Carousel Nights (6 page)

Mel held Ross's hand as they passed Kiddieland and turned toward the front midway, where many of the food vendors filled both sides of the avenue. Guests stopped at Bernie's Boardwalk Fries, Hank's Hot Dogs, Aunt Augusta's Midway Bakery and Tosha's Homemade Ice Cream on their way into and out of the park. Aunt Augusta also had a location in the Wonderful West and the Lake Breeze Hotel so guests could get their doughnut and cookie fix wherever they were. Tosha had borrowed the idea and opened a second ice-cream stand on the beach this year.

Judging from the lines, all the vendors were doing brisk business. Mel hoped the steady crowds he'd seen so far would keep up all summer and help his friends get their amusement park out of financial trouble. Jack and Evie poured their souls into Starlight Point. And June? She poured her soul into whatever she was doing at the time. At least, she seemed that way to him.

This summer it was the live shows and theaters at Starlight Point. But it was only for the summer.

June was waiting for them, chatting with Tosha over the front counter of her ice cream stand while summer employees in cheerful hats and aprons worked the window.

“Here they are,” June said as Mel and Ross came up.

Tosha grinned broadly. “There's my best customer,” she said, pointing to Ross. “Are you having strawberry?” she asked.

Ross nodded.

Mel cocked his head and focused on Tosha. “The kids love it when you bring them ice cream, but you should let me pay you. It has to be putting you into bankruptcy.”

She laughed. “Not at all. I take ice cream to the day care because I love it. And Jack Hamilton always pays.”

“My brother?” June asked. Both eyebrows raised, she laughed out loud. “I had no idea he was such a softy.”

“He has a serious sweet tooth, so he understands,” Tosha said. “I also think it's his way to get back in my good graces after last summer's squabble over the vendor contracts.” She shrugged. “Water under the bridge. What's the special occasion today?”

“I owe Mel. He was a real hero when a guest got his leg stuck in the turnstile at the Silver Streak,” June said.

Mel's neck burned under the collar of his work shirt. Taking apart a turnstile did not exactly make him a hero. Ross squeezed his hand and smiled at him. “You're a hero,” his son said.

“I was just doing my job and Miss June is just being nice,” Mel said.

June knelt so she was eye level with Ross. “I'm June Hamilton,” she said. “I've heard nice things about you but we've never met.”

Ross stuck out his hand as his father had taught him. “I'm Ross. I'm five and I can write my name.”

June smiled. “I can write my name, too. And it has four letters just like yours. Did I hear you like strawberry ice cream?”

Ross nodded.

“Then that's what I'm having.” She glanced up at Mel. “How about your dad? What's his favorite kind of ice cream?”

“Chocolate chip. He eats chocolate chips right out of the bag when we go to Grandma's house,” Ross said. “Grandma doesn't know.”

Mel wanted to crawl into a crack in the concrete. He'd have to talk with Ross about revealing personal information to relative strangers.

June stood up and smiled at Mel. “I eat frosting out of the can when I'm truly desperate,” she said.

“What makes you desperate?” Mel asked. He had no idea why he'd asked and was afraid of the answer.

June's smile faded and she drew her eyebrows together.

“No idea where you put all those calories,” Tosha said. “Skinny as you are, you must dance them all off. Wait here and I'll make up three cones for you so you can skip the line.”

Thank you, Tosha,
for changing the subject
.

They collected their cones and sat at an umbrella-covered table. June filled Mel in on what happened with Jason the turnstile jumper. After a precautionary trip to the emergency room in Bayside, she explained, it appeared there was no serious damage. Some swelling and tenderness, but he was fifteen and he'd heal fast.

“Do you think his parents will sue?” Mel asked.

June shrugged. “They didn't seem inclined, but you never know. I hope not. I don't think we were negligent, and we certainly did everything we could to help him. Thanks to you.”

“My grandparents have a cat,” Ross said.

Mel rolled his eyes at June.

“I like cats,” June said. “Back in New York City, where I usually live, I got to be in a show where we all pretended to be cats.”

Ross frowned. “Don't you live here?”

“No. My work is in New York City.”

Ross nodded. “Like my mom. Her work is somewhere else in some city. We never see her.” He balled up his napkin and headed for the nearest trash can.

