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A group of four young women entered, clutching one another’s sleeves and arguing over who had to walk first.
The performer at the far end immediately captured their attention with an elaborate complaint about a defective torso.
One of the women laughed.
Another pointed toward the mismatched arms and announced that the Factory needed better quality control.
The operator began turning the crank as the women inspected the mismatched arms.
Halfway through her complaint, she stopped and stared at the gray head. “Was that thing looking at me?” she demanded.
Her friends insisted it hadn’t been, although none offered to go back and check. They were still debating what they’d seen when the performer sent them into Packaging and Shipping.
Duncan and I stood behind the partition, grinning at each other.
“I’ve been watching that for twenty minutes,” he admitted. “It keeps working.”
“Of course it does. You made it.”
“Years ago. You figured out where it belonged.”
“Then perhaps we’re both allowed to be pleased with ourselves.”
His smile was answer enough.
I caught his hand and squeezed it before heading back toward the entrance.
By midnight, my feet were aching and my voice was getting hoarse from speaking over the noise outside. I’d managed a sandwich and another bottle of water between checks, but I was beginning to feel every hour of the weekend.
Duncan found me beside the service doors shortly after one, when the incoming crowds had finally started thinning.
He stood close enough to shield me from the wind blowing across the open service area.
“You need a break?”
“I need about eight hours of sleep and someone to massage my feet, but I’ll settle for five minutes.”
“I can probably help with two of those things later.”
I turned toward him.
“That’s a very interesting offer.”
“Depends on whether you behave yourself until closing.”
I laughed. “You met me Thursday. I would’ve thought you’d stopped expecting that by now.”
He smiled and slipped an arm around me.
For a moment, I rested against his chest and watched another group emerge from the attraction. A young man was trying to explain to his friends that he’d known the moving head was going to turn, which wasn’t especially convincing given that he was still laughing about how loudly he’d shouted.
I could have watched them all night.
After six weeks of planning and two exhausting days of rebuilding, I could finally watch guests enjoy the attraction without worrying whether the next effect would fail. Duncan stood beside me, his arm warm around my shoulders.
Near two, we admitted the last guests and waited while the final group completed the route. I checked the closing notes, confirmed that the performers knew what equipment could safely be shut down, and arranged for the remaining cleanup to be handled by the assigned crew.
The last guests emerged laughing.
