Amie Denman - Carousel Nights

“But you can make birthday cakes at home,” Mel continued, “and you can do a lot of wiring on your own, too.”

Why was Mel arguing to be in charge of the STRIPE when he’d probably spent the last decade dodging the event? He had to be out of his mind. Everyone in the office was looking at him as if he’d just announced an elegant tea party in the maintenance garage.

“I don’t know,” Virginia said. “Electricity can be dangerous.”

Evie laughed and rolled her eyes at her mother. “Water-skiing was dangerous, Mom. The water rescue thing two summers ago was dangerous. Even the conversational French got pretty dicey when some of our locals tried it on the international workers we hired that year.”

“That was not my fault,” Virginia said. “French is a very romantic language.”

“Sounds like voltage is the safe choice this summer,” Mel said. “Can’t cause an international incident with that, and I’ll make sure no one gets electrocuted.”

Virginia sipped her drink and stared at Mel. “Do you think you could teach hundreds of summer employees about electricity?”

“I’d need plenty of help,” Mel said. “Some of the other maintenance guys are really good and all of them know at least something about electricity. But I still need volunteers. Guys I can get, but I’d like females, too. It’s good evidence there’s no gender bias in wiring a circuit.” Mel grinned, catching June’s eye. “Women can handle sparks just as well as men can.”

June wanted to be mad at Mel for trying to be a hero. But she couldn’t. Because she was the one he saved. She had no idea why he’d thrown himself on the STRIPE grenade, but she had a feeling she was going to find out.

CHAPTER FOUR

OPENING DAY WAS PERFECT. Blue sky, a forecast of 75 degrees and a tiny breeze off Lake Huron. The typical first-day crowd was a combination of roller coaster fanatics, families with little kids anxious for their turn on the helicopters and bumper cars of Kiddieland, and locals who’d had enough of long winters in Michigan. Folks who wanted to smell and feel summer.

The newly improved loudspeakers played theme park music. Food vendors sent heavenly aromas to lure guests in.

Perfect. Except for one thing.

“We need a parade,” June declared. “Floats, music, live performers.”

Evie and Jack exchanged a look. “I knew we shouldn’t have let you conduct the ceremonial gate opening,” Jack said. “The excitement went to your head.”

June giggled. “It was exhilarating. I thought the pack of preteens would break a speed record as soon as I declared the Point open.”

“There’s a certain cachet to being the first in line at the Sea Devil,” Jack said. He cracked his knuckles. “I already rode it twice yesterday, but I won’t tell the coaster fanatics. It’d burst their bubble.”

“I haven’t been here on opening day in seven years,” June said. “I forgot about the adrenaline.”

“I’m glad you’re here this year,” Jack said. His expression sobered and he slung an arm around both his sisters. “We’re in this together.”

Evie leaned into the hug. “I know,” she said. “I miss Dad the most on days like this.”

June felt tears prick her eyes and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Standing off to the side and watching guests stream through the gates, June, Evie and Jack did a paradoxical combination of holding their breath and deep breathing.

“Off and running,” Evie said. “If we made it through last year, we can make it through anything.”

They watched parents with strollers moving at the back of the pack. Older people with no ride-crazed kids dragging them forward sauntered along. They’d be the first to notice new paint, signs, different offerings in food and merchandise. Everyone else was headed for the queue lines, ready for a coaster fix after a long winter.

June kept her eyes on a couple roughly her parents’ age, holding hands and looking around, pointing things out to each other. Laughing. Really noticing the sunshine and the flowers planted in a pattern that would look best from the Skyway cars above. She wondered how many years they’d been coming to Starlight Point. Maybe they’d met here when they were teenagers and had already raised a family, coming to the Point every summer and making albums of memories. Her vision blurred and her eyes stung a little. She shook it off. For all she knew, it was their first date and they’d met on a seniors gambling bus tour.

“A parade would be perfect for the midafternoon doldrums,” June said. “You know. Three o’clock when the buzz wears off a little and the sunburn starts stinging. Kids get all cranky and parents are looking for a mood-changer. They could line up for a parade.”

“I thought they were going to fill the seats in your theaters. Soak up the air-conditioning,” Jack said. “A parade is the opposite.”

“No, it isn’t,” June said. “It takes the show to the people. Live music, costumes, dancing. Maybe we could have a banner made up, advertising showtimes in the theaters.”

Evie and Jack glanced at their sister and returned to counting the guests streaming past.

“Everyone loves a parade,” June added.

Evie shrugged.

“Maybe next year,” Jack said. “If we’re lucky, you’ll forget all about it.”

“I’m serious.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“How hard would it be to jazz up the high school band thing that’s been going on for years?” June asked.

Every summer, high school bands from all over the state applied for a day at the Point. Band members got free admission in exchange for two performances. They played the national anthem at the front gates at park opening and marched through the park at some point in the day. Decent deal for the high school kids, probably hellish for the chaperones and a vague return in live entertainment for the Point.

“We standardize the time of their marching performance—say three o’clock every day—and add some other stuff,” June said.

“Opening day fever has gotten to you,” Evie said. “It’s a lot of adrenaline to handle, and I forget your immunity is down. You probably think you can do a triathlon right now.”

“Or at least name all fifty states and their capitals,” Jack said.

“Everything seems possible on opening day,” Evie said. “It’s the family curse. It makes us commit to a lifetime of insanity, one hundred days at a time. And then spend the other two thirds of the year wondering what the heck we were thinking. It’s a Vegas-wedding way to spend your life.”

“But you love it,” June said.

Evie smiled and waved to a little girl shoving an umbrella stroller with her doll in it. “Of course I do. I’d be crazy not to.”

“And you love my idea of a parade.”

“Maybe,” Evie said. “I’d have to see how it looks on paper.”

“I’ll take a picture of it going down the midway and email it to you.”

Evie cocked her head and blew out a long sigh. “You can’t just pull something like this out of your hat.”

“Sure I can. It won’t be that hard to put together a float, get some of my dancers to ride along and entertain, maybe a banner. I just need a theme and I’m good to go.”

“But—” Evie protested.

“Listen. I own this place,” June said, smirking. “I can pull this off if I want to.”

“One-third,” Evie said. “You’re not even a simple majority.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair and loosened his tie. “If you want a controlling interest, you can have my share,” he said, heading straight for Aunt Augusta’s bakery on the midway, a beacon of sugary hope under a pink awning.

“How does he stay so skinny?” June asked.