“Yes.”
“So, I guess you won’t be joining us in Bali?”
“Afraid not,” I said.
“Maybe next time. Well, I’ve got to pack. I love you.”
“Love you—” the line went dead ‘’—too.”
By mile three my mood was no longer in the toilet—it had been flushed out to sea and sank to the bottom of the ocean.
The heels had given me blisters on my big toes and the back of my ankles, but I refused to turn around.
Four miserable miles later, I was in Silver Springs, the sister town of Huckleberry Hill. It was quaint, too, but different. Huckleberry Hill, despite once being a mining town, now had a small-town upscale polish. Silver Springs still felta bit . . . Wild, Wild West. I almost expected gunslingers and stagecoaches to appear at any moment.
I ordered an iced tea to go at the café and then wandered through town, peering into windows out of curiosity. The musical sound of a carousel drew me toward the park. Parents roosted on benches, owlish eyes surveying their children who laughed and played in the sun.
I went to the carousel booth, preparing to slide open the back part of my phone where I carried my ID and credit card.
“Rides are free,” the middle-aged operator said. He handed me a few golden tokens, and I peered at one of them. It had an etching of a carousel horse and the year 1910 stamped on it.
“This carousel was at the 1910 World’s Fair,” he explained, blue eyes alight as he mentioned the historical fact. “It’s been fully restored and just became operational only in the last year. Pick your horse.”
He held out his robust hand. I took it as I stepped up onto the carousel. As I walked around, I stroked finely painted wooden noses and static manes and finally settled on a black mount with a white star on its forehead. I side-saddled the horse and adjusted my skirt and sipped my iced tea.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
He pressed a button, and the carousel began to whirl. Music played. And I lost myself for a while. When the ride came to an end, I asked, “Can I go again?”
“You can go as many times as you want.”
I stayed on the carousel for several revolutions. Children came and went. But I remained. I finished the iced tea and still I stayed atop that mount.
It must’ve been the thirtieth ride, and when the carousel came to a halt, I finally saw him.
Brooks was standing at the railing that separated the carousel from the park. He was staring at me, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Thank you,” I said to the operator.
He came and helped me down. “That your boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s been here for three turns,” the operator said. “Can’t take his eyes off you.”
I gestured to my clothes. “Probably the costume.”
“I don’t think so.” He smiled. “Are you in a play or something?”
“Or something,” I said, smiling back. “Thank you for this. It was lovely.”
I walked through the turnstile and approached Brooks. “Hey.”
“I like the dress, Freckles,” he said, his gaze dipping, the brim of his cowboy hat lowering.
“Thank you. How did you know I was here?”
