by Orly Konig
“Because of me.” I’m surprised by the lack of melting butterflies.
“Ah. Diane asked me to forward her condolences and apologies. She wasn’t up to meeting you today. Maybe before she returns to England.” I nod, not sure what to say. “She also wanted you to have this.” He picks up the frame. It is, indeed, the photograph of Hank at the ribbon-cutting ceremony. His friends have all signed their names, some have even written a few words about the carousel.
Fresh tears come from the well I’d thought was dry. “Please thank her for me.”
His eyes bore into me. “So, Maya, what now?”
“We all move on.”
“What are you moving on to?”
Indeed, what?
“First the reopening of the merry-go-round. It’s time for a new generation to experience its magic.”
“And second?”
“Second, make some of my own magic.” I meet his eyes. I know how Grandma was able to love Hank and Jonathan. And how Hank was able to love her and Annabelle. Simon will forever have a place in my heart, but he’s not my future.
He knows it, too. Simon’s mouth pulls into a line, and he pushes off from my car. He opens the back door and places the photograph on the backseat. It takes three easy steps and he’s in front of me. His right hand brushes away a curl. He leans close and gives me the gentlest of kisses on the cheek. From anyone else, it would have been a friendly hello, good-bye. From Simon, it’s a heart-wrenching choice. But the right choice.
“Good-bye, Maya. I’ll see you around.”
“Good-bye, Simon.” I slip past him and into my car. He stays in my rearview mirror until I take the left turn out of the cemetery.
* * *
I skirt the house and go directly to the studio. There’s a lot of work to be done, and I’m not ready to talk to Vale about the funeral. Or about Simon.
“Hi.” I stroke his neck. “You look very handsome. Are you ready to go home?”
I pull the packing material he came in from the back corner and start the slow, sad process of wrapping up my horse. Because he is my horse.
I squat to wrap his left front hoof. “I’m going to miss you. We’ve had quite a ride together haven’t we?”
I shift my weight until I’m sitting on the concrete floor. A raspy breath pushes past my lips and sends dust fairies scurrying away.
“You have to go back to your friends now, start over. How do I let go? There have been too many good-byes. Grandma. The baby. Hank. Now you. Our stories are so tightly wound together.”
I stretch my arms back and cringe as the two knots in my shoulders collide. I look up, the bubble wrap forgotten in my hands.
“You really are magic though. Look at everything you’ve done for me. You brought me Hank and Simon. And in a weird way, I think you’ve even helped me get closer to Mom. You helped me see past the grief. And thanks to you, I think I can finally put the last year behind me.”
Fred barrels into my side at the same time as I hear someone clearing his throat behind me.
“So, he’s the one you’ve been talking to. Should I be jealous?”
“Nah. But he is a good listener.”
Vale chuckles. The picture, laying on the table, catches his eye. “This is nice.”
“It was in Hank’s room at Tower Oaks. His daughter thought I’d want it.”
“Very generous. Where are you going to put it?”
The idea comes to me before he finishes the question. “It belongs with the merry-go-round. I’m going to have them hang it in the pavilion and showcase it at the reopening ceremony. I wanted Hank to be there. Now he will be. Forever.”
Thirty-nine
The air hangs close, like an overheated stranger with personal-space issues. There are a lot of strangers crowding the carousel pavilion this afternoon.
I lean against the railing where the moveable walls have been pushed open to allow the ocean breeze through. There are too many people here for even the breeze to move. I look to the ocean, wishing I could escape to the sand and the waves. After all the years of wishing to return to the Carousel Beach of my memories, I’m here. Almost.
I had my quiet time with the merry-go-round this morning, when we came for the final walk-through. She’s as beautiful as I remember her from my childhood. The magic is missing, though. Or maybe just for me.
Magic or no magic, I now have to play my part alongside the board of the arts committee, and the mayor, and the other high-ups who’ve come out of their air-conditioned offices to celebrate the Fourth of July and the grand reopening.
