Carousel Nights

Gradually, over the last decade, their easy relationship had heated, tempered, flared, cooled and simmered. But never jelled. It didn’t have a chance to because June couldn’t give up her dream to tap her toes on Broadway. The two live theaters at Starlight Point with their creaking floors and seats were not enough for her then or now.

How ironic that she was standing in one of those theaters and trying to make it sparkle. Temporary, she reminded herself.

She tilted her head to see Mel balanced on a ladder ten feet over the stage. Only his worn work boots were visible from her angle. A screwdriver clattered to the floor, almost clobbering her on its way down.

“Sorry about that,” Mel said. “Can you toss it back up here?”

“I’m a bad throw,” she said, picking it up. The handle still held Mel’s heat.

He chuckled. “I know.”

“Hey,” she said. “I was only ten and you guys were twelve. Big difference. And I didn’t want to play baseball anyway but you were short a player.”

“That was my first time replacing a pane of glass,” Mel said. “I did okay and your parents probably never would’ve known if Evie hadn’t told on us.”

“Too young to know better,” June said. “She was only six or seven.”

June tossed the screwdriver up but missed by several feet, causing Mel to overreach and almost fall off the ladder.

“I better come get it before someone loses an eye,” Mel said.

He backed down the ladder while June crossed the stage to retrieve the fallen tool. Her back to him, she said, “Your son’s about six, isn’t he?”

“He’ll turn six this summer. Starts first grade in the fall.”

She turned to face him as he stepped off the bottom rung, a flicker of silence between them.

Mel jerked his head toward the upper catwalk without taking his eyes off June. “Think that old catwalk for the lighting will hold my weight?” he asked. “I don’t know if it’s been used in years.”

“I hope so. My shows include lots of lighting. Maybe some special effects.”

“In the Wonderful West? Seems out of place,” Mel commented.

June rolled her eyes. “What you know about theater would fit in your back pocket.”

“Maybe,” he said, taking the screwdriver from her outstretched palm, “but that’s where this goes. Lucky for you, I know about electricity.”

June watched him climb one rung at a time. When he reached the junction box ten feet up, he put a small flashlight between his teeth. Although full daylight outside, the theater was dim.

“I’ve gotta follow this line,” Mel said. He climbed another five rungs and eased onto the narrow metal catwalk that hugged the theater on three sides. Ancient spotlights were mounted beneath it and cables snaked over and under it.

“Seems solid,” Mel said. “I’m going down to the junction box in the corner. I have to see where we have spark and where we don’t.”

Good idea, June thought, following his progress as he crawled along the back wall. She held her breath when he slid across a gap between missing supports. When he reached the corner, the flashlight between his teeth threw patterns of light on the wall as he banged at something metallic.

“Any luck?” June called.

“Just...” The flashlight clanked onto the steel catwalk, rolled off and crashed onto the floor near June. The light went dark.

“Shouldn’t have opened my mouth,” Mel said from the darkness above her.

“My fault,” June said. “I asked you a question.”

“You can make it up to me by digging through the toolbox on my cart and finding me another flashlight.”

“Be right back.”

June headed for the daylight streaming through the front windows. Mel’s cart had two toolboxes and she had to dig through both before finding a large industrial-looking flashlight.

Inside, Mel’s long legs hung over the side of the catwalk fifteen feet up. He swung his feet like a kid waiting for his third-grade girlfriend on the playground.

“Can I convince you to bring that up here?” Mel asked.

“I could throw it.”

“I haven’t got a death wish. Just come up the ladder and I’ll crawl along the catwalk and meet you at the top.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. She knew he wouldn’t. June had worked at Starlight Point until she was eighteen. During the off-season, she’d tromped around handing tools to maintenance men after school, climbing the emergency steps on coasters and taking any challenge. When she was old enough to officially work, she’d sold popcorn until she finally convinced her parents to let her dance on stage. Although her parents owned the amusement park, they made their children work regular summer jobs. It was a great way to see Starlight Point from the inside out, and all three of them had earned reputations as hard workers.

Mel had every reason to think she’d scamper up the ladder, flashlight in hand, like she would have done in the past.

But the shining aluminum faced her like a demon.

Her heart rate accelerated as she placed one foot on the bottom rung and pulled herself up with her free hand. One rung down, at least fifteen more to go. Maybe she could do this. Jumper’s knee. That’s what her doctor had called it. If she stretched, did her exercises, and avoided stairs and high-impact jumps, it would get better. She’d been taking it easy, keeping her movements small and not telling a soul. She felt stronger, ready to take on these theaters and get on with her life.

She sucked in a breath and steeled herself for another vertical step.

Pain streaked through her right knee when she put her foot on the next rung and tried to pull herself up. Agonizing pain. Ladders were not on her therapy plan. A wave of nausea hit her and sweat chilled the back of her neck. She dropped the flashlight and grabbed both sides of the ladder. She stepped backward to the floor, fumbling for the light, afraid to look up. Back on both feet, the pain subsided and she took a deep breath.

“What are you doing?” Mel asked.

Trying to pretend everything is just fine. “Picking up the flashlight,” she said tersely. “What does it look like?”

“At this rate, it’ll be dark before I even get started. That’s an expensive light, so be careful with it.”

“Sorry,” she said, eyeing the ladder and trying to think of a graceful way out. Her heartbeat pulsed through her neck and hammered in her ears. She risked a glance up. Mel lay full length on the catwalk, his chin propped in his hands. Waiting for her.

But that was a mountain she was not climbing today.

She parked the light at the bottom of the ladder. “If it’s so precious, you better come get it yourself,” she said. “I’m going back to work in the prop storage room.”

She walked slowly and carefully away, willing herself not to show a trace of weakness. Would Mel let her off the hook? The catwalk overhead groaned and the ladder behind her creaked as Mel started down it.

“Don’t know when you became such a princess that you can’t help a guy out,” he said.

June counted to thirty, numbering her steady steps to the storage room door. She closed it, sat on a box and elevated her leg on a dusty plastic hitching post. She was still sitting there staring at years of props in the gray light from the solitary window when the overhead fluorescent lights buzzed on. She waited, listening, until Mel’s cart started up and drove away. Rubbing her knee, June tried to quell the panic in her chest. If she couldn’t dance, she couldn’t go back to Broadway and the roles she had already sacrificed so much for.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1f744f25-0ce5-5918-b880-d32d72c1f75f)