Читать книгу Carousel Nights - Amie Denman - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

DRESSED IN HER dancing clothes and running her troupe through a scene, June only heard her cell phone ring because there was a break in the music.

“Trouble at the Silver Streak,” Evie said. “Can you run over and see what’s going on?”

“I’m in rehearsals. This show opens in seven days.”

“Sorry. Jack and I are interviewing candidates for the open accounting and finance position. The Silver Streak is right behind your theater so I hoped you could run over and see what the big deal is.”

June sighed. “I’ll pin on my name tag and go see.”

Two Starlight Point police officers got there ahead of June and the first-aid staff. One of the officers, Don Murray, had been there since before June could remember. Large and stoic, he was a mountain in uniform at the entrance gate of the Silver Streak. He gave June a meaningful look and nodded toward the turnstiles behind him. The dual system of turnstiles counted guests who entered the queue lines on the midway and those who made it all the way through the line to the loading platform. Maybe comparing the numbers was interesting for someone like Evie. If she did compare them, the numbers were not going to match up today.

The first-aid scooter, obnoxious horn beeping, pulled up behind June and one of the firefighters got out, shouldering a first-responder bag. The tall firefighter, Martin, nodded at June and spoke in a low voice, “Dispatch said there’s a leg stuck in the turnstile. No idea how something like that happens.”

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“We’ll see,” the other firefighter, Curt, said. “We called Maintenance as soon as we got here. Probably need help taking apart the turnstile.”

A boy who appeared to be fifteen years old raised his head when June and the two firefighters walked up the steps to the loading platform. Lanky and blond, the kid wore the summer uniform of basketball shorts and a Pistons T-shirt.

The Silver Streak was silent, summer workers standing around watching the spectacle. The boy whose leg was trapped grimaced in pain while two ride operators held him in the air above the three-pronged silver arms of the turnstile. His leg was twisted at a terrible angle.

June’s knee hurt just looking at the kid’s leg. There’s no pain like knee pain. Before she could ask the boy what happened, the rear entrance of the Silver Streak opened and Mel strode through. His long legs flashed and he carried a huge tool bag slung over his shoulder. He made brief eye contact with June and the two firefighters and drilled in on the mechanical problem.

“Did you try to jump over it?” Mel asked the kid, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Uh-huh,” the boy replied.

“Looks like you almost made it, but I don’t recommend trying it again.”

Why on earth would someone try to jump over a turnstile? Boys. The kid was paying for his stupidity now, though. And how did he get stuck like that? Apparently, his foot didn’t clear the arms of the silver turnstile as he tried to jump it. His shoe hooked, the arms locked, and he was trapped.

“My knee is broken,” the boy whined.

“You can’t really break your knee,” Martin said. “But that’s gotta hurt.”

Martin slid an arm under the skinny teen and held him up. Both ride operators scooted back, obviously happy to be relieved of the sweaty and miserable victim of the turnstile.

“I’ll hold him up if you can slide the leg out,” Martin told his partner.

“Can’t. The arm locked a notch back and the angle...” He didn’t finish the sentence, but June knew what he meant. This was going to be a painful lesson for the kid, and he would never want to look at a turnstile again, much less jump over one to impress his friends.

Mel knelt and examined the boy’s leg and the mechanical operation of the machine. He wiped sweat from his brow. June imagined him racing to get here in the maintenance scooter, which was probably parked under the platform. Starlight Point was surrounded by a road informally called the outer loop which offered multiple gates into the park. These gates were always locked and used only by maintenance and security, but they provided quick access when necessary without driving vehicles on the park’s midways. Only the onsite fire department drove on the midways during park operating hours, and only if it was really necessary.

“I think we can get his leg out if we take it apart,” Mel said. “I brought a bunch of tools.”

“You can’t take my leg apart,” the kid cried.

“No,” Mel assured him. “We’re taking the machine apart. I don’t cut up legs. Not in my job description.”

June glanced around, hoping no one was taking cell phone video or pictures of this. Ride closed, line empty, upset friends and armed security standing by. Two girls and one boy, probably friends of the kid locked in the turnstile, stood on the platform talking to one of the ride operators and watching anxiously. At least they don’t have their cell phones out.

“What’s your name?” Mel asked the boy as he knelt underneath him and started to remove the weathered blue metal shields on the turnstile.

“Jason.”

“First time at Starlight Point?”

The boy shook his head. “We live in Bayside and come all the time.”

“First time jumping over a turnstile?”

Jason shook his head and lowered his eyes. His flushed face got even more red.

“First time not making it over?” Mel asked.

Jason nodded and made eye contact, a tiny smile breaking through the pain on his face.

“Thought so. Were you trying to impress one of those girls over there?”

The kid looked down. “I feel stupid.”

“Don’t,” Mel said. He pointed to a scar above his eyebrow. “See this? I got it trying to impress a girl. I don’t even want to tell you how.”

“Did it work?”

“She didn’t even know I was alive. Story of my life,” Mel said.

June stood silently listening to their conversation, impressed by Mel’s ability to put the boy at ease. He must be a wonderful father.

“We’ll get you out of here,” Mel continued, “but you’ll have to trust me and work with me.”

“Have you ever done this before?” Jason asked.

“Not exactly, but I did get a Matchbox car out of the garbage disposal at my house. My son thought he’d never drive that car again, but it turned out fine. Just a few scratches on the fender.”

The kid didn’t respond, just hung there miserably while Mel used a wrench to remove more bolts from the turnstile. With the shields off, June could see the guts of the machine. A series of gears and levers. She was glad Mel knew what he was doing.

“We all have a few scratches on our fenders,” Mel continued, smiling at the boy. “Gives us character.”

June was sweating. The boy was sweating. Mel appeared perfectly calm.