“Sorry,” June said.

“Not your fault,” Mel replied. “Facts of life.”

Ross came back and slid onto his seat next to Mel.

“Dad is making mac and cheese with little hot dogs cut up in it for dinner,” he announced.

June smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

“He'll make some for you if you come over,” Ross said.

June met Mel's eyes and held them for a moment. Mel broke the contact and ruffled his son's hair. “We should get going, buddy.”

Ross bounced up and Mel stood. “Thank you for the ice cream.”

“My pleasure. It was nice meeting you, Ross.”

Ross nodded vigorously, apparently out of polite conversation.

“See you tomorrow,” Mel said. He took Ross's hand and headed for the marina gate, where his pickup was parked with the other year-round employees' vehicles. Maybe it was the ice cream, but something sat like a cold lump in his gut.

“She's nice,” Ross said, swinging his dad's arm as they walked to the truck. “And she likes strawberry ice cream just like me.”

Mel helped Ross get his seat belt buckled around his booster seat.

“We should get a cat,” Ross said.

Mel sighed and climbed in the driver's seat, wishing somebody else was cooking dinner for once.

No one ever signs up to be a single parent.

CHAPTER SIX

J
UNE
UNLOCKED
THE
doors at the Starlight Saloon Theater and swung through them. Dust swirled in the shafts of early-morning light that came through the windows.

There's no way this theater will be ready in less than a week.
Her performers, yes. The costumes, probably. The venue? Sigh.

She heard a truck pull up in front. The park wasn't open until ten, but trucks drove all over the midways ferrying supplies in the early morning. June stepped outside. It was the delivery she'd hoped for.

Mel Preston, in maintenance blue as always, unloaded rollers, brushes, seven gallons of paint and two short ladders onto the porch of the Western-themed saloon and dance hall.

“Good luck,” he told Gerry, a summer worker dressed like Mel but probably just old enough to drive. “I think you're going to earn your minimum wage today.”

“I'll have help, right?”

“June Hamilton's in charge of this project,” Mel said, gesturing to June, who was already picking up cans to haul inside. “You'll have to ask her.”

June paused and smiled at Mel. “You could stick around and help us if you want.”

Mel raised an eyebrow and leaned against the side of his blue maintenance pickup with Starlight Point in white letters on the door. “Cleaning and painting this old barn is not on my list for the day.”

“I could offer ice cream.”

He shook his head, chuckling.

June crossed her arms over her chest. “You'd probably nail the doors shut if it were up to you.”

He nodded. “It would be the easiest thing to do considering I have to finish running about ten miles of new wire in there.”

“So that's today's plan? Should we wait up?”

Mel laughed. “That's a three-day plan for a team of electricians.”

Was it really a three-day job? This theater was scheduled to open on Saturday. And today was already Monday. Maybe she should have stayed in New York for the summer.

“Better get started, then,” she said cheerfully, hoping there was a chance Mel was exaggerating.

Mel reached through the open window of his truck and picked up a clipboard from the seat. He flipped through several papers, studying them. June suspected he was stalling for some reason.

He finally tossed the clipboard back through the window. “The wiring supplies have been delivered. I'll have to grab them from the warehouse, but I might as well start today. Having Gerry here is good because he can give me a hand pulling wire if I need it.” Mel smiled at Gerry. “You might end up learning to be an electrician. That's how it happened to me.”

When Mel drove off, June headed inside to tackle the kitchen area of the saloon. Getting a drink—or anything—from this kitchen would involve a major flirtation with a health-code violation. No wonder Jack and Evie had chosen to close the kitchen last year. Scrubbing and rewiring might earn a passing grade from the health department later in the week, but it would not be easy.

Nothing was easy.

Mel claimed he had a serious wiring job, but she had work in spades, too. Ramping up the sleepier part of the park with her high energy steampunk show was just what the Point needed. People would come for the show, and then stop by the food stands, games and shops before boarding the train or walking up the trail to the front midway. A great return on investment in the Wonderful West would make Evie and Jack happy and prove the value of quality live theater.

Not that they really doubted the need for live shows and the power of their draw. But June felt like they doubted
her
. They never said it out loud, but they treated her like a hummingbird they'd caught in a net.

