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.
EVIE SAT AT Jack’s desk, staring at his computer through her green-rimmed glasses. Three years younger than June, Evie was generally sweet, except in her ruthless devotion to accurate accounts. And her attitude toward the architect June had hired to fancy up the two live-show venues.
“The money is one thing. But I don’t see why we should pay his hourly rate when we already have our own planners,” Evie said. “And how much do you think we can really get done on the facades when the park opens in a week? It’s nuts.”
Jack, who was standing by the window, raised one eyebrow at June. His look said you’re on your own with this argument.
June wasn’t asking for the moon and stars. She just wanted the theaters to look like they hadn’t been designed by the same person who’d imagined the cheeseburger stand. Something a little more modern—even a new paint scheme and lightbulbs would be better than nothing.
“Fresh blood,” June said. “Our planning guys will just come up with the same old same old.”
“So?” Evie asked. “Same old ensures continuity. People like the old-fashioned aura. Even if you don’t.”
“News flash,” June said. “Change is good.”
June crossed her arms and leaned against the large window beside Jack. He’d finally moved into their father’s office over the winter. Last summer, he’d kept the smaller office next door out of a combination of shock, grief and respect. Moving into this office—rich with their father’s history, his big wooden desk, awards and mementos from years in the business—was a sign Jack was growing into the job of CEO.
“I refuse to be the grown-up here, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jack said. “Just because I’m the tallest and smartest of the three of us.”
Evie breathed loudly through her nose and stared down her older siblings. When had she gotten so opinionated? Evie had always been the nice, sweet one. Hadn’t she? June had been away for seven years, and in that time Evie had gone from fifteen to twenty-two. Practically a lifetime.
“Fifteen hundred bucks so far and all I’ve gotten out of him is an argument,” Evie said.
“You argue with people?” June asked.
“I’m doing it right now.”
“That’s different,” June said. “We’re related. And what the heck is wrong with doing something new around here? You opened the Sea Devil last year. A multimillion-dollar roller coaster is a pretty big deal compared to what I’m suggesting.”
Although
