Page 14 of The Circus

NINE

EDEN

Be here at five, or we cancel our little deal.

My eyes skimthe message for the thousandth time today. Usually Sundays are free to me and everyone else at the circus, so why Dick is texting me has anxiety bubbling up in my stomach like rancid food. As if performing with Teddy last night wasn’t punishment enough, I’m sure they have concocted some other idea to keep raking in the dough. Vic let slip that last night was their highest grossing evening so far, and the two imbeciles have pegged it on that stunt. I hadn’t been afraid of Teddy killing me, and he never once let his eyes slip to my bare chest, but the thought of seeing him again on Monday at school is enough to make me toy with the idea of feigning sickness.

A small cough snatches my attention, and I fumble to stow my phone in my hoodie pocket, bringing my knees up closer to my chest as I sit perched on his windowsill. My father’s dusky blue eyes are staring at me from across his hospice room, a frown painting his lips. The tube of oxygen attached to the wall runs to his nose, the only bit of medical attention he allows.

It’s so he can chat without running out of breath.

Last week, we were informed the cancer had spread to his lungs. The doctor had hesitated to share the news with me, because now it’s simply a race of which necessary organ will fail first, succumbing to the cancer like a knight overrun on a battlefield.

I used to think my dad was a knight in shining armor, the way he saved me from my mother and her insanity. But now I’m grown up, and knights don’t exist anymore. The world is cruel and cold, and hope—however small—is damnable.

“You’re quiet for once.”

His voice is raspy, his body frail and decaying from the inside out. His salt and pepper hair thins more each day, and the bags under his eyes grow. He’s worried about me. He knows I want to hate him for not fighting anymore, but that’s a battle I lost in order to win the war.

“Work was…tough last night,” I mutter, picking at a piece of lint on my jeans. He frowns, giving me a knowing look. I swipe my sweaty palms on my thighs, always nervous when the topic of work is broached.

“They need to give you a break, kiddo. You’re about to graduate. School comes first.”

It’s the same fatherly spiel every time, and so I smile blandly and agree, unwilling to rock the boat and raise his blood pressure further.

“Need me to talk to ‘em?”

“What? No!” I say quickly, terrified at the prospect that he may discover my secret. He’s under the impression I work at a bar and restaurant on Bainbridge Island. The commute would suck, and the hours would therefore be long and arduous. The perfect cover for the real hellhole I’m stuck in.

His frown deepens, the stubble across his cheeks and chin matching the hue of his hair. At least he kept his hair this time, although it grew back even more gray than last time he wentthrough chemo. I’m not disillusioned enough to think life should be fair, but a man like my father dying slowly after just getting me back feels like a fucking slap to the face.

“Eden Marie,” he threatens, and his tone still has the capacity to make me want to crawl into a hole and hide. I grin to disguise my nerves and fish for something to distract him.

“Are you still going to come to graduation?”

His eyes soften, and so does his smile.

“Of course, lovebug. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. As long as you’re still valedictorian?”

I roll my eyes, resting my chin on my knees, disgruntled but returning his smile. He’s filled with pride at my accomplishments, no matter how small I deem them. I was never the athlete he’d hoped, dance being my chosen route and one I put aside years ago. I threw myself into my studies and took every AP class I could wriggle my way into in the hopes that when he died, I'd have scholarships to pave my way to college and a better future.

Now, I’ll be at the circus until the debt of his death and dying is paid.

“Duh. But I told them I’m not making a speech.”

He glares.

“Why not?”

“Because,” I grumble, slipping my hands into the sleeves of my hoodie. “I don’t need anyone throwing rotten vegetables at me and booing.”

His eyes dance.

“They wouldn’t.”

“They would. They’re all assholes.”

“Because they’re too selfish to realize what a smart, beautiful young lady you are.”

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