“What do I do first?” Gerry asked.

June turned to consider the saloon. She walked to the control panel behind the bar and flipped a master switch. Lights—courtesy of Mel's quick repair job last week—buzzed on throughout the room and over the stage.

“Lights. Awesome,” Gerry said. “I was afraid we'd be painting in the dark.”

“It's old, but not totally in the Dark Ages,” June said. “I heard you had some painting experience. That's why I asked for you. I could sure use the help.”

“Yep. Painted houses with my dad the last two summers. He does interior painting in the winter, exterior in the summer.”

“He'll miss having your help this year.”

Gerry nodded and looked at his shoes. “I know. But I just didn't want to work in the family business another year. Thought it would be fun to branch out a little.”

June smiled. “I think we're going to get along just fine.”

* * *

M
EL
ROLLED
HIS
shoulders and ran a hand through his dusty, disheveled hair. The good news was that someone—at some time—had run some new conduit in the Starlight Saloon. That meant he could tie into it and not spend the next three days trying to battle an ancient wiring schematic. Making this theater usable for the summer wouldn't be the major undertaking he'd expected. Throughout the day, Gerry had pitched in between painting walls and muscling junk into an outside Dumpster.

The bad news was that the job was only three-quarters done but he needed food and a shower too bad to continue.

At seven o'clock, he gave up and loaded his tools in his maintenance truck. He had to put in an hour's worth of work at the garage and then it would be lights out. Although it wasn't his parents' usual day to keep Ross, he'd called them hours ago to pick up the boy from day care at the Lake Breeze. They were used to such calls during the operating season. Ross was probably curled up on his grandpa's lap right now watching television. Reruns of old black-and-white TV shows.
Lucky kid
. If Mel got out of here before it was very late, he'd pick up Ross so he could sleep in his own bed.

The hour in the maintenance garage stretched to three, courtesy of a mess made by one of the new hires and an emergency call to a food stand with no power. The food stand was in the Wonderful West, which had just closed. Employees and security guards were sweeping the guests toward the front, so Mel drove his personal truck along the vacant midway, hoping to make a quick fix and head straight home.

The restaurant's power problem was an easy fix, a tripped breaker. Mel headed for his truck, pajamas and bed becoming more inviting by the moment. He could almost taste the leftover pot roast his mother would have waiting in plastic containers.

However, as he drove past the Starlight Saloon, he noticed a light on inside. He stopped and got out of his truck, cursing whoever left the light on—probably June.

It was definitely June. Because she was still there, alone on stage. On her knees working her way across the stage with black matte paint. Mel paused in the doorway, watching as she rolled paint onto the floor.

“You've put in a long day,” he said quietly, afraid to startle her and end up wearing a bucket of paint.

June laid the roller in the tray and sat back. “You have, too,” she said. She used the inside of her elbow to brush stray hair off her cheek. “I thought you were headed for food and a shower three hours ago.”

“I was, but I had to do some cleanup in the maintenance garage. Where's Gerry?”

“I sent him home after you left. He worked hard today, and he seemed happy to leave.” June smiled. “I think maybe he had a date. Or he was starving.”

“When I was his age, I was always starving,” Mel said.

“And did you always have a date?”

He laughed. “With a cheeseburger.” He fumbled in his front shirt pocket. “Speaking of which...”

“Don't tell me you have a cheeseburger in there.”

“Nope. Mini doughnuts from the vending machine. I can't bring you one, but I can toss it.”

“Risky. I'm not a great catch.”

Mel grinned. “Lucky for you, I'm a good throw. Can't miss.”

He fished a mini doughnut from the half-eaten package and tossed it carefully to June. She caught it left-handed and popped it in her mouth.

“Impressive,” Mel said.

“Had to,” she mumbled, her mouth full of doughnut. “My right hand is full of paint.”

“I've never doubted your talent.”

June chewed slowly, keeping her eyes on Mel. “But you've doubted other things about me,” she finally said.

He shook his head. “No.”

She resumed painting, only a quarter of the stage to go before she backed out a stage left door. Mel pulled up a chair at one of the many tables in the saloon. Unlike the big theater on the front midway, this one didn't have orderly rows of pull-down seats numbering in the hundreds. Instead, high-top tables were surrounded by four chairs and scattered around the floor, each of them with a view of the raised stage. The room had an old dance hall feel, like in a Western movie.

