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The entrance gates loomed ahead. Country music drifted from inside, mixed with the screams of roller coaster riders. I bought my ticket from a teenager who barely looked at me, too busy texting between transactions.

Inside, Showstreet opened up before me. The main thoroughfare was lined with shops. The massive Dollywood Emporium anchoring one side, the Sweet Shoppe Candy Kitchen with its bright displays visible through the windows on the other. The smell of funnel cake and cinnamon competed for dominance.

Children raced past, dragging exhausted parents behind them.

I wandered without purpose, just another face in the crowd. Past the shops, deeper into the park, I found Craftsman's Valley. Hand-carved wooden signs pointed to different craft demonstrations. Old Flames Candles caught my attention—a shop where craftspeople dipped candles by hand, the way people had done for generations in these mountains.

Through the window, I watched a woman dip a candle into vats of colored wax, building up layers. A small group of kids waited their turn to try it themselves, bouncing on their toes.

The roller coaster called to me. Mystery Mine, according to the weathered sign. The entrance was designed to look like an abandoned coal mine, complete with an animatronic vulture perched on a post, telling stories to the crowd.

I joined the line behind a family of five. The mother juggled a diaper bag and a toddler while the father tried to wrangle two older boys who kept shoving each other.

"Brandon, I swear to God, if you push your brother one more time," the mother warned.

Brandon pushed his brother. I stifled a giggle.

The mother closed her eyes and counted to ten. I recognized that level of exhaustion. Dad used to get that look when I'd been particularly difficult as a kid.

"Hey," the father said to his wife, "why don't you take Tommy to the rider switch area? The boys and I will ride, then we can swap."

"Thank God." She adjusted the toddler on her hip. "Tommy, want to go watch the birdies with Mommy?"

The toddler stared at me with enormous brown eyes, then grabbed my sunglasses and yanked them off my face.

"Tommy! No!" The mother reached for them.

"It's fine." I smiled at the kid. "What do you see?"

He put the sunglasses on his own face. They slid down his nose, way too big. He gave one of those baby chortles.

"You look very stylish," I told him.

The mother had successfully separated her older boys and established peace through threat of leaving the park. She turned back, saw Tommy wearing my sunglasses, and laughed.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. He has excellent taste in accessories."

"I'm Sarah," the mother said. "That's my husband Mike, and the troublemakers are Brandon and Connor."

"I'm Kathy." The lie came out smooth. Kit was too recognizable. Katherine too formal. Kathy worked.

"First time at Dollywood?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Annual pass holders. We live close in Knoxville. The boys have been begging to come all week." She shifted Tommy to her other hip. "I'm going to take this one to the rider switch. Have fun on the ride!"

"Thanks. Nice meeting you."

Sarah managed to retrieve my sunglasses, now smudged with toddler fingerprints. Tommy waved from her arms as they headed toward the designated waiting area for non-riders.

I climbed into my seat alone, next to Mike and his boys. The safety bar locked down. The cart launched forward into darkness. A miner's evil laugh echoed. Crows cawed from somewhere above. The cart dropped beneath a spinning rock crusher, whipped around a hairpin curve.

Then came the vertical lift. Straight up, ninety degrees, graffiti covering the walls on either side. At the top, we burst outside into daylight for one breath before plunging back into the mine.

The second vertical lift was even more intense. Eighty-five feet straight up in pitch darkness. A fuse sparked, snaking along the floor. A lantern illuminated dynamite. The explosion was simulated but my scream was real.