Virginia was overjoyed to have more Christmas presents to buy every year.
Henry’s shoe scraped on concrete behind her, interrupting her thoughts about buying nursery gifts for Evie and Scott. She hoped to know by December whether to put pink or blue presents under the tree.
“Everything okay?” Henry asked.
Virginia turned to him and nodded, unashamed of the tears in her eyes. “Family announcement,” she said.
“None of my business,” Henry said, “but I hope it’s good news.”
Virginia almost felt hurt that Henry thought it was none of his business. They’d become friends, she thought, with every event they’d helped put together. She wouldn’t hesitate to share her good news with him—but did he consider her a friend or an employer?
A friend, she hoped. It would be public knowledge by noon the next day, and she felt no qualms sharing the excitement. She nodded. “The best kind. I’m going to have another grandchild in the spring.”
Henry gave her a quick, friendly hug. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks.”
Virginia felt strangely lonely when Henry released her and went back to selecting pumpkins from the pile on the wagon. He may not know what it felt like to have children and grandchildren of his own, but it had still been nice to have someone to share the joy with. She wished Ford were still here. After all, this was his grandchild, too. Pain squeezed her heart when she thought about Ford and how he would never see his grandchildren, but she swallowed the thought. Looking down the sunny midway at the roller coasters and familiar sights of Starlight Point, she knew this, too, was Ford’s legacy.
And she was lucky. He’d left her so much in their three children and their shared decades of happiness. She took a deep breath. Today was a day for celebration.
“Try this one,” Virginia said cheerfully, tossing a small orange pie pumpkin to Henry.
He caught it before it went sailing over his shoulder, a wide smile lighting his face.
NATE PASTED A smile on his face and shook hands with the photographer and writer. The Bayside Times wanted a story on the fall festival weekends because anything involving Starlight Point was big local news. Even bigger was the fact that the Point had never stayed open past Labor Day weekend.
“I hope you have your walking shoes on,” Nate said. “In my three weeks on the job here, I’ve probably logged three hundred miles.”
He had already replaced his expensive leather shoes from his previous job with a less flashy but much more comfortable pair of black walking shoes. He’d hated giving in and chipping away at his professional veneer, but Starlight Point had long concrete midways and long beautiful beaches. The shoes were a small concession for survival.
Many nights after running his father to chemotherapy or picking up dinner for both of them, Nate’s feet still ached despite the comfortable shoes.
He’d arranged to meet the reporters at the front gate the day before the bonus weekends opened. Fall decorations were in place, but the haunted houses slated for the back of the park wouldn’t open until the first of October. Despite his lack of involvement with the planning—Alice was behind all that—he already felt ownership in everything at the Point. His contribution to the company’s success was the top one inch, the glossy surface that could make or break a good impression.
“Any place you’d like to start?” Nate asked.
“We want to run this in tomorrow’s paper, so let’s see as much as we can before lunch so we can get back to the office and write it up,” the reporter, Bob, said.
Nate stood by while the photographer, Jason, took pictures of the front gates, where scarecrows, pumpkins and bales of straw were arranged. Even the tall letters spelling out the name of the park were festive. A scarecrow replaced the letter L in Starlight and a ghost peeked out from the letter O in Point. Orange and purple lights chased across the welcome marquee instead of the usual red and blue ones.
The pictures were guaranteed to convey the right message. Even the sunshine cooperated as if it were on Nate’s PR payroll. There were no people with unpredictable expressions to throw a wild card into this story, just artful but inanimate objects that were easily controlled.
“Looks like you’re ready,” Bob commented. “Any projections on attendance figures? I bet the owners are banking on this paying off.”
Nate smiled. “Starlight Point considers itself an important part of the community and is excited to extend the season and welcome guests. Season pass holders will continue to get in free, and we hope they bring their friends and families for fall fun.”
The reporter cocked his head and grinned. “Sounds like the official company line instead of a hard answer.”
“It is. You know we don’t release numbers,” Nate continued. “Starlight Point is about the experience people have, and that’s tough to quantify.” He had researched the last five years of press releases and articles in local papers and magazines devoted to amusement parks and tourism in the area, so he knew the company position and agreed with it. “But if you come back this weekend, you may see for yourself how many people are here.”
“Plan to,” Jason said. “My kids love this place.”
The lone security guard at the front entrance held open one of the gates between the turnstiles while the group went through. In addition to a colorful spread of pumpkins and fall decorations, the midway carousel greeted them with skeletons affixed to every third horse in the outside row.
“Nice,” Jason said, setting up a shot of a whimsical skeleton wearing a Starlight Point ball cap with its bony fingers wrapped around the brass pole. “Love the ghost riders.” Halloween lite, Nate thought. That was a strategy he could respect.
“Plenty more decorations and thrills this way,” Nate said. He led them up onto the cable car platform, where guests would board the cars and ride to the other end of the midway. “The ride’s not operating today,” Nate continued, “but from here, you can see all the decorations down the midway. We’ve gone all out making this place an autumn extravaganza.”
The group stood at the edge of the platform where they could see that the flower gardens down the midway had been replaced with displays meant to be enjoyed from the air. The largest circular garden just a short distance away used orange and white pumpkins to create a picture of a grinning skull. From the ground, it would look like piles of pumpkins. The trick is in the perspective.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Nate said, smiling. “Trade secret we’d rather you didn’t print.” He paused as if he was about to reveal that the genuine elephant ears came frozen or the live show performers were only lip syncing. He had their attention and relished it for a moment. Reporters, he thought, were a necessary evil. “It’s the squirrels. They’re cute, but they seem to believe we’ve set out a banquet of autumn produce for them. We’ve already had to replace dozens of pumpkins when squirrels chewed holes in the top. We may have to hire a teenager to be full-time squirrel patrol.”
“Lousy resume builder,” the photographer commented.
