The Corner of Forever and Always

by Lia Riley

  She licked her top lip in a quick, self-conscious nervous gesture. His gaze riveted. This wasn’t a mere crush on her mouth but a full-scale obsession.

  “First step is admitting there’s a problem.”

  Her smart mouth made him grin. “It appears we can’t keep our hands off each other.”

  “Right. So the key is physical distance. At all times.” She pushed back and stood, took a step back, then two more. “Five feet. That seems reasonable. Three in a push.”

  He rose and moved in the opposite direction. “Ground rules.”

  “And we don’t speak about this to anyone. That way it never happened, like a tree falling in the woods or however the old saying goes.”

  “My lips are sealed.” He headed toward the door and made himself place his hand on the doorknob. “Good night, Tuesday.”

  “Have a safe drive home, Mayor,” she returned.

  He closed the door, and the wind chime hanging from a nail on the porch rafter tinkled in the wind, spinning around and around and around. It took him a full minute to muster the strength to walk down the front steps, get on his bike, and drive home.

  Close call, narrowly avoided, but the fact held no relief. Just a lonely, weary sadness.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning Tuesday doubled down at Happily Ever After Land, posed for photographs, hammed it up with guests, and studied the surrounds. She could still close one eye and imagine elegant men in bowler hats and women in bustled skirts and parasols promenading the leafy paths, but the last hundred years hadn’t been kind to the park. The grand old dame looked tired, the surroundings battered by sea air and faded by time.

  The souvenir shops needed fresh paint. The Fun Slide and Drop Tower had CLOSED FOR REPAIRS signs hanging from their entrances. Algae coated the water surface of the kiddie boat ride. And yet, even still, the place retained a vintage charm, from the clickety-clack of the wooden roller coaster to the soaring one-hundred-and-twenty-foot Ferris wheel.

  But condemning the park in favor of a Discount-Mart and an outlet mall? Talk about committing small-town sacrilege. Everland was special because it wasn’t like anywhere else and retained an indefinable lost-in-time appeal. The workers here relied on the park, not just because of a paycheck, but also because it was a home. A place of belonging, family, and friendship.

  She entered the staff break room stomach rumbling from watching visitors devour toffee apples, funnel cake, and saltwater taffy. She’d forgotten to eat breakfast and on-the-job snacking was strictly forbidden for a princess. Other rules were no sitting, no using a public restroom, no playing with a phone, and no breaking character.

  Unless in here. The break room was the safe space for the talent.

  A clown snored in the corner of the room under a poster that read YOUR MAMA’S NOT HERE. CLEAN YOU OWN MESS. Z-Man, fast asleep as usual. There were conflicting reports on whether his real name was Zack, Zane, or Zebidiah, but there was unanimous agreement on how he’d earned his nickname. Sneaking on-the-job naps wherever possible. He played the park mascot, Merry Perry, and not only endured the sweltering months in the red wig and thick makeup but also had the ten-years-service ribbon taped to the front of his staff locker.

  She opened her locker and removed the Sweet Brew carrot cake cupcake she’d been dreaming about all morning. She’d be more likely to forget putting on underwear than to miss a meal. And let’s face it, baked goods fantasies were less dangerous than those relating to certain men, specifically of the mayor variety.

  “Hello, lover,” she murmured, cradling it in her hands. “Yup. I’m fitting this whole baby in my mouth.” She got as far as peeling off the foil when there came the thunder of footsteps.

  “Greetings, my beautiful true love!” Gil burst into the room, crossing to her in four exaggerated hops before posing with a smooch-lipped face and fluttering lids.

  “In your dreams, Kermit.” She patted the top of his head. “It’s not me; it’s your class. I’m a mammal. You’re an amphibian. We’re from opposite sides of the magical kingdom.”

  “Love knows no sides.”

  “Maybe not.” She giggled. “But alas, we couldn’t provide the kingdom the required heirs.”

  Gil feigned deep thinking. “I think a hybrid frog-human could make our kingdom great again.” He snatched a bite from her cupcake.

  “I hate you!” she cried.

  “You love me,” he countered, wiping his lips in satisfaction. He attended night school at the local community college and was in that twenty-year-old “the world is my oyster” stage. Who wanted to rain on that parade?

  She’d never had a little brother, but if she did, she imagined he’d have been like him. He loved chasing her around the park, cajoling her for a wayward kiss to the delight of the guests, but in the break room they kicked back and traded gossip over the day’s cute boys.

  Gil might be a frog, but he hoped to meet his Prince Charming someday. Toots strolled in next, right on schedule, along with Caroline from Janitorial Services, who never spoke above a whisper. Lettie Sue was preceded by a loud sneeze. She was a single mom and the park hypochondriac. She continuously quizzed Caroline about the cleaning product ingredients and followed the outbreak of every rare disease in the national news. She’d recently been convinced she’d contracted the bubonic plague from the park’s chipmunk population. It turned out to be dehydration after working the Visitor Information in hundred-degree heat.

