As Henry picked up two pumpkins and walked over to one of the displays to tuck them in, Virginia took a close look at her youngest daughter. Her cheeks were pink and eyes bright. It was a mild autumn day, but not warm enough to bring color to Evie’s cheeks.
“I have to tell you something,” she said quietly once Henry was out of earshot.
Virginia guessed the news, but she let her daughter continue.
“I’m pregnant,” Evie announced. Her feet practically danced on the pavement when she said it. Virginia pulled her close as tears sprang to her eyes.
“Oh, honey, I’m so happy!”
“We are, too. Due in March. It’s still early, but I had to tell you first before everyone else finds out.”
“That should be in about fifteen minutes,” Virginia said. “And how are you feeling? Are you okay?”
“Great,” Evie said. “A little yucky this morning before I got going, but I feel fine as long as I keep moving and focused.”
“You’ll get to take a nice break when this place closes. Although not as long as usual with the fall and winter events going on.”
“I’m worried about being a mom and running this place,” Evie confided. “Jack and June have done it, though, so I hope it’ll be okay.”
“It’ll be better than okay,” Virginia said. “Remember, you have help. And you’ll have a beautiful son or daughter by next summer.” She hugged her daughter again, unwilling to let her go for another moment.
“I should get back to the office,” Evie said. “And I’ll see if I can find June on my way there.”
“Let’s have a celebration dinner tonight,” Virginia said. “My place—and don’t worry, I’ll order something instead of cooking.”
“I’d love that. And Scott will be very happy you’re not risking a kitchen fire. You know what a worrier he is.”
Virginia watched Evie walk away, her thoughts miles from the pumpkins she was supposed to be helping Henry arrange. She’d been so happy when Evie found true love with the new fire chief at Starlight Point. Scott and his sister Caroline had become part of their family, and 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