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Right. Of course. I’d let the moment get away from me. I’d let my thoughts wander too far. She guides me through the fairground to a tiny trailer where the ringmaster waits for us, his mustache curling with a bit of sweat. Hard work, running a show.
“Hello, Mr. Valenti. I’m Everly Rosewood,” she says, sticking out a hand. “We emailed.”
“Of course,” Victor says, shaking hands, as jovial as hewas onstage. He turns to me. “You must be Max Lambert. The hockey guy, right?”
“That’s me,” I say.
“Everly says you’re pretty good on the ice. I’m more of a theater man myself but if you ever do tricks on skates, let me know.”
And there’s a first time for everything. I was just invited to join the circus. “Thanks. I will. Great show,” I say, working on being nicer, more approachable, more outgoing, so I add, “Do you all, um, train and study in the circus arts?”
Is that even what it’s called? I have no idea, but it sounds plausible.
“We do. I come from a long line of circus artists. Seventh generation myself,” he says, puffing out his chest with well-earned pride, and as we chat more about his family, Everly snaps some pics of us. I guess she was prepared after all.
“And what about you, Max? Does your family do hockey?” he asks.
“Actually, my parents are teachers,” I say.
That seems to catch his interest. “What do they teach?”
“Dad is a drama teacher and Mom teaches dance. That’s how they met—they had to share space at a little theater in Seattle where he was directing a play, and she was putting on a recital. Been together ever since. And they teach together, too, at a performing arts school in the Bay Area.”
“It's lovely that they work together.”
“Yeah, it really is. More than thirty years married and still going strong. Honestly, I’m just glad they don’t mindwatching me play hockey now and then,” I say, then shrug, almost apologetically, “even though it’s not a play or musical.”
“I’m sure they don’t mind it one bit,” he says, like a proud dad too. “I always like seeing what my kids love. Fortunately, I get to see them juggle every day.”
“They’re the jugglers?” I ask, a little amazed in spite of myself.
“They are,” he says, proudly.
“No shit. That’s awesome,” I say.
“I think so too,” he says.
We wrap up a few minutes later and once we’re in the Lyft, Everly lifts her chin and says, “I was right.”
“About what?”
“Circuses are your favorite thing.”
I scoff. “They’re not. I’m not a circus guy.”
The smirk doesn’t disappear from her face. “But you’re wrong.”
“I think I know what my favorite things are, sunshine.”
She turns to face me with that trump-card smile. “Do you?”
“I sure do, and they’re not circuses.”
“But you like your family. And you liked talking to Mr. Valenti abouthisfamily. So, really, it was no hardship going to the circus. In fact, you enjoyed chatting with him about your parents. So that’s another real favorite thing.”
Holy. Fuck.
Forget evil genius. She is next level. I can’t even be annoyed. I’m too impressed with how she plays the game.
