“What’s in it for you?” I asked suspiciously.
“I’ve always w- . . . w-wanted to be a magician.”
“Then why don’t you put your own show together?”
Gabe shifted his weight. “My dad w- . . . w-wants me to go into a steadier line of w- . . . w-work. Find something more lucrative.”
I stared down my nose. “What is it your father does?”
“He owns a p- . . . p-pizza chain.” Gabe’s face turned crimson. He stared at his tattered sneakers. “He says I’ll never make it as a magician anyway if I can’t even spit out a line.”
Silence inched its way into the room and hovered uncomfortably. How many fathers had trampled the dreams of their children? Would it never stop? I gritted my teeth.
“What about your mother?”
He shrugged.
“As I recall, you had a younger brother,” I tried again. “Is he supportive?”
“W- . . . w-when it’s me and him, sure. Otherwise he goes along with w- . . . w-whatever Dad says.”
“Siblings are unreliable that way, aren’t they?” I said darkly.
He nodded at his shoes, chewing his lip.
“Well, in my experience parents rarely know what they’re talking about.”
Gabe peeked up, so unguardedly full of hope that it made my chest twinge. His face clouded. “I’m not the type of guy they p- . . . p- . . . let onstage.”
“Not so long ago women weren’t allowed onstage either,” I said evenly. “The only person who has the power to stop you from being what you want is you.” He broke out in a grin, and I had the rather merciless impulse to add, “You’re going to need a much thicker skin if you want to make it in show business.”
He nodded. “I want to learn the ropes as best I can.”
What was the responsible action here: give him a leg up or dissuade him from a life of rejection and setbacks? I recognized the fire in Gabe. Had Evie ever once tried to extinguish mine?
When he sensed my vacillation, he said, “B- . . . b-but I’m not asking for charity.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not the philanthropic sort.”
One “yes.” That was all he wanted. How long had I been saying I wanted to help others, to pass on all I had learned about the art of fearlessness? I had ambitions of effecting change on a grander scale, but perhaps I was putting the proverbial cart before the horse. I could practice with Gabe, loosen fear’s grip on him. I was far too intelligent to believe in chimerical concepts such as destiny, but I allowed for the occasional stroke of serendipity. What more fitting first pupil could I ask for than a boy under the thumb of his father?
“I’d work you to the bone. Your university classes would look like child’s play.”
He bobbed his head again. I watched him for a time, searching for a sign this was a mistake. I found him slightly annoying, a bootlicker, too cheerful and fawning. He was ignorant of social decorum. Possibly he would expect us to be friends or to share our feelings occasionally.
I strode to my purse on the makeup counter and pulled a business card from it anyway. When I turned around, standing in the doorway behind Gabe was my sister.
I started. She was wearing too much makeup in all the wrong places, leaving the resultant impression that she had recently returned from a hard day’s work in a coal mine. A grin stretched sloppily across her face.
“Sir left,” I said. Gabe turned to see whom I was addressing.
“I know,” Jack said. “I’m here to see you.”
I collected myself and handed Gabe my card. “Call me first thing Monday.”
He pumped my hand with the exuberance of a first-term politician. “You w- . . . w-won’t regret this. I promise.”
Oh, but I would. In my entire life I would never regret anything more.
19
Kit
JULY 2019
I SCANNED THE cafeteria. I had thirty minutes before my second one-on-one with Rebecca, but April and Georgina were both on cleaning duty.
At the farthest table I spotted Jeremiah. He was hunched over a booklet with a pencil in hand, whistling to himself. I approached tentatively, not wanting to be a bother. He was working on a crossword.
“Is it okay if I sit here?” I asked.
He glanced up. “Only if you help me with this puzzle.”
I grimaced, taking a seat across from him. “I’m hopeless at crosswords. Not smart enough.”
“I bet you’re smarter than you think.” He stuck the pencil behind his ear.
“Yeah? Would a genius almost burn down the cafeteria while using the microwave?” I reddened at the memory.