A ruffle of air moves the silk of my camisole. I pull at the delicate fabric and attempt to flap a hint of air to my sticky middle.
In fifteen minutes, the mayor will cut the ribbon and the merry-go-round will come back to life. All the years of work and love have led to this moment. The smiles on faces as people take in the transformation swells me with pride. Not for myself, but for Hank. I wish he could have seen this.
“Why are you hiding over here?” Jerome leans on the railing next to me. “You should be in the middle of this circus.”
“Nah, you know me. I prefer watching from the cheap seats. Hard to believe that she’s no longer mine. Not that she was mine, mine, but you know what I mean.” I flush at my rambling. “God, I hope they don’t ask me to say anything. Can you imagine?”
Jerome chuckles. “Don’t worry, I know where the switch is to turn the old girl on. If you make an ass of yourself up there, I’ll just drown you out with the merry-go-round music.”
“Great pep talk, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He puffs out his chest then exhales with laughter. “Seriously though, Maya, it’s been a pleasure working with you. I’m going to miss you.”
I twist to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere.” Has he been talking to Vale?
“Good.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “And before the craziness officially takes over, I wanted to tell you how proud I am to have been associated with this project. You’re a remarkable woman, Maya Brice.”
“Awww, geez, you’re going to make me cry.”
“You really want to get choked up? Go look at some of those new messages being posted on the Memory Wall. That, my dear, was a stroke of brilliance.”
The one side of the pavilion that doesn’t open became my canvas for the Memory Wall. I hung the photograph from Hank’s room at Tower Oaks in the center. To the right are assorted photographs of the carousel—some from its early days and some during the restoration process.
To the left is a huge corkboard. I’d been so moved by the notes left in the comment boxes during the years of renovation that I convinced the arts committee to make them a permanent part of the carousel. Slips of memories dot the corkboard, each with another snippet of hope and happiness from a stranger who discovered the magic. We’d placed a table with blank paper and assorted pens under Hank’s picture. The crowd swarmed to the paper scraps like seagulls to French fries.
Kaitlin, the mayor’s communications director, catches my eye and holds up her hand. Five minutes to go.
“You got this.” Jerome pulls me in for a hug then disappears into the crowd.
I work my way through the people, mumbling hellos and thank yous and welcomes. The faces are a blur, but I purposefully don’t stop for a closer look. The people who should be in attendance won’t be here.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention. I’ll make this quick, I know you’re all anxious to get a closer look and a ride,” Mayor Fischer’s voice booms over the loudspeaker. “Several years ago…” He looks from me to Kaitlin, who holds up three fingers. “… Three years ago, our historic carousel was gifted a second chance. Thanks to the loving attention of Maya Brice and her team of experts, summer days on the Kent boardwalk will again be filled with the music and laughter that only a merry-go-round can produce.”
I scan the crowd. Vale is standing with Thomas and Bree. Alex gives me a blue thumbs-up and a wide
grin, his teeth a matching blue. Megan clutches Bree’s hand—or rather Bree clutches Megan’s, trying to keep her from bolting to the carousel. Mom and Dad are a few clusters over, talking with a group of their friends. Toward the back, I spot Sam and Taylor. She beams at me while he beams at her. The two faces I want to see more than anything, though, are on the back wall, in a photograph of a similar event sixty-five years ago.
“On the back wall,” the mayor continues, “you can read more about the history of the carousel and its restoration, as well as what you can do to help support the future of this beautiful piece of our community. Without further ado, please help me welcome Ms. Brice as we cut the ribbon and open the Kent Carousel for business.”
I bristle at the word business. The carousel isn’t a business.
I stretch my face into a smile and take my place next to the mayor, who’s holding a giant pair of scissors. The red ribbon goes slack in my hand, and the crowd cheers.
Loralee, the events director, corrals the group of people closest to the carousel into a line to wait their turn. The first ride is for VIPs. I’ve been deemed a VIP, as have my family members, much to the delight of the kids. Vale is at my side with Megan and a slightly less-blue Alex.
