Joyland

all the mechanicals: the magic beanstalk that shot out of the ground in a burst of steam; the witch cackling in front of the Candy House; the Mad Hatter’s tea party; the nightcap-wearing wolf who lurked beneath one of the underpasses and sprang at the train as it passed. As we rounded the final turn, we passed three houses all kids know well—one of straw, one of sticks, and one of bricks.
    “Watch out for pigs!” Lane cried, and just then they came waddling onto the tracks, uttering amplified oinks. Mike shrieked with laughter and yanked the whistle. As always, the pigs escaped . . . barely.
    When we pulled back into the station, Annie let go of my hand and hurried up to the engine. “Are you okay, hon? Want your inhaler?”
    “No, I’m fine.” Mike turned to Lane. “Thanks, Mr. Engineer!”
    “My pleasure, Mike.” He held out a hand, palm up. “Slap me five if you’re still alive.”
    Mike did, and with gusto. I doubt if he’d ever felt more alive.
    “Now I’ve got to move on,” Lane said. “Today I am a man of many hats.” He dropped me a wink.

    Annie vetoed the Whirly Cups but allowed Mike—not without apprehension—to ride the Chair-O-Planes. She gripped my arm even harder than she had my hand when his chair rose thirty feet above the ground and began to tilt, then loosened up again when she heard him laughing.
    “God,” she said, “look at his hair ! How it flies out behind him!” She was smiling. She was also crying, but didn’t seem aware of it. Nor of my arm, which had found its way around her waist.
    Fred was running the controls, and knew enough to keep the ride at half-speed, rather than bringing it all the way up to full, which would have had Mike parallel to the ground, held in only by centrifugal force. When he finally came back to earth, the kid was too dizzy to walk. Annie and I each took an arm and guided him to the wheelchair. Fred toted Mike’s crutches.
    “Oh, man.” It seemed to be all he could say. “Oh man, oh man.”
    The Dizzy Speedboats—a land ride in spite of the name—was next. Mike rode over the painted water in one with Milo, both of them clearly loving it. Annie and I took another one. Although I had been working at Joyland for over four months by then, I’d never been on this ride, and I yelled the first time I saw us rushing prow-first at Mike and Milo’s boat, only to shear off at the last second.
    “Wimp!” Annie shouted in my ear.
    When we got off, Mike was breathing hard but still not coughing. We rolled him up Hound Dog Way and grabbed sodas. The gazoonie refused to take the livespot Annie held out. “Everything’s on the house today, ma’am.”
    “Can I have a Pup, Mom? And some cotton candy?”
    She frowned, then sighed and shrugged. “Okay. Just as long as you understand that stuff is still off-limits, buster. Today’s an exception. And no more fast rides.”
    He wheeled ahead to the Pup-A-Licious shy, his own pup trotting beside him. She turned to me. “It’s not about nutrition, if that’s what you’re thinking. If he gets sick to his stomach, he might vomit. And vomiting is dangerous for kids in Mike’s condition. They—”
    I kissed her, just a gentle brush of my lips across hers. It was like swallowing a tiny drop of something incredibly sweet. “Hush,” I said. “Does he look sick?”
    Her eyes got very large. For a moment I felt positive that she was going to slap me and walk away. The day would be ruined and it would be my own stupid goddam fault. Then she smiled, looking at me in a speculative way that made my stomach feel light. “I bet you could do better than that, if you had half a chance.”
    Before I could think of a reply, she was hurrying after her son. It really would have made no difference if she’d hung around, because I was totally flummoxed.

    Annie, Mike, and Milo crowded into one car of the Gondola Glide, which crossed above the whole park on a diagonal. Fred Dean and I rode beneath them in one of the electric carts, with Mike’s wheelchair tucked in back.
    “Seems like a terrific kid,” Fred commented.
    “He is, but I never expected you to go all-out like this.”
    “That’s for you as much as for him. You’ve done the park more good than you seem to know, Dev. When I told Mr. Easterbrook I wanted to go big, he gave me the green light.”
    “You called him?”
    “I did indeed.”
    “That thing with the roses . . . how’d you pull it off?”
    Fred shot his cuffs and looked modest. “A