“Think I need an audience for this?” she asked.

“Just keeping you company and waiting to offer you a ride home.”

“You don't have to do that,” she said, her tone implying he was not unwelcome.

“I'd like to help paint, but there's only room for one in that pattern you've got going. Wish I had a cold beer in my front pocket I could toss you next.”

She laughed. “Now, that would be risky. Either I'd miss and splatter it everywhere, or I'd catch it and not give a darn if I finished this job tonight.”

“Could finish it tomorrow,” Mel suggested.

June shook her head, never slowing with her roller. “My big plan is to give this all night to dry so we can walk on it tomorrow—at least a little bit—as we continue bringing this stage up-to-date. I ordered some big props and they'll be in tomorrow or the next day, and I assume you don't want to store them in Receiving or Maintenance.”

“You're right about that.”

“Well, when you're one-third owner of a struggling amusement park, you have to use your head.” She glanced up and grinned. “Otherwise you'll have your back against a wall.”

“You'll probably be glad when you get to the wall—then you can go home.”

“Almost there,” she said.

“You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow after kneeling all this time,” Mel observed.

She glanced up sharply. “What do you mean?” Her tone was almost confrontational.

“I just mean a job like that is a knee killer,” he said. “I pawn off those jobs on the young guys.”

Her shoulders relaxed and Mel could tell, even from across the room, her expression did, too.

“Oh,” she said. “I see what you mean.”

“You've got talent for renovation projects,” Mel continued, filling in the silence as June painted. “Good ideas. A real eye for design. If you ever give up performing, we could put you to work in the maintenance department.”

“I'm never giving up,” June said. Without looking at him, she held up her left hand with her thumb and index finger posed half an inch apart. “I'm this close to getting a part where I can dance and even more.”

“What's even more?”

“Sing. Act. Have lines instead of only being in the chorus line. I thought I just wanted to dance when I left here years ago.” She paused and a flush spread over her face. Was she thinking about leaving him behind?

June left her words hanging in the musty air between them as she rolled smooth swaths of matte black paint, neatly covering every inch of the stage. After five more minutes of painting in silence, she sat back, roller in hand, and surveyed her work.

“Looks great from where I'm sitting,” Mel commented. “And I'm not just saying that because I'm so hungry I'd consider eating out of this condemned kitchen.”

June laughed. “Think anyone will care if I pitch this roller in the Dumpster when I paint myself out the side door? It's cheap and I'll never get the black paint off it—at least not tonight and tomorrow it'll be too late.”

“Pitch it. Got dozens of those in the warehouse and I sure don't feel like washing it out tonight. I can get the house lights and meet you outside. Give you a ride in my truck.”

“I'd love to wash some of this paint off my hands.”

“No running water in here yet, not till we get it turned on, which I'll do tomorrow. I promise. I've got some stuff in the truck that'll take most of the paint off.”

June sent him a crooked, tired smile. “The man with a solution for everything,” she said.

“And I can make fries and serve up hot dogs if Starlight Point gets desperate enough.”

She shook her head, smiling. “That was quite a day. Looking back on it now, it was the most fun I'd had in quite a while,” June said. “I hope I said thank you.”

“You did. Evie, too. Your brother has no manners, of course.”

June rolled on one more swath of paint. “Okay,” she said, blowing out a long breath, “I'm done. You can kill the lights now if you don't mind.”

Mel slid off his chair, weary legs complaining, and headed for the control panel by the bar. He'd forgotten he'd left his truck running out front, but now he was glad. The headlights illuminating part of the trail were his only light when he killed the main switch. In the dark, he felt his way around the bar and headed out the front door. It was a short walk around the side of the saloon to the stage door.

He was surprised to find June still sitting on the ground. He figured she'd be halfway to his truck before he could count to five.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, her voice sounding distant. Maybe she was just tired. Heck, they were all tired. The summer season was always a meat grinder. This year's improvement projects were taking a toll—not that she hadn't brought some of that on herself. He hoped she wouldn't ask about the parade again. He'd pulled the beer truck out of the far corner and looked into it. It was...rustic. And that was a compliment.