person to another, you’re very, very wrong.” She pats my hand before leaning back in her chair. “Try talking to your parents one more time. I think this time they’ll listen.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
When I dream, I see the circus. I see rings of fire, and distorted mirrors, and extravagant costumes. I see spinning plates, and confetti, and juggling pins in every color of the rainbow. And I see the performers—the acrobats, and aerialists, and contortionists, and clowns. I see the families. I see the children. I see the sparkle in their eyes when they step out of their cars and notice the big top across the grassy field.
And I see me, in the heart of it. Always in the heart of it. Because the circus hasn’t left me.
I’m not sure it ever will.
* * *
When I wake up in the middle of the night, my memories still blurred with velvet curtains and dancing stars, I know I can’t give up on my dreams.
Simon Tarbottle hacked away at them—cut them down so there was nothing to see.
But he didn’t kill them. Because my dreams are like roots. They’re my foundation.
They give me life.
And nobody has the power to ever take that away from me.
Nobody but me.
I won’t give up on the circus.
Just like I know the circus will never give up on me.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Mom and Dad are both in the kitchen, chopping vegetables together like they’re part of some kind of couples’ cooking show. They haven’t noticed me standing in the doorway yet, so their guard is down. They don’t have to worry about tiptoeing on eggshells when their daughter with the sad, heavy heart isn’t in the room.
I don’t blame them for that part, though. I’d be relieved to get a break from me too.
Dad slices off a piece of cheese and holds it up for Mom, whose hands are busy peeling potatoes, so she eats it out of his hand and winks at him.