Caroline smiled. “So long as you’re onstage, pretty thing, I don’t think there’ll be any complaints.”
I shot Dad a look—but he didn’t meet my eye.
“Of course she will be,” Dad said.
The root beer turned to acid in my stomach.
I strode across the field to the RV, making Dad jog after me. I went straight into my shoebox of a bedroom and slammed the accordion door. A moment later, I heard Dad enter and move down the aisle. But when he got to the partition, he stopped and knocked gently on the wall. The only thing keeping him out was a flimsy plastic barrier, but he respected it. Somehow, that made me even angrier.
“Can we talk?”
I glared at his silhouette through the yellowing plastic panels. “About what?”
“About the show. About how you’d like it go.” His voice was infuriatingly calm.
“I’m not doing it. That’s how I’d like it to go.”
He cleared his throat—a tell that indicated he was about to try to sell me.
“But you’ve gotten so good!” His stage baritone grated like nails on a chalkboard. “Caroline asked for you specifically. She said—”
I tore open the partition. “She what?”
Dad blinked. “She . . . asked for you when she booked the gig. She had seen the video of you doing close-up in Columbus, and wanted—”
“Did you tell her I would perform?”
Dad opened his mouth, closed it again.
“Did you?”
“I . . . Yes. I did.” He straightened. “It’s the only way she would book us.”
I thought the veins in my neck might explode.
“You’re in demand!” Dad said. “Think of it! Most performers would kill for that.”
“I’m not a performer,” I said, and this time I could hear the flatness in my voice. “Not anymore.”
“Not a performer? That’s absurd. I’ve seen the way your eyes light up before you step onstage.”
And had he seen the way they darkened when I stepped off?
“I can’t do it, Dad. I need something normal. A normal life.”
“Your talent is a gift!” Dad shook his head, incredulous. “For Christ’s sake, Ellie, it’s in your blood.”
I slammed my hand into the bunched-up accordion door, splitting one of the brittle plastic panels with a crack.
“And what else is in my blood, Dad? Heart attacks? Suicide? Are those gifts, too?”
He flinched, took a step backward, and sank into the booth seat.
“Ellie?” His voice was softer now, concern showing through the cracks in his bravado, but I didn’t respond. Was it possible he didn’t know how hard this was on me? After all my protests?
Outside, the generator hummed. Traffic rushed by on the interstate.
Yes, it was possible. It was the only explanation, really; whatever his faults, Dad loved me. He wanted what was best for me, even as he pushed me toward what was worst. And I had never told him, not in clear terms. So of course he didn’t know.
I could fix that right now. I could say the words: I’m not well enough to perform. I can’t face the aftermath.
I’m afraid it might kill me.
But we needed this money. This show was our only lifeline.
I looked at his face. He seemed smaller now, deflated. His mustache was wilted, not at all the bristle brush it had been when I was a little girl. Suddenly, I wished I were that little girl again. That I didn’t face these impossible decisions. I wished someone else would step up and take charge. I wished someone else were here to take care of Dad, to take care of us both.
“I’m not her,” I said. “I’ll never be her.”
Then, out of the quiet, he whispered, “I know it.”
The words were like a cold blade in my chest. I moved forward and dropped onto the couch across from him.
“But what if I am?” I tried to swallow, but my throat was too swollen. “What if I’m exactly like her?”
He looked up, his eyes swimming. “That’s not what I meant. She was . . .” He shook his head as if he couldn’t bear to talk about her. “You’re strong. And resilient. She . . .”
“She what?”
Dad pressed his lips together, as if he wanted to hold back what he was about to say. “She had a darkness about her, Ellie. A darkness you could never be capable of. Not in a hundred years.”
But I was capable. I knew it, and I wondered what it meant that he didn’t.
He leaned forward and looked me in the eye. “She was never a magician, Ellie. But you are.”