“Congratulations. It’s beautiful,” Vale says and gives me a kiss on the lips. Megan giggles, and Alex pretends to gag.
Thomas picks Alex up by the waist. “Let’s leave these yucky adults and go find an animal to ride.”
Alex calls dibs on the lion. Megan runs for the ostrich with Vale as her chaperone.
The mayor and Jerome step up on the platform and walk through the maze of animals until I can’t see them anymore. A dozen more people who I don’t know congratulate me and take their spots on one animal or another.
I don’t run to my horse, not this time. Grandma would have teased me for missing my spot. I step onto the beautifully polished wood floor as the carousel inches forward. With the first notes of the music, I can almost hear her laugh and call to me, “You’d better mount that pony fast, Mims.”
I weave through the menagerie until I see him. Here with his herd he’s even more stunning than he’d been in my studio.
There’s no one on him, though, and as I come closer, I see why. Mom is standing between him and the jumper to his left, arms stretched between the two. She smiles when she catches me gawking. She tilts her head for me to come, and grabs at the pole for support as the carousel picks up speed.
“Close your mouth, dear. The photographers are snapping as fast as this thing is moving. You don’t want an unflattering tonsil shot on the front page of the newspaper.” She smiles demurely at a couple of cameras.
“How? What?” I stammer, unable to formulate a coherent question.
I mount my horse while Mom climbs onto hers. She wraps an arm around the pole, leaning her chest into it. Her other hand grips the leather reins as if she would be able to yank the horse to a stop if he gets too fast.
“I don’t know what to say, Mom.”
“Nothing would be advisable. At least not until this thing has stopped and we’ve come off alive.”
I laugh. A real laugh, a laugh like I haven’t felt in entirely too long.
As the merry-go-round spins, I catch glimpses of Hank and my grandma grinning from their forever picture; the shimmers of the setting sun on the ocean; a dolphin leaping over the waves; people talking, smiling, waving. The breeze stirred up by the motion of the carousel carries the smells of my youth—caramel popcorn, suntan lotion, wood, sea.
By the time the carousel begins to slow, Mom has released her death grip on the reins but not the pole.
Alex comes running to us when the carousel stops and the music quiets. “Grandma, you rode the up-and-down horse. Wow. How was it? That looked so fun. Dad wouldn’t let me ride one of the up-and-downs.”
“It was fun.” She says, giving me a tight smile and Alex a wider one. She wobbles the few steps to the edge of the platform and makes a show of having Alex help her off. Grandma used to do that when I was around Alex’s age.
I slide off my horse and wrap my arms around his neck. “I was wrong,” I whisper into his ear, “you are still full of magic.”
Kaitlin takes my arm the moment I step off the carousel and leads me to a group of reporters.
“Why this project, Maya?” a girl who introduces herself as Melanie from the Kent Daily asks.
“I grew up riding this carousel. It was where magic became reality for me. That sounds silly, I know, but it’s true. My grandmother used to tell me such amazing stories about these animals, as though they were real. For us they were. Coming here always made me happy, it didn’t matter what else was happening in my life at the time. I wanted to make sure other kids, and adults, had that same opportunity.”
Melanie turns off the recording app on her phone, jots something down in a notebook, and thanks me for my time. I catch a roll of her eyes as she turns and walks away with her photographer at her side. She’s not one of the lucky ones who will be transformed by the merry-go-round.
I weave my way to the outside perimeter in search of air and a moment of calm.
Vale catches my eye from across the pavilion. We’ve settled into a not completely uncomfortable routine since his return from Seattle. In some ways, it’s been better than it has in months. But the moment I release the stranglehold on my breath, the reality of his pending move crushes me all over again.
The carousel kicks into motion again, and Megan appears at my side. “Come on, Aunt Maymay, ride with me. Please?”
“Yes, Aunt Maymay,” Thomas says. “You look entirely too serious standing here by yourself. You okay?” He mouths the last part to keep Megan from hearing.