One of the firefighters held an ice pack on Jason’s knee.

“It’ll cool us both off,” he said. “And make it easier to slide you out of here.”

This is my family’s park, June thought. I should know what to do. But she didn’t. She leaned close and spoke in Mel’s ear. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not at the moment. You can do the paperwork later.” He raised one eyebrow at her. She was so close she could see the tiny lines around his eyes from hours working outside in the sun. “Lots of paperwork,” he added.

“Thank you for knowing what to do,” June said quietly.

Mel moved his head and his hair brushed her cheek. “It’s my job,” he said.

He worked silently a few more minutes. Roller coasters, happy screaming and carousel music formed the background, but the loading platform at the Silver Streak was silent. Everyone was waiting for Mel to tell them their next move. June stepped aside and called Jack on her cell phone, giving him a quick overview and assuring him it was under control. She expected him to show up at any moment and was surprised when he didn’t, even after another ten minutes went by.

Jack was trusting her to handle this.

And she was trusting Mel.

June walked over to talk with Jason’s friends and the ride operators who were in a clump on the edge of the platform.

“I’m sure Jason will be okay,” she said. “We have our best maintenance man unlocking the turnstile and two firefighters standing by to help.”

Jason’s three friends looked relieved. The ride operators looked nervous.

“Did you see this happen?” June asked the girl whose name tag identified her as Jessica.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll talk with you later.” She turned to the three friends. “I’m guessing you saw it happen also?”

They nodded. Their expressions were tight, body language rigid as if they were being questioned as accessories to a bank robbery.

“It’s not a crime to show off for your friends and hurt yourself,” June said. “At least I hope not. I just want you to write down what you saw so we have a written record. That’s all. We’ll work on that together later. Right now, getting Jason’s knee out of the turnstile is our number one priority.”

She patted the girl on the shoulder, smiled and returned to where Mel was working. She knelt next to him.

“Thanks for calling me your best maintenance man.”

“I thought it would inspire confidence,” she said. “It does for me.”

She touched his shoulder as she leaned close to view his progress, and heat burned her fingers through Mel’s blue cotton shirt.

“I’m going to release the spring and hope it doesn’t make this thing snap around,” Mel said.

“Is this going to hurt?” Jason asked.

“Not if we do it right,” Mel said.

One of the firefighters wedged his leg against the free arm of the turnstile to control the movement. Mel slowly released the spring while June held her breath. One look at Jason’s tortured face made her want to protect him, but all she could do was count on Mel.

The spring let go and the arm of the turnstile unlocked and moved, allowing the two firefighters to lift Jason free.

Although Mel’s expression remained the same, June noted the long slow breath he let out.

“There was a lot less pressure with the car in the garbage disposal,” he said to June as the firefighters placed Jason on a gurney. “Ross shed some tears, but I fixed that with ice cream.”

Maybe it was the incredible relief of freeing the guest from the turnstile without, she hoped, serious injury, but June felt a rush of...something...for Mel.

“Want to get some ice cream?” June asked. “I owe you, and I’ll buy.”

Mel laughed. “I’m on the clock.”

“Maybe later this afternoon? I’m going to meet this young man and his friends at First Aid and see what we need to do next. Starting with calling his parents, getting X-rays, and filling out reports. I may need your input on those reports.”

“So, it’s a working ice-cream date?”

June smiled. “It’s hot. Good ice-cream weather.”

Mel cocked his head and said, “I’ll meet you at Tosha’s at four thirty if I can bring a guest. If Ross finds out I had ice cream without him, it’ll take me weeks to earn back my super-dad status.”

* * *

“REMEMBER YOUR MANNERS, ROSS,” Mel said. “Please and thank you.”

“Can I get strawberry?” Ross asked.

“One scoop.”

“Only one?”

They walked up the beach path to enter the park by one of the side gates. Like his father, Ross was lanky, with sandy hair and blue eyes. He also had Mel’s easy smile and gait.

Instead of working until at least five o’clock as usual, Mel locked his big steel desk in the maintenance garage at a quarter after four and headed to the Lake Breeze Hotel to retrieve Ross from the employee day care center.

“We’re guests, and guests can’t be greedy and ask for seconds. Besides, I don’t want you to ruin your dinner. I’m making mac and cheese and dogs tonight. Your favorite.”

“Will Uncle Jack be there?”

Mel smiled. “I think he’s still working. His sister is buying us ice cream today.”

“Uncle Jack has a sister?”

“Two. You’ve met one of them a few times, Miss Evie, but this is the one you don’t know.”

“What should I call her?” Ross asked, swinging his dad’s arm as they stopped at the turnstile. Mel let go of Ross’s hand to dig his wallet out of his back pocket, but the white-haired lady at the beach gate waved him through. Summer employees might need proof of Mel’s employee status, but Janice had worked the beach gate for ten years, ever since she gave up schooling first graders in Bayside.

“Riding rides tonight, Mel?” she asked.

Mel shook his head. “Quick ice-cream stop on the way home.”

She smiled. “Good for you. The heck with ruining your dinner. Life is short.”

Ross smiled and waited until they were several steps away. “Dad,” he whispered. “That lady said life is short, but hasn’t she been alive a really long time?”

Mel chuckled. “I think that makes her an expert. And don’t say things like that when other people can hear.”

“I won’t. So what do I call her?”

“Her name’s Janice.”

“Not the old lady, the ice-cream lady.”

Mel hesitated. It wasn’t much use figuring out an official name for someone Ross would probably never get to know very well. Even though he spent most of his summer days at the Point, Ross wasn’t likely to cross paths with June.

“If she’s Uncle Jack’s sister, can I call her Aunt Jack?” Ross asked.

“Her first name is June,” Mel said, suppressing a laugh. “How about Miss June?”

Ross shrugged. “Okay.”

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.