She took control of the clutch and flung it into neutral. As she ran through the many ways that this could get worse, she felt herself perspire. The cable could slip from the track and jam the wheel in place; the smoke coming from the clutch could escalate to fire; too much accelerated movement could cause an axel to snap; if an axel snapped with seats full of passengers, the whole wheel could topple into the bay. Her stomach twisted at the thought of another inexcusable disaster caused by her own stupidity.Not again,she pleaded as her past flashed through her mind.Please, God, not again.She glanced out to see that a small crowd had formed, and Milly was now clutching her chest with both hands as she looked up at her children.
It took several minutes, but the wheel began to slow and eventually rocked to a stop. Adele unloaded the seat closest to the platform, then very slowly moved the ride forward to unload the next, then she put it back in neutral and let it roll back in the opposite direction and unloaded that seat, then brought it forward again until she was able to unload in the correct order, restoring balance. When the last passenger stepped off the platform, she was finally able to exhale.
“Ma’am, excuse me, ma’am. Can you tell us your name?” someone called out, and a bright flash blinded her. She quickly held up her hand to her face, though it might have been too late. “I’m with theNewport Harbor News Press. What happened to the Ferris wheel? Is it fit to run for Bal Week?”
She turned abruptly, keeping an arm over her face as she retreatedto the wooden shed. She hastily collected her belongings, shoved the cashbox under her arm and the key in her pocket, then she pushed past the onlookers and headed to her desk in the Pavilion, where she should have been all along. She never should have been operating that ridiculous ride to begin with. She’d made it very clear to Mr. Peterson that she disliked crowds, and she would remind him once more as soon as she saw him. But when she walked toward his office, he was standing looking out the window onto the Fun Zone.
“Adele,” he said, his back still turned to her, “come in and shut the door.”
She did as he asked, taking a seat opposite his desk. She waited for him to speak and ran through explanations for the fiasco that had just occurred. Eventually he turned toward her.
“I’m going to have to let you go.”
“What? Why?” she asked, stunned. “Is this because of the…” She pointed out the window. “The incident?”
“Well,” he said. “It’s not exactly good for business just before Bal Week. I’m going to have inspectors poking around now.” He took a puff of his cigar, then set it down on an ashtray.
She was about to tell him it was a technical issue, assure him it was not her fault, but she didn’t even have a chance to lie.
“It’s my niece, you see. She’s just finished college, and I promised her a job for the summer. I owe my brother a favor.” He shrugged. “She needs something to do before she meets a husband and settles down. And I have a feeling she’ll be good at keeping the books. You know how it is. Family is family.”
“But I…” Adele was at a loss for words. “The Ferris wheel is more complicated than it looks, as you just saw.”
He waved away her comments. “Ah, she’ll get the hang of it.”
“But I need this job. Surely there’s something else I can do. Odd jobs, errands?” She hated to beg—it was beneath her—but she had expenses and bills to pay. She didn’t need much, but she relied on this paycheck for her simple, day-to-day life.
“I’m sorry,” he said, though he didn’t look all that sorry. “It’s just the way it is.”
Back home Adele picked up her racket and tennis ball and marched out behind her house to the alley that backed up to Amethyst Avenue. The cottage next to hers was vacant, soon to be torn down and replaced with one of those monstrosities, but for now it served as the perfect place to take out her anger. She dropped the felt ball to the ground, then slammed it into the side of the house. It flew back at her, and she whacked it again. The popping sound the ball made when it hit the perfect spot on her strings sent a hum through her body, and she wound up to swing again.
Now that she had to think about finding another job, dread was pooling in the pit of her stomach, her anxiety rising. Another job meant meeting new people, searching for an opportunity. All the jobs on the island available to a middle-aged woman like her involved serving or pleasing people—shop gal, waitress, checkout clerk. Maybe she’d find another gal-Friday position, like the one she did for Mr. Peterson, but those kinds of jobs came along through word of mouth, and after years of avoidance, of purposefully living in the shadows, her name was on no one’s lips.
She looped her racket back behind her and threw her whole body into the stroke, her back foot leaping off the ground. She did it again and again, getting into a rhythm. The force felt good, the power and speed giving her a singular focus. She knew as soon as she stopped hitting the ball that the dread would come rushing back, so she kept on doing it. This was the only thing she was good at, this was the only thing that felt right, and yet this was the very thing that had ruined her.
