That night, Berk whispered up to me from the bunk below, “Did you have a good day.”

The stars were out bright and I’d been watching for planes.

I didn’t think she was awake.

Did I have a good day? I’d been trying not to think about it.

My eyes started to water. “It was okay,” I said.

She was quiet.

Then she said, “I hate day care.”

I nodded to myself. I’d hate it, too.

“They don’t have art like we do,” she said. “Just stupid coloring books.”

I nodded again, a tear slipping down my cheek.

“And the lady told me that no one puts chips in their tuna sandwiches so I wasn’t allowed.”

“Just a plain sandwich then?”

“I put some in anyway,” she said. “It felt more like home.”

I laughed.

Then she said, “How long do I have to go?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

She was quiet then.

For a long time.

People were laughing outside. Someone yelled. A truck drove by. The usual.

She said, “Did the HOA say they were doing any parties for the neighborhood?”

I sighed. Ugh. Blah. No.

But instead I said, “Yes. They want us to plan a summer bash.”

“Really?” she said. “Us?”

I closed my eyes. Tight. “Really.”

“What kind of bash?”

What kind what kind what kind what kind?

“Uh, they want like a circus.”

She gasped. “A circus?”

I smiled. “Not a real circus, you know, but like entertainment and popcorn and lemonade.”

“And cotton candy,” she said. “Sadie and Jane have been to Ringling Brothers and she said they got cotton candy.”

“For sure,” I said. “Maybe we could rent one of those machines,” and even as I said it, I knew I should stop. Say, “Just kidding.” Say, “Ha-ha.” Say, say, anything but tell her no. There would be no circus.

None.

Nope.

But then I didn’t and Berkeley she kept going. “I bet I could tightrope.” There were people over at the softball park lately who put up a kind of rope between two trees and practiced walking and doing tricks on it. Berkeley and I had watched them for hours one day.

“You could.”

“And you can juggle.”

“Not really,” I said. I’d tried a few times with oranges.

She got quiet then and I got quiet then.

The night filled our room and I suddenly felt alone. And cold. And no one.

Like who cares?

Who cares?

No one cares.

Just me and Berk.

Alone.

Then out of the darkness she whispered, “I love you, Livy.”

I really started crying then. We never said things like that and I don’t know why but we never did.

“Liv?” she said, because I was taking too long to try not to sob. “Are you still awake?”

I took a long breath, wiped my nose and my eyes. Then I said to my sweet little sister, “I love you, too,” I said.

Then she said, “What if we pray.”

“What if we what?” I said.

“What if we pray that it will work out?”

What will work out? I wondered. What did she want to work out? No more school for me? No more day care for her? Mom and Dad? Our family? What did she want?

What did I want?

Then she said, “What if we pray that we really can have a circus.”

I laughed. “I think that’s a good idea.”

And she said, “I’ll start now.”

..............

Dear Dad,

There is a man named Steve Fossett. He disappeared. And then they found out he was dead.

I still want to go get waffles with you. Berk and I and Mom miss you. Please come back.

We might be doing a circus. Maybe you could come help us.

Love,
Olivia

P.S. If you are not getting these letters, I wish I knew.

..............