“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.
JUNE UNLOCKED THE doors at the Starlight Saloon Theater and swung through them. Dust swirled in the shafts of early-morning light that came through the windows.
There’s no way this theater will be ready in less than a week. Her performers, yes. The costumes, probably. The venue? Sigh.
She heard a truck pull up in front. The park wasn’t open until ten, but trucks drove all over the midways ferrying supplies in the early morning. June stepped outside. It was the delivery she’d hoped for.
Mel Preston, in maintenance blue as always, unloaded rollers, brushes, seven gallons of paint and two short ladders onto the porch of the Western-themed saloon and dance hall.
“Good luck,” he told Gerry, a summer worker dressed like Mel but probably just old enough to drive. “I think you’re going to earn your minimum wage today.”
“I’ll have help, right?”
“June Hamilton’s in charge of this project,” Mel said, gesturing to June, who was already picking up cans to haul inside. “You’ll have to ask her.”
June paused and smiled at Mel. “You could stick around and help us if you want.”
Mel raised an eyebrow and leaned against the side of his blue maintenance pickup with Starlight Point in white letters on the door. “Cleaning and painting this old barn is not on my list for the day.”
“I could offer ice cream.”
He shook his head, chuckling.
June crossed her arms over her chest. “You’d probably nail the doors shut if it were up to you.”
He nodded. “It would be the easiest thing to do considering I have to finish running about ten miles of new wire in there.”
“So that’s today’s plan? Should we wait up?”
Mel laughed. “That’s a three-day plan for a team of electricians.”
Was it really a three-day job? This theater was scheduled to open on Saturday. And today was already Monday. Maybe she should have stayed in New York for the summer.
“Better get started, then,” she said cheerfully, hoping there was a chance Mel was exaggerating.
Mel reached through the open window of his truck and picked up a clipboard from the seat. He flipped through several papers, studying them. June suspected he was stalling for some reason.
He finally tossed the clipboard back through the window. “The wiring supplies have been delivered. I’ll have to grab them from the warehouse, but I might as well start today. Having Gerry here is good because he can give me a hand pulling wire if I need it.” Mel smiled at Gerry. “You might end up learning to be an electrician. That’s how it happened to me.”
When Mel drove off, June headed inside to tackle the kitchen area of the saloon. Getting a drink—or anything—from this kitchen would involve a major flirtation with a health-code violation. No wonder Jack and Evie had chosen to close the kitchen last year. Scrubbing and rewiring might earn a passing grade from the health department later in the week, but it would not be easy.
Nothing