I chuckle under my breath and walk over to the ring toss booth. “Whatever you say, Queenie.”
“Has anyone ever told you you look exactly like Winona Williams?” the guy working the booth asks.
“I get that a lot,” she says wryly. Then she takes one of the rings, tosses it onto a bottle, and hits the jackpot immediately.
She jumps up into my arms, and I press my mouth to her ear. “Revenge looks good on you.”
She laughs and presses her lips to mine before taking her bear.
Twenty minutes and sixty bucks’ worth of snacks later, Lou and I step onto a gondola on the huge Ferris wheel. She insists on paying, and because she has cash, I let her.
A monitor engineer makes a good living, and considering the tour gives me a daily stipend, it’s not like I’m strapped—right now—but every penny I don’t touch is a penny I can use to pay for my dad’s surgery, fix up the bar.
So I let Lou pay. Graciously.
By which I mean, I’m grumbling when we sit.
She sets her new oversized pink bear down across from us, and its beady black eyes stare at me judgingly.
“Am I or am I not objectively wealthy?” she asks, taking a handful of blue cotton candy and shoving it into her mouth.
“You are.”
“Good. Thank you. I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page,” she says, stuffing more blue fluff into her mouth. Apiece of it gets stuck on her nose, and I reach for it, pushing it into her mouth too.
Her lips barely graze my fingers, but it stirs up a fire low in my belly that makes me lean in for a kiss.
Unfortunately, she puts a finger up to my lips, stopping me with a tut. “Not so fast, Sugar. If I’m gonna be your co-writer, I need something to work with first.”
I lean back into the red, full-leather chair. The gondola sways slightly as the Ferris wheel lurches forward, stopping and starting in a rhythmic cycle to let more passengers off and on. Lou nestles into the crook of my arm, and I rest my hand on her shoulder. She takes it, threading her fingers through mine as we both look out at the park.
The Ferris wheel spins higher and higher with each new passenger until, from up here, we can see Branson itself. A soft breeze carries the sounds of the park below. From this vantage point, the kitschiness of the city fades into a kind of throwback charm.
It’s dusk, and the sun is making its final farewell to the city, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet.
“How much do you know about my dad’s accident?” I ask.
Lou doesn’t hesitate. “Everything Ash knows,” she says. “Plus the detail you told me about the church. He was driving back from Sugar Maple to Mullet Ridge when Rusty‘s dad caused an accident—with Rusty’s little sister on board. She was killed instantly. Arlo was thrown harmlessly from the car, and your dad was paralyzed.”
I clench my jaw, my throat thick with emotion as she squeezes my hand.
I appreciate the way Lou calls Rusty’s dad Arlo. That man has never been a father to Rusty, and he doesn’t deserve the title.
My dad, on the other hand, deserves a medal.
Not that I would have been there to give it to him.
My guilt is like poison—like acid burning the back of my throat every time I try to swallow.
But I’m so sick of waiting for it to finish me, once and for all.
I came on this tour because I want a remedy.
An antidote.
And maybe Lou isn’t the one I expected, but who’s to say she ain’t even better?
If the effectiveness of an antidote is how you feel, being around her has the power to heal me more than anything.
