Chapter 54 Overrun the Circus
overrun the circus
Sariah
A week has come and gone. The last vestiges of my worst bruises remain and have melted into a sickly yellow.
Renée’s concussion is no longer a threat. But that child with a cast is. She wields it like a shield. Or, worse, a weapon. I swear she’s knocked the paint off the walls with some of her near misses with corners. How did I never see that before?
Cian arranged during our week of rest and recovery for everything from our house to be moved into a pod. That box now sits in his driveway, conveniently blocking my car in.
He brought in professional cleaners to give it a once over and have it ready for Freddie’s arrival. He worked up the leasing agreement which basically says if the man breathes wrong in my house, he’ll be homeless and penniless. It also says that it’s Renée’s official address for school purposes.
We’re not lie-to-the-government people.
Then again, maybe we are.
On Tuesday, after a day with Ayla at her favorite spa, I came home to Renée fully settled into her bedroom.
By fully settled, I mean, they’d painted the walls a rich almost hot pink.
She had a new comforter that was a minty green with baby pink and hot pink accents.
There was a new rug, all her clothes hung in the closet, and a television was mounted on the wall above her dresser.
I had enough massage after-glow to not feel left out of the fun.
I spent most afternoons that week at Rosie’s. The girls had had enough time to decompress from the terror of the full moon ceremony and know enough that another comes again in two weeks.
Seeing my daughter and these girls in the same room was a moment of what is versus what could have been. The difference in a real life and a half life, the real world and a contrived one.
She’s getting to know them and they her.
I don’t want her to have relationships built on trauma bonds, but I do want her to know what moving and all our new beginnings were for.
And I want her to know no matter my crazy, I want more for her than what I had, that my crazy rules were always for her good.
That I did—and am doing—the best I can.
And despite the war in my soul over it, I gave them the choice. I wanted it to be a woman who returned to them the power that had been taken from them. I wanted to put control back in their hands, even if those hands had less information, and less wisdom, than I have.
I told them everything. Every damn thing. And then I gave them a choice and told them to think on it and discuss it amongst themselves. Bring their questions to Rosie or hold them for me. We’d answer honestly.
So here I sit, in Rosie’s living room, with four innocent girls, my daughter, and my mom for all intents and purposes.
“I failed you,” I start and the looks of confusion that greet me give me courage to go on.
“I realized when I left that I didn’t give you all your choices.
I made it seem like you only had two options—choose to draw Jonas here or not.
But there are more. You have the option to stay in Denver, create a life, go to school.
And—” I exhale because I hate this one. “You have the option to go home to South Dakota and return to Promised Land.”
Rosie gasps. “Why?” If looks could kill, I’d be eviscerated.
I turn and speak only to her but do it loud enough that it’s no secret to those in the room.
“You saved me, Rosie. You helped me out of a life I hated and set my feet on the path that even in my wildest dreams I couldn’t have imagined.
But I chose that. I want them to get to choose.
Even if it isn’t what I would pick. Just like Ruth made a choice.
I have an opinion, but it’s their lives, and they have agency. ”
“I want a belly button ring.” My daughter looks at me with challenge in her gaze, testing every boundary I have… And my very last nerve.
“When you’re eighteen, go for it.” My voice is sickly sweet, but she knows the steel behind it. She chose the wrong time to test me.
“What’s a belly button ring?” one of the girls asks, and I swear the monkeys of my life have overrun the circus.
Discussion begins in earnest about piercings—where and how, jewelry, and fucking bodily autonomy. My daughter is too smart and too savvy. I love it, all the while it challenges me.
Eventually we circle back to the matter at hand. One by one, the girls all decide they’d rather be here than go back to South Dakota, though the meekest one cries when she says it. She’s scared, misses her brother, and is overwhelmed by the world outside of the compound.
A little freedom goes a long way.
Cian
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. No need to repeat it,” Liam says, his fingers hitting the keys of his laptop in the background. “In your inbox now.”
“So, it’s over?”
“Guess so.”
“Just like that?”
“Asking again won’t change the facts.”
“So?”
“So, Ayla’s in Greece. You have shit to do. I’m going for a ride.” Always so succinct.
“Where’re you headed?”
“Montana.”
“For how long?”
“Until I satisfy the itch.”
“Be safe and check in?”
“Yep.”
Pulling my phone away from my ear, I toggle to my email. Sure as shit, it’s right there.
I shake my head like I’m dreaming and it’ll change if I look again. It doesn’t. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Are you serious?” Renée asks loudly as she walks in the door. She adds, “Hi, Ci. Hi, Ellie,” as she crouches down to scratch my girl’s ears.
Oh, what a difference four months makes. My bestest girl is no longer my only girl. She has a sister who dotes on her and Sariah who spoils her when she thinks I don’t notice. She has a houseful of humans and activity and still gets to hike, though Ayla’s pace has slowed way down.
“Oh, I’m serious all right. Hand it over.” She extends a palm.
With a whine and foot stamp, Renée plops her phone in her mom’s palm and stomps all the way down the hall mumbling something about unfair double-standards.
“What happened?”
“My daughter—” She shoots her eyes down the hall as if she can laser the teenager into submission with just a gaze. “Decided that our discussion of autonomy and choice with the girls was a good time to demand a belly button ring.”
I fight the smirk that plays on my lips but lose. “She’s cunning, you know. Truly brilliant.”
“I know.” She smiles. “I was horrified.”
“But secretly impressed?”
“Absolutely. Not that I can tell her that. It led to an entire conversation about what can be pierced, where it can be pierced and why.” She bugs her eyes out.
“Totally derailed my thing with the girls, who all—every single one—decided they want to stay in Denver. All but one is willing to be leveraged to draw out Jonas. All but one doesn’t work, you know? So we need to figure out what’s next.”
“Nothing’s next.”
“Oh, something’s next. I’m not having a belly button piercing conversation with another set of girls in the next year. Or worse.” She scurries around the island and pulls open the fridge, grabbing a fizzy water and popping it open.
“Nothing’s next,” I repeat and hand her my phone.
She smacks the can onto the island and slaps a hand over her mouth as her butt hits the floor. “Is this real? How? When?” Tears flow and I can’t tell if they’re relief or sadness or some mixture of both. If I had to guess, I’d say both.
“I just found out. It’s real. The how I don’t know. The when is sometime last week.”
Her eyes hit mine. She drops the phone and screams.
Renée comes running, Eleanor hot on her heels. “What? What happened?”
“Promised Land Ranch caught fire, not just caught fire, but burned to the ground. It appears that Jonas started it to get out of a DOJ investigation into tax fraud but got caught up in the blaze.”
“What’s tax fraud?”
“Lying on your taxes to the IRS,” Sariah explains.
“And he burned it down?” Renée asks.
If I had to guess, I’d say no. It wasn’t Jonas who burned it down, but I’ll never utter those words. Instead, I say, “It’s over.”
“Oh.” Renée plops next to her mom, throwing an arm over her shoulder and speaking quietly. “You did it. We’re free.”
“We’re free,” Sariah repeats, patting her daughter’s hand.
She looks up into my eyes as her daughter burrows into her side and mouths two words—thank you.