I nod. Thomas I can put off with a nod. Megan won’t be dismissed quite so easily. But after five rounds on the carousel, even I’m ready for solid ground, and I hand Megan off to Bree.
“Ready to go?” Vale asks. We’re less than a week from his start date at the Seattle firm, and now that the reopening ceremony is over, my excuse jar is empty. He’ll be expecting an answer. Soon. “A bunch of folks are going to The Yellow Owl for drinks. Want to go?”
I don’t. I’d prefer to stay with my carousel horse, but that’s no longer an option. But I also don’t feel like going home yet. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”
I whisper my good-bye to the animals who’ve been my closest confidants over the last year. I know they’ll protect the secrets and dreams of others, like they did mine.
Hand-in-hand with Vale, I walk away. The music picks up speed then slows. The buzz of voices is muffled by the surf. Late-afternoon runners jog along the beach while shell seekers stroll, heads down, oblivious to the party on the boardwalk. I spot him next to a lifeguard stand, bent over to catch his breath. A woman I recognize as one of the doctors from the hospital jogs in place next to him. Our eyes meet and he smiles, that smile that made girls, including me, swoon. I return the smile as he and his friend pick up their run.
Vale and I follow the handful of our friends two blocks to The Yellow Owl, where Taylor has secured a section of the rooftop deck for us.
“To Maya and her carousel.” Taylor raises a glass when we’ve joined the group.
Up on the roof in the waning light, with the distant sounds of the carousel and the waves, I finally feel the noose around my lungs release. The anticipation leading up to today drains from me, and I relax into the festive atmosphere.
With the last of the fireworks, the party begins to break up. Vale, Taylor, Sam, and I are the last on the roof.
“Oh my god, quiet.” I lean back in the chair and tilt my head to the few stars hardy enough to get past the lights of Kent.
“It’s been quite the day.” Sam scoots closer to me. In the three weeks since she told me about the baby, the baby-signs have popped.
“Have I told you how adorable you are prego?” I lean into her shoulder.
“You say that now. I bet you won’t in a few months.”
“You
’ll be gorgeous even then.”
“Have I told you what an awesome friend you are?” She laces her fingers through mine.
“You say that now. I bet you won’t if we move across the country.” I lower my voice so it doesn’t carry.
“Does that mean you’re thinking of going?”
“Of course I’m thinking. Hard not to. But I still don’t know what to do. I really don’t want to go, Sam.”
“I know.” She squeezes my mind.
“Hey you two,” Vale’s voice breaks our moment. “Whatever you’re cooking up, put a cork in it. It’s time to call it a night.”
Vale and Taylor help a busboy put glasses into a plastic bin.
“We need to get out of here before they make us do the dishes as well,” Taylor adds.
Outside of the restaurant, we say our good-byes, and Vale and I watch Taylor and Sam get into his car. We’d walked the few blocks from our house to the beach and now, after a long day and in the heat of the evening, I wish we’d driven.
“Come on, I’m tired.” Vale takes my hand and we retrace the morning’s walk. A walk we’ve done so many times. Will there be more?
After the excitement of the day and the noise of the evening, I’m reluctant to break the quiet between us. “Vale,” I finally say as we’re about to turn onto our street.
He releases my hand and puts his arm around my shoulder. “Not tonight, May. Tonight, we’re going to enjoy the high of your success and the magic of the carousel.”
Forty
I stretch and inhale the smell of coffee. I blink at the light, roll over and bolt upright when I see the clock. How did I sleep until ten A.M.? Even when I want to sleep in, I usually end up wide awake at seven.
I pull on shorts and a shirt, then pad down the stairs. No husband, no dog. But there’s a mug with a sticky note on the counter.
Took Fred for a walk. Made coffee. Look on the table. p.s. Need to buy more sticky notes.
I pour a cup of coffee and go to the table as instructed. Vale has been working on a drawing of the kitchen. I pick up the plans and walk the new layout, running my hands over the Formica counter, the drab yellowy-white maple cabinets, the old faucet that spits when you turn it to maximum. I clutch the papers to my chest.
