“I know,” Celia says. “You’re not destined or chosen, I wish I could tell you that you were if that would make it easier, but it’s not true. You’re in the right place at the right time, and you care enough to do what needs to be done. Sometimes that’s enough.”
As he watches her in the flickering light, it strikes Bailey suddenly that she is a fair deal older than she appears, and that the same is likely true of Marco. It is like realizing someone in a photograph is no longer the same age as they were when it was taken, and they seem farther away because of it. The circus itself feels far away, even though he stands within it. As though it is falling away from him.
“All right,” Bailey says, but Celia holds up a transparent hand to stop him before he agrees.
“Wait,” Celia says. “This is important. I want you to have something neither of us truly had. I want you to have a choice. You can agree to this or you can walk away. You are not obliged to help, and I don’t want you to feel that you are.”
“What happens if I walk away?” Bailey asks. Celia looks at Marco before she answers.
They only look at each other without speaking, but the gesture is so intimate that Bailey glances away, looking up at the twisting branches of the tree.
“It won’t last,” Celia says after a moment. She does not elaborate, turning back to Bailey as she continues. “I know this is a great deal to request from you, but I do not have anyone else to ask.”
Suddenly the candles on the tree begin to spark. Some of them darken, curls of smoke replacing the bright flames only momentarily before disappearing themselves.
Celia wavers, and for a moment Bailey thinks she might faint, but Marco steadies her.
“Celia, love,” Marco says, running his hand over her hair. “You are the strongest person I have ever known. You can hold on for a while longer, I know you can.”
“I’m sorry,” Celia says.
Bailey cannot tell which one of them she is speaking to.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Marco says.
Celia holds tightly to his hand.
“What would happen to the two of you, if the circus … stopped?” Bailey asks.
“Truthfully, I’m not entirely certain,” Celia says.
“Nothing good,” Marco mutters.
“What would you need me to do?” Bailey asks.
“I need you to finish something I started,” Celia says. “I … I acted rather impulsively and played my cards out of order. And now there is the matter of the bonfire as well.”
“The bonfire?” Bailey asks.
“Think of the circus as a machine,” Marco says. “The bonfire is one of the things that powers it.”
“There are two things that need to happen,” Celia says. “First, the bonfire needs to be lit. That will … power half the circus.”
“What about the other half?” Bailey asks.
“That’s more complicated,” Celia says. “I carry that with me. And I would have to give that to you.”
“Oh.”
“You would then carry it with you,” Celia says. “All of the time. You’d be tied very tightly to the circus itself. You could leave, but not for extended periods of time. I do not know if you would be able to give it to someone else. It would be yours. Always.”
It is only then that Bailey realizes the scope of the commitment he is being asked for.
It is not the handful of years committed to Harvard. It is, he thinks, an even greater commitment than inheriting responsibility for the family farm.
He looks from Marco to Celia, and knows from the look in her eyes that she will let him go if he asks to leave, no matter what that might mean for them or for the circus.
He thinks of a litany of questions but none of them truly matter.
He knows his answer already.
His choice was made when he was ten years old, under a different tree, bound up in acorns and dares and a single white glove.
He will always choose the circus.
“I’ll do it,” he says. “I’ll stay. I’ll do whatever it is you need me to do.”
“Thank you, Bailey,” Celia says softly. The words resonating in his ears soothe the last of his nerves.
“Indeed,” Marco says. “I think we should make this official.”
“Do you think that’s absolutely necessary?” Celia asks.
“At this point I’m not about to settle for a verbal contract,” Marco says. Celia frowns for a moment but then nods her consent, and Marco carefully lets go of her hand. She stays steady and her appearance does not waver.
“Do you want me to sign something?” Bailey asks.
“Not exactly,” Marco says. He takes a silver ring from his right hand, it is engraved with something Bailey cannot discern in the light. Marco reaches up to a branch above his head and passes the ring through one of the burning candles until it glows, white and hot.
Bailey wonders whose wish that particular flame might be.
“I made a wish on this tree years ago,” Marco says, as though he knows what Bailey is thinking.
“What did you wish for?” Bailey asks, hoping it is not too forward a question, but Marco does not answer.
Instead, he folds the glowing ring into his palm, and then he offers his hand to Bailey.