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 it was by choice, June felt like a third wheel when she had meetings with Jack and Evie about Starlight Point and its future. The small profits last year had been split three ways. This year’s profit would be split as well, even though it’d certainly still be modest as they worked to convince the bankers to extend the loan.
June wanted to earn her share, small though it was. And theater was the best way she knew how to do that. Better shows could mean more ticket sales. They might bring local pass holders across the Point Bridge a few more times each summer to see the shows, and locals spend money on popcorn, elephant ears and soda.
“The Sea Devil was Dad’s idea,” Jack said. “He started it, he just didn’t get to finish it.”
“Are you saying you wouldn’t add new rides in the future?” June asked.
Jack exhaled slowly, staring out the second-floor window at the front section of the midway. “I’m saying I wouldn’t go that big, especially if it practically bankrupted us. Not anytime soon.”
“Our plan for this year is good,” Evie said. “Small improvements that guests will notice. New paint, a few new facades on buildings—”
“Like both theaters,” June said.
Evie went on as if her sister weren’t even there. “Restroom upgrades, new safety belts in the children’s rides, new signs on the Point Bridge. But we’re not breaking the bank.”
“Unless the bank breaks us,” June said.
Jack waved at someone outside and then turned back to his sisters. “If we made it through last year, we’ll make it through this year. The bankers liked what they saw last summer even though we had very little time to do anything. We have a solid plan. And one of our owners is now a CPA with more money sense than the other two of us put together.”
“Hope it helps,” Evie said.
“Credibility,” Jack said, “helps make up for the fact another one of the owners is a Broadway dancer who never sticks around.”
June narrowed her eyes and threw a pencil at him. The elevator outside Jack’s office dinged.
“Mom,” Jack whispered. “And she’s got Betty with her. I just saw them outside.”
Virginia Hamilton zipped into the room. She pulled a red wagon behind her and parked it by Jack’s desk. The brown, black and white dog snoozing on a blanket in the wagon opened one eye, yawned and went back to sleep.
Evie rolled over in Jack’s chair and stroked the dog’s ears. “Betty smells good today,” she said, smiling at her mother.
“Just picked her up from the groomer. She rolled in something dead on the beach yesterday,” Virginia said. “How’s it going here in the war room with one week before the big opening?”
Jack groaned loudly. Evie rolled back to the desk. And June looked out the window, thinking about big openings she’d been part of before. Opening day at the park every year through her eighteenth birthday. Opening night of four major Broadway productions. She was getting to be a pro at pulling a show together.
The elevator dinged in the silence and Mel ambled in.
He stopped. His eyes met June’s and held for a heartbeat until he shifted to the oldest member of the family.
“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t mean to interrupt. I just came by to see if Jack wanted to get some lunch. I need a break from trying to figure out how water got into the circuit boards of the Silver Streak over the winter.”
June hadn’t seen Mel since he’d turned on her lights at the Starlight Saloon. She’d heard through Jack that Mel was rewiring the entire theater before he’d allow even one extension cord to be plugged in, so she’d avoided the Saloon for a week, focusing on costume and prop designs instead.
“Gus