“Good for my heart,” Max told us. “Good for pumping the blood—all that stair-climbing,” he said, and whacked his stringy gray chest with his damaged hand. But we thought that Max would go to great lengths to keep as far from Mrs. Urick as possible; he would even climb stairs—he would pee and wash in anything. He claimed to be “handy,” and when he wasn’t helping Mrs. Urick in the kitchen he was supposed to be fixing things. “Everything from toilets to locks!” he claimed; he could click his tongue like a key turning in a lock, and he could make a terrible whooshing sound—like the tiny fourth-floor toilets in the Hotel New Hampshire sending their matter on an awesome, long voyage.
“What’s the second advance booking?” I asked Father.
We knew there’d be a Dairy School graduation weekend, in the spring; and maybe a big hockey-game weekend in the winter. But the small, if steady, visits from parents of students at the Dairy School would hardly require any booking in advance.
“Graduation, right?” Franny asked. But Father shook his head.
“A giant wedding!” Lilly cried, and we stared at her.
“Whose wedding?” Frank asked.
“I don’t know,” Lilly said. “But a giant one—a really big one. The biggest wedding in New England.”
We never knew where Lilly thought up the things she thought up; Mother looked worriedly at her, then she spoke to Father.
“Don’t be secretive,” she said. “We all want to know: what’s the second advance booking?”
“It’s not until summer,” he said. “There’s a lot of time to get ready for it. We have to concentrate on the Exeter weekend. First things first.”
“It’s probably a convention for the blind,” Franny said to Frank and me, when we were walking to our classes in the morning.
“Or a leprosy clinic,” I said.
“It will be all right,” Frank said, worriedly.
We didn’t take the path through the woods behind the practice field anymore. We walked straight across the soccer fields, sometimes throwing our apple cores into the goals, or else we walked down the main path that bisected the campus dormitories. We were concerned that we continue to avoid Iowa Bob’s backfield; none of us wanted to be caught alone with Chipper Dove. We hadn’t told Father of the incident—Frank had asked Franny and me not to tell him.
“Mother already knows,” Frank told us. “I mean, she knows I’m queer.”
This surprised Franny and me only for a moment; when we thought of it, it made perfect sense, really. If you had a secret, Mother would keep it; if you wanted a democratic debate, and a family discussion lasting for hours, maybe weeks—perhaps months—then you brought up whatever it was with Father. He was not very patient with secrets, although he was being silent enough about his second advance booking.
“It’s going to be a meeting of all the great writers and artists of Europe,” Lilly guessed, and Franny and I kicked each other under the table and rolled our eyes; our eyes said: Lilly is weird, and Frank is queer, and Egg is only six. Our eyes said: We’re all alone in this family—just the two of us.
“It’s going to be the circus,” said Egg.
“How’d you know?” Father snapped at him.
“Oh no, Win,” Mother said. “It is a circus?”
“Just a little one,” Father said.
“Not the descendants of P.T. Barnum?” said Iowa Bob.
“Of course not,” Father said.
“The King Brothers!” Frank said; he had a King Brothers tiger-act poster in his room.
“No, I mean really small,” Father said. “A sort of private circus.”
“One of those second-rate ones, you mean,” Coach Bob said.
“Not the kind with freaky animals!” Franny said.
“Certainly not,” said Father.
“What do you mean, ‘freaky animals’?” Lilly asked.
“Horses with not enough legs,” said Frank. “A cow with an extra head—growing out of her back.”
“Where’d you see that?” I asked.
“Will there be tigers and lions?” Egg asked.
“Just so they’re on the fourth floor,” said Iowa Bob.
“No, put them with Mrs. Urick!” Franny said.
“Win,” my mother said. “What circus?”
“Well, they can use the field, you see,” Father said. “They can pitch their tents on the old playground, they can eat in the restaurant, and some of them might actually stay in the hotel, too—although most of those people have their own trailers, I think.”
“What will the animals be?” Lilly asked.
“Well,” said Father, “I don’t think they have too many animals. It’s small, you see. Probably just a few animals. I think they have some special acts, you know—but I’m not sure what animals.”
“What acts?” said Iowa Bob.
“It’s probably one of those awful circuses,” Franny said. “The kind with goats and chickens and those everyday junky animals everyone’s seen—some dumb reindeers, a talking crow. But nothing big, you know, and nothing exotic.”
“It’s the exotic ones I’d just as soon not have around here,” Mother said.
“What acts?” said Iowa Bob.
“Well,” Father said. “I’m not sure. Trapeze, maybe?”
“You don’t know what animals,” Mother said. “And you don’t know what acts, either. What do you know?”
“They’re small,” Father said. “They just wanted to reserve some rooms, and maybe half the restaurant. They take Mondays off.”
“Mondays off?” said Iowa Bob. “How long did you book them for?”
“Well,” Father said.
“Win!” my mother said. “How many weeks will they be here?”
“They’ll be here the whole summer,” Father said.
“Wow!” cried Egg. “The circus!”
“A circus,” said Franny. “A weirdo circus.”
“Dumb acts, dumb animals,” I said.
“Weird acts, weird animals,” Frank said.
“Well, you’ll fit right in, Frank,” Franny told him.
“Stop it,” Mother said.
“There’s no reason to get anxious,” Father said. “It’s just a small, private circus.”
“What’s its name?” Mother asked.
“Well,” said Father.
“You don’t know its name?” asked Coach Bob.
“Of course I know its name!” Father said. “It’s called Fritz’s Act.”
“Fritz’s act?” Frank said.
“What’s the act?” I asked.
“Well,” Father said. “That’s just a name. I’m sure there’s more than one act.”
“It sounds very modern,” Frank said.
“Modern, Frank?” Franny said.
“It sounds kinky,” I said.
“What’s kinky?” said Lilly.
“A kind of animal?” Egg asked.
“Never mind,” said Mother.
“I think we should concentrate on the Exeter weekend,” Father said.
“Yes, and getting yourselves, and me, all moved in,” said Iowa Bob. “There’s lots of time to discuss the summer.”
“The whole summer is booked in advance?” Mother asked.
“You see?” Father said. “Now, that’s good business! Already we’ve taken care of the summer, and the Exeter weekend. First things first. Now all we have to do is move in.”
That happened a week before the Exeter game; it was the weekend when Iowa Bob’s ringers rang up nine touchdowns—to match their ninth straight victory, against no defeats. Franny didn’t get to see it; she had decided not to be a cheerleader anymore. That Saturday Franny and I helped Mother move the last things that the moving vans hadn’t already taken to the Hotel New Hampshire; Lilly and Egg went with Father and Coach Bob to the game; Frank, of course, was in the band.