  Hot on her heels was Eugene, aka “Mean Gene,” the quintessential grumpy old man, who was the only person who ever put an idea in the employee suggestion box.

  Toots said it was always the same thing: “Remove the suggestion box.”

  Tuesday had been welcomed into this ragtag gang of misfits, no questions asked. At lunch politics and religion were strictly off-limits, while discussions of celebrity scandals and teasing were not only allowed but encouraged.

  Except today she was the bearer of serious news. How could she share Beau’s conversation from last night without putting them in fear of losing their social network and livelihoods?

  “What’s the latest in the world?” Toots asked, picking up the Everland Examiner.

  “The park’s under attack,” Tuesday blurted. “We’re in danger of being torn down to make way for an outlet mall and a Discount-Mart.”

  All conversation ceased. The vending machine hummed in the corner.

  Oops. She’d meant to ease into the dialogue gently; instead her lead-in was “the house is on fire and we’re alllllllll gonna diiiiiiiie.”

  The room fell silent. Z-Man had jolted awake during the hubbub. “Say what?” He plucked off his rubber nose.

  “Happily Ever After Land has been losing money for years, and outside interests want to stop the bleeding by tearing us down and building a Discount-Mart and an adjacent outlet mall.”

  “Says who?” Toots demanded.

  Tuesday chewed her inner lip. She couldn’t out the mayor. This group might gather battering rams or pitchforks and storm city hall.

  “I’m not at liberty to reveal my source.”

  “Pshaw.” Toots scoffed. “Sounds like a tempest in a teapot to me. Why, this park has stood for one hundred years. It’s listed on the National Register of Historic Places.”

  “Is not,” Eugene grumbled.

  “It should be,” Toots shot back.

  “Could there be another reason?” Lettie Sue dabbed her nose. “What if we’re positioned too close to the swamp across the road? I had wondered about all them mosquitoes. Or worse, what if nuclear waste is leaching into the groundwater?”

  “Has your tinfoil hat fallen off again?” Mean Gene barked as Tuesday said, “No. No. None of that. My, um…inside source made it sound like we are in dire fiscal straits.”

  “We’re in the happiness business,” Gil piped up. “You can’t put a price tag on joy.”

  “I love the sound of delusional people.” Mean Gene folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “Everything is for
sale for the right price. That’s the world we live in.”

  Caroline mumbled something, but hard to say if it was in agreement or dissent. Normally she went along with Toots and Lettie Sue.

  “Listen.” Tuesday banged her fist on the table, right into the cupcake. “Darn it!” She licked the frosting off the side of her hand. That wasn’t going to waste. “I’m telling you, my source is real.”

  “I’m sure you believe what you say,” Toots said kindly. “But we’ve struggled for years. Somehow the place always gets along on a song and a few extra prayers.”

  The others muttered their assent.

  “The princess speaks the truth.”

  The room went silent as a tomb at the sight of the turbaned old woman in the doorway. It appeared the fates had seen fit to grant her an unlikely ally. In Everland they don’t hide crazy; they drape it in gauzy fortune-teller robes and give it a job.

  “Madam Magna,” Tuesday said deferentially. “I didn’t see you lurking back there.” The woman had a disconcerting habit of appearing and disappearing at will.

  The tenor of the group shifted. Madam Magna commanded a sense of shock and awe. Even Toots wasn’t immune to her presence. If Magna said she spoke the truth, they were going to listen.

  “Has anyone spoken to Mr. Wilcox?” Lettie Sue dabbed her upturned nose with the ever-present red hankie she stored in her shirtsleeve.

  “You will soon have your chance.” Magna vanished back through the doorway. Tuesday was half surprised that thunder didn’t follow her proclamation.

  “The old broad is inhaling too much incense smoke.” Mean Gene feigned taking a hit off a joint, brave to grump now that she was gone.

  “Afternoon, my favorite people!” Mr. Wilcox ambled into the break room, a broad smile creasing his plump face. “Y’all look as upset as a T. rex trying to make his bed.”

  “The man of the hour,” Gil said.

  “Who?” Mr. Wilcox made a show of looking around. “Me?”

  “Cop a squat, Boss Man,” Toots said, pulling out a chair.

  “I’m more nervous than a turkey on Christmas.” He finished with his trademark machine-gun heh-heh-heh. The more unsure Mr. Wilcox became, the more folksy he got. He took the offered spot, brushing imaginary lint off his suit jacket.

  “Go on. Tell him, Princess,” Toots