A nurse came in and checked Lara’s IV bag and wiped something across her forehead that beeped. The chills had subsided for a while, but now they were coming on in waves again. The woman loaded another IV bag behind the nearly empty one. A violent chill rocked Lara and then she was drowsy again.
At the darkest point, when she felt herself swinging on the trapeze, then letting go, with no visible net beneath her, Lara was reassured by the familiar touch and voice of her mother. When she opened her eyes, she found Audrey’s warm hand on her face but nodded off only to wake later and find the room empty.
At one point, Lara’s fever had spiked to 41.1 degrees Celsius. The doctors were looking for viruses, a brain bleed, sepsis, but found no cause. Nurses pushed IVs, cool baths, and dantrolene injections.
Ben was the first to spy Audrey coming out of Lara’s hospital room. From the grim look on Audrey’s face, he expected the worst possible news.
“Ben,” she said with a wan smile. He could see she had been crying.
“Audrey.” He was ready to offer to help, be useful, help make funeral arrangements. As he assembled these tasks in his mind, a hole began to form deep inside him. Lara couldn’t be gone, not before they’d ever started. He wasn’t prepared for this. The lack of sleep, lack of food, travel—everything from the last three days—compounded and he found himself wiping tears away.
“She’ll be fine,” said Audrey wearily. She took his hand and held it firmly.
For hours, they sat, side by side, in plastic chairs, silent. Then Lara’s fever broke and then stayed down on its own, for the first time. It would take another eight hours for her to fully regain consciousness.
But there was something about Audrey’s manner that unnerved him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was shock, but he couldn’t shake the idea that Lara had only improved after her mother had arrived. Audrey had been the catalyst.
Ben filled Audrey in on the composition books when Barrow and Gaston returned to the hospital. The three took turns briefing her, correcting one another with more accurate interpretations. The best Ben and Gaston could figure was that, in 1926, the real Cecile Cabot, weakened from childbirth, fell from the trapeze and died. Just as she’d promised, Sylvie took Margot and ran, posing as Cecile Cabot for the remainder of her life.
Audrey absorbed all of this news with a stoicism that surprised Ben. They’d uncovered a hidden secret about the woman who had raised her, yet Audrey sat on the chair, expressionless. In her features he could see Lara years from now. He tried to think of Jason’s and Audrey’s features blending into Lara’s—the fair hair, big green eyes, and upturned nose—but he didn’t see any of Jason. Except for her raspy voice, Lara definitely took after her mother. Still, Ben couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong with Audrey. Instead of being relieved that her daughter’s fever had broken, he couldn’t help but think that she was mourning something.
Audrey got up and walked over to the window. “I never should have let her come here.”
Gaston put his hand on her shoulder. “You couldn’t have stopped this. If the circus wanted her, they’d have found a way to get her. And she would have gone, Audrey. You know that.”
Audrey nodded absently.
Ben knew what Gaston had said was true. Of course Lara would have gone.
At noon, Ben decided to go to his hotel. Before he left, he stopped by Lara’s room, not asking anyone, Audrey or the nurses, if it was okay. He needed to see her. To his surprise, he found her lying there with her eyes open. A feeling of dread washed over him. The fever had been too high for too long. The doctors had warned them that there was a chance that a seizure may have caused brain damage.
“I’m not dead.” It was her voice, raspier than usual, but the tone was pure Lara. “So quit looking at me like that.”
It was the Lara he knew, the one from Delilah’s. Ben felt he could collapse, right there in front of her, in a mixture of relief and exhaustion.
“You need to get me out of here.” She focused on him. Her eyes were bright, but she looked tired, her skin translucent. He’d seen her bad before—at the beginning with Todd. The IVs had made her puffy, but he was so grateful to see that she was demanding things. “Ben? Did you hear me?”
“I’m just so happy to see you’re okay—”
“You don’t understand,” she cut in, studying her hospital gown. “We have to get out of here. I’m not safe here.”
“Let me get Audrey,” said Ben, holding up a finger.
“My mother is here?”
“Lara, you’ve been in and out of consciousness for days. Of course she’s here.” For a moment, he wondered if something terrible had, indeed, addled her brain. There were flashes of rehabilitation centers and fears of a stroke, but to his amazement she was pulling at her covers with the dexterity of someone who was at least physically able.
“Ben? Is something wrong with you?”
“No.” He was surprised at her clarity and focus.
“Did you hear me?” She looked around the room. “I’m assuming, given the explosion of French signs saying SALLE D’ATTENTE, that we are still in France? I’m not safe. Tell my mother we need to go home now.”
He sat down on the chair next to her. “Can you just wait until the doctor sees you before you flee? You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
She snorted and looked at the wall, like she was contemplating something.
The door pushed open. “I heard noise in here,” said Audrey, peeking her head in.
“Mother,” said Lara. “Oh, thank God.”
Audrey put her hands to her face and began to cry. “You’re really okay.”
“Of course I’m okay.” Lara looked at both of them. “We have to get home,”
