Amie Denman - Under The Boardwalk

He shrugged off his dark gray suit jacket and slung it over the open van door. Gus thought he should shed the crisp white dress shirt, too, just to be on the safe side. But he rolled up the sleeves instead.

“I’m not busy right now,” he said.

Gus laughed. She gestured at the chaos everywhere around them. Maintenance trucks and crews crawled along the midway like ants over ice cream spilled on the sidewalk. Other vendors parked in front of shops and hauled merchandise. The skyway cars groaned into action overhead, shaking off their winter’s rest.

“Right,” she said. “This place probably runs itself.”

Jack looked at the overhead cars and then rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands. “Sure. How about we trade? I’ll put on an apron with those little bells, and you can wear my name tag, which pretty much asks for trouble.”

The cell phone in his coat pocket rang, vibrating loudly against the metal van door.

“Are you going to answer that?” she asked.

“Can’t. I’m busy helping a vendor I just met. I wondered who would replace our old baker. I grew up stealing sweets from him.” He gestured toward the pink awning. “I like the improvement already.”

Gus pulled a two-wheeled dolly out of the van. “I’m just getting started. I should have been here weeks ago, but I’ve been busy with spring wedding season.”

“How are you going to manage summer wedding season?”

“One cake at a time,” she said as she climbed into the back of the van.

Gus shoved the first boxed oven to the rear and Jack manhandled it onto the cart. She held the door and watched him muscle it right into a corner of her midway bakery.

“Can I talk you into coming to my bakeries in the hotel and the Wonderful West? I still have two ovens in the van.”

She figured there was zero chance of this happening. The owner of Starlight Point wasn’t likely to waste any more of his countdown-to-opening-day time. Especially since he hardly knew her, but now he knew how heavy those boxes were.

Jack glanced at the wall clock. Its hands were stopped, the unplugged cord swinging beneath it. “Looks like I have plenty of time,” he said.

A few of the other vendors waved and then paused, a puzzled expression on their faces as they saw Jack Hamilton toss his suit coat on the floor of the van, shut the back doors and climb in the shotgun seat with Gus at the wheel.

“Do you usually help vendors move in?” she asked.

“There is nothing usual about this year,” he said, unrolling his window. “Turn just before the Scrambler and we can squeeze out the beach gate and drive down the boardwalk to the hotel.”

It was too early for anyone to be tempted by Lake Huron’s cold waters, but lifeguards swept the beach and set up chairs as they passed by.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Gus said.

Jack kept his head turned, watching the beach and lake. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Gus wanted to ask how he planned to manage the park and if she would see a contract anytime soon. She regretted the handshake and verbal agreement she’d made with Ford Hamilton. She’d planned to sign the papers a month ago, but then everything changed.

The financial risks she’d taken woke her up in the night, but her problems were nothing compared to Jack’s. Losing a parent and gaining a huge family business in one fell swoop? That was a sleep stealer.

“Should be a quick drop-off at the hotel bakeshop. And I bet you know a shortcut through the Wonderful West to my bakery.”

“We could take the train,” he suggested, turning to her with a hint of a smile. “But there’s a shoot-out on the tracks right behind the Last Chance. I hope you don’t mind listening to gunfire all summer.”

She laughed. “That wasn’t in the contract.”

Jack’s smile faded and he returned to looking out the window as she maneuvered the van into the hotel’s loading dock. He was quiet as they shoved the second box out and deposited it in the bakeshop.

He directed her through a back gate and she drove from the outer loop road straight into the Wonderful West. She dodged queue lines, trees and maintenance trucks as she drove on “The Trail.” A tall, slim girl with a messenger bag slung over her shoulder walked along the trail, her back to them.

Suddenly, Jack reached over and blew the van’s horn, brushing his fingers over Gus’s on the steering wheel.

“My sister,” he said, grinning.

Hand over her heart with an expression of surprise mixed with homicide, the tall girl mouthed the word jerkface as they passed her.

“That was loud and clear,” Gus said.

“Evie loves me. I’m way less irritating than our sister, June.”

“Should I stop?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Evie’s on a mission right now. And so are we.”

“Is she your...um...copresident?”

“No. Still one year left of college. She’ll work here for the summer, but just a regular job. Not as an owner. She deserves one more carefree summer.”

His voice was low and joyless, like an echo outside a funeral. Was it really so bad owning an amusement park?

“Does Evie like to bake? Maybe she could work for me?” Gus asked.

“I doubt she can bake—she certainly wouldn’t have learned from our mom. She’s majoring in accounting. Getting her CPA.”

“Even better. I might just hire her to manage the accounts for my three shops. I need someone strong I can trust, or I’ll never make it.”

“I know what you mean,” he said.

They pulled up to the Last Chance Bakery and wrangled the final oven across the uneven planked porch. Evie swung through the saloon doors just as they slid the oven into place. She had a beautiful smile and looked a lot like her brother, with a few exceptions. Her hair was several shades closer to blond and her eyes were almost green.

“I’m Evie,” she said, sticking out her hand for Gus to shake. “And I didn’t mean you were a jerkface. I know who blew that horn.”

“I’m glad. And glad to meet you. I was just talking to your brother about snapping you up before someone else does.”

“A job?”

“Managing the books for my bakeries here.”

“I would love it,” she said. “I usually work for a vendor because there’s less conflict of interest. Speaking of which,” she continued as she rummaged through her bag, “I’m out delivering contracts to all the vendors right now.”

“Gotta go,” Jack said. “My secretary’s called fifteen times and she’ll probably get on the PA system if I don’t show up.”

Without another word, Jack speed-walked across the bakery’s porch and headed up the trail to the front of the park. Gus wondered why he’d ignored the phone calls for the past hour, but she imagined there was a lot she didn’t know about Jack and his business. Perhaps Evie showing up was the convenient exit he’d been hoping for.

“I’ll come by later when I’m done,” Evie said. “This is the best job offer I’ve had. Especially since the airbrushing stand didn’t work out last year and I’m no good at scooping ice cream. Numbers I understand.”

* * *

LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Jack locked the men’s room door and leaned against it, eyes closed, for a full minute before heading for the sink. Cold water rushed over his hands as he scrubbed them mercilessly. Warm water would’ve been better for washing away the grease and construction dust he’d picked up on the latest inspection of the Sea Devil, but he needed to cool off. He stared at the rivers of water rolling over his fingers, imagining all his problems sluicing away.

“Gotta get a grip,” he said. Jack dried his hands, smoothed down and buttoned his sleeves, rolled his shoulders. He refused to look at his own face—his father’s face, thirty years younger—in the mirror.