Mirabelle frowned, wiping Sienna’s cheek with her thumb when a tear spilled from her eye. “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry.” An expression flitted over her pretty face, part sadness, part anger, but then she set her lips together, tilting her head as she thought. “When is the party?”
“Today,” Sienna said, taking a deep breath as the sharpness of the misery lessened. She still felt disappointed, but she was here, in Mirabelle’s neat and orderly trailer, being listened to as though her pain mattered. She’d only come to her for comfort. She knew Mirabelle didn’t have a lot of money either. She worked as the assistant to a magician named Argus, a kindhearted Greek man who called Sienna “Siennoulla” and brought homemade baklava to Mirabelle sometimes in a white box with a black ribbon, which Sienna and Gavin gorged themselves on until their stomachs were stuffed and their lips were coated in honey. Their show wasn’t that popular, though, and barely paid the bills. But Argus said that the joy it brought to their audiences was worth far more than riches.
Sienna knew that to be a little white lie since he let Gavin, who was amazing at cards, play online poker under his name and split the profits, a fact they kept from Mirabelle. Sienna didn’t like keeping secrets from Mirabelle, but she also knew that the extra money Argus told her had come from ticket sales and put into her earnings lessened Mirabelle’s stress and allowed them to pay all their bills, even if there wasn’t much left over at the end of the month.
Sienna was old enough now to know that the tricks they performed were just that, but she couldn’t help watching them practice with pure delight in her heart and a gasp on her lips when an act went just right.
There was something enchanting and beautiful about the choreography alone when it came to a perfectly executed show.
“Today . . . ,” Mirabelle repeated. Sienna opened her mouth to speak, but Mirabelle grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me. I have an idea.”
“An idea? Mirabelle . . .” Mirabelle pulled her into her bedroom at the back of the trailer. She let go of Sienna’s hand and stepped up to a dresser next to the door. This room smelled even more strongly of lily of the valley, and her bed featured a quilt of yellow roses. Mirabelle opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out a small wooden box. She opened it and reached inside, and Sienna noticed a stack of photos, but Mirabelle covered them with her hand before Sienna had a chance to see who they were of. Her family? Mirabelle didn’t ever talk about her family. She didn’t have any pictures hung—except of Gavin—and she and Gavin never had any relatives over for holidays or anything else, but maybe she’d had a falling-out with them.
Sienna wanted to ask, but she also didn’t want to invade Mirabelle’s privacy.
Mirabelle brought something out of the box and held it up. Sienna blinked. It was a beautiful, delicate silver bracelet with pale-purple stones. “Do you think your friend would like this?”
Sienna’s gaze flew to Mirabelle’s. “Like it? Oh yes, but I couldn’t—”
“You can, and you will.” Mirabelle took Sienna’s hand and pressed the bracelet into it. Without letting go of her closed fist, Mirabelle looked down, seeming to be considering what she was about to say. “I know I haven’t spoken of Gavin’s father,” she started haltingly, meeting Sienna’s curious gaze, “but he was not a nice man, Sienna. He was violent and cruel, and so I took Gavin and I left him.”
“Oh,” Sienna breathed. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice small.
But Mirabelle smiled. “Don’t be sorry, love. I’m not. Our life is better without him.” But something shifted slightly in her expression, as though she wasn’t entirely sure of what she said.
“And . . . and you have Argus,” Sienna said, wanting to make the haunted look in Mirabelle’s eyes disappear.
Mirabelle’s worried frown transformed into a gentle smile. “Yes. Yes, I have Argus.”
Mirabelle let go of her hand, and Sienna opened it, the bracelet catching the light and sparkling up at her. “It’s not an expensive piece,” Mirabelle said, her words rushed. “But more than that, it has . . . difficult memories attached to it. I should have given it away long ago.” She stared at it, appearing troubled for a few moments before seeming to catch herself, her smile brightening. “It must be fate that I kept it and that it should belong to Amybeth. Let it make new memories. Good ones.”