Touch the Stars (15 page)

Over their pizza Stephen conceded, "I want your good wishes, Juliana."

"You have those," she said, meaning it.

"And your confidence."

She thought for a moment, remembering Stephen's mastery of the cable on that morning when she had secretly watched him greeting the sunrise.

"I have confidence in you," she said slowly and with a certain amount of surprise at herself.

Stephen grinned a radiant grin. "Then that is all I want."

"I would never try to undermine you, Stephen. You must know that." She spoke earnestly, wondering how all her barriers seemed to fall away when she and Stephen were face to face, talking.

He swallowed a piece of pizza and washed it down with beer. "I know. How long will it be until you can give me your active enthusiasm?"

"That's a lot to ask."

"Juliana,
why
can't you move on from what happened in the Superdome so long ago? The others have forgotten."

"Because I am not the others!" she gritted through clenched teeth. "It was different for me!"

"Because you were not on the wire that night? Is that why?"

She paled. "I—I—"

"You were not on the wire and you feel guilty, don't you? Because you weren't up there with the others."

"Stop it," she begged. "You don't know what happened; you don't know anything about it. You weren't there!"

"But the others were, Juliana. Shall I speak to them about it?"

"No," she whispered, feeling faint. "Please don't. You wouldn't, would you?"

His heart melted at the sight of her looking so hurt, so guilty.

"I would never do anything to hurt you," he said solemnly. "We are friends."

"Friends," she repeated dully.
Friends,
she thought.
And there's one other little detail that neither of us has mentioned. We also love each other.
It was the first time she had admitted to herself that she loved him. The thought made her miserable, because loving Stephen Andrassy promised nothing but a life of heart-wrenching sadness. What was the matter with her? Why had she let love happen to her?

"Check, please," Stephen said to the waitress. As they waited for it, he leaned across the table.

"If you ever want to talk about that night in New Orleans, Juliana, I will be happy to listen. It seems to me that you have not talked of it enough."

"I haven't ever," she said unhappily.

"If you ever want to," he repeated, "remember that I am your friend."

Much more than my friend,
she thought. But she said, "I'll remember," but she knew that she would never want to talk about that long-ago night in New Orleans. To anyone.

Chapter 8

The others were beginning to notice the strain between Julie and Stephen. Paul even mentioned it.

"I'm worried about you, Julie," he said one evening when they were at the barbecue pit overseeing the cooking of hamburgers for the family dinner.

"Oh?" Julie said, concentrating on turning the meat. "Why is that?"

"You've been quiet ever since you've been on the farm. That's not the way I remember you, Julie. You were always so bubbly, so full of life."

"You and I haven't spent much time together since the days when we performed on the wire, Paul." She made a great effort to keep her voice even.

"That's true." He paused as though considering what he was going to say.

"Julie," he went on, "It's inevitable now. So if you've been hoping that they might give up the idea, you might as well stop thinking it." His voice was quiet but firm.

Julie sighed. "I know. But it's hard for me, being here on the farm with all of them and watching the preparations. If it weren't for Nonna, I wouldn't have come."

"You and Nonna—is she getting to be too much for you?"

Julie glanced up at him, surprised at his perceptiveness.

"She hasn't been well, of course. But I love her so much. She's really dear, and we live together happily. Or at least we did before Stephen came." The last sentence tumbled out before she could stop it, and she immediately regretted her words.

"Do you resent him so much, Julie?" Paul seemed genuinely concerned.

"I—I—" She couldn't answer this. Yes, she resented Stephen. But she also loved him. There was no way to explain this to her cousin. Or even to herself.

"I watched your face the night Stephen told us he was going to walk the Gorge. You turned chalk-white. You're really upset, aren't you?"

"I've seen the Gorge," she said. "The sandstone walls seem to bend. It makes you lose your perspective. One look down and a person could become dizzy. It's not like walking a wire anywhere else. The Gorge is a place where it would be all too easy to lose your bearings."

"Stephen knows what he's doing. He'll make it. I don't have any doubt about his ability to complete a successful crossing. If I did, I wouldn't have agreed to set up the rigging."

The spatula clattered as Julie dropped it.
"You,
Paul? You're going to do the rigging?"

Paul nodded. "We all are, the male members of the family—Michael, Albert and me. Stephen needs people he can trust to oversee the placing of the cavallettis, to work the winches, and to check the anchors. Stephen can't be everywhere at once."

"Dear Lord, am I the only one who thinks this is crazy? Am I the only one who thinks this is wrong?" Shaking her head in disbelief, Julie backed away from the grill and stood with her fists clenched as though to do battle with anyone of a different opinion.

"You're probably not the only one in the world who feels that way, Julie, but it's a sure thing you're the only one of the Andrassys who does."

"The Andrassys, the Andrassys! I'm sick of hearing about the Andrassys!" Julie whirled and ran inside the house.

Paul had always been so calm, so reasonable. Besides Julie, he was the only able Andrassy who had refused to go back on the wire. And even he thought she was wrong to feel the way she did!

After that, her family took on a different character when she was around. Julie was not immune to conversations that hushed when she walked into the room, to references to practice that were glossed over when she was present. Where the Andrassys once might have been uninhibited in talking about their art, they were now subdued, even evasive. Julie knew that a conspiracy to protect her delicate sensibilities was afoot among members of the family, and that Paul had probably instigated it. They were doing it out of love, she knew, but it only made her feel uncomfortable. If only everyone would act more natural around her!

The Fourth of July intervened to provide a release from the tension.

"Fireworks!" said Mickey.

"Sparklers!" said Tonia.

Claire planned a Fourth chock-full of family activities that would all take place on the farm.

"That's good," Stephen said. "Because we must practice every day of that weekend but the Fourth itself."

"I will make my potato-and-cucumber salad," declared Nonna, and Claire asked Julie to be in charge of entertainment for this special day.

"Entertainment?" Julie asked, looking askance.

"Games and things," Claire said airily.

Excitement about the Fourth infected everyone in the family.

"I can hardly wait," Tonia confided to Julie one day as they were shucking corn together on the back porch.

"Tell you what, Tonia," Julie said, bending down to speak to the little girl at her own level. "You can make a bunch of those calico bags you sew so well. And we'll stuff them with dried beans for the bean-bag toss. Okay?" Tonia nodded happily and skipped away to begin sewing, and when Julie straightened, she was face-to-face with Stephen.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are very good with children?" he said pleasantly. His smile invited further conversation.

But Julie, taken by surprise, said something like, "Um, well, yes. Er, no." She fled, feeling like a fool. All Stephen had done was pay her a compliment, and she had fallen apart. She couldn't even speak two words in sequence; he must think she was a prize idiot.

As for Stephen, he believed that she cared for him more than she was willing to admit, and he cautioned himself to remain patient. Only if Julie trusted him and felt comfortable would she ever confide in him, but lately she seemed uneasy around everyone.

All the Andrassys were awake early on the Fourth. Julie brushed aside the curtain of her room to see puffs of cotton-candy clouds dotting a china-blue sky, and she greeted the holiday with almost as much enthusiasm as she had when she was a child. In those days, all available Andrassys spent the Fourth together, usually staging their own big picnic.

After breakfast, Julie tacked her schedule of events on the front of the refrigerator with a magnet.

"Ten o'clock—three-legged race," Sam read, standing in front of the refrigerator and munching on a doughnut.

"Eleven o'clock—sack race," Eric said. "I bet I can win that one."

"What time is the beanbag toss?" Tonia wanted to know.

At that point, Stephen rushed into the kitchen.

"I haven't missed anything, have I?"

"No, but where have you been?" chorused the children.

"Down at the meadow, practicing."

"I thought you said I should never practice on the wire by myself. You said I should always have someone there in case I fall," Sam said.

"It is different for me," Stephen said.

"Is it?" Julie asked pointedly. "Is it?"

Stephen shot Julie a sharp look. He hoped that she wasn't going to ruin their holiday. She wouldn't do it intentionally, but—

The kids, caught up in the excitement of the day, all disappeared at once, leaving Stephen and Julie alone in the kitchen.

Julie put a carton of milk back into the refrigerator. Stephen opened the refrigerator and took it out again. He poured some into a glass.

Julie closed the box of doughnuts and set them on a cupboard shelf. Stephen opened the cupboard and took the doughnuts out again.

Julie dropped a box of eggs. It flew open and eggs spattered all over the kitchen floor. She looked down at the slimy whites and yolks smearing the clean vinyl tile and covered her face with her hands. She burst into tears.

She heard Stephen toss the broken egg shells into the garbage container, and he went about cleaning up the mess.

"It is more than eggs, is it not?" he asked quietly after her tears had stopped. Julie breathed damply through her fingers. She pressed her fingertips into her eyeballs, willing the tears not to start again.

"Yes," she said at last.

"Juliana, don't keep everything pent up inside. You're like a walking time bomb. We all tiptoe around you, careful not to say anything, careful not to do anything to upset Julie. We are on guard all the time. How long can you expect a family to go on like that?"

Shocked at the accusatory tone in his voice, Julie dropped her hands and stared at him. She had never heard Stephen speak in anything but his own gentle fashion.

He passed a hand over his eyes as though just realizing what he had said.

"I'm sorry," he said heavily. He started out of the room.

"Stephen," Julie said urgently. "Wait!"

He turned slowly, eyebrows lifted.

"I—I don't want you to be so considerate of me. I wish you would all act normal."

He looked at her for a long time before he spoke, words pouring out in a torrent. "Juliana, if we acted normal, we would talk freely about our work. We would speak of Tallulah Gorge. No one wants to cause the angry expression on your face when we mention those things. No one wants to be responsible for making your skin go pale, for making you run out of the room."

Julie understood that Stephen was telling her how he felt about something that was very important to him. She longed to respond in kind, but all she could do was stare mutely.

"It is all right, Juliana. I know you can't help it. Come, I will help you get ready for the—what is it?" He consulted the list on the refrigerator. "Yes, the three-legged race."

"You don't have to," she murmured, brushing a tear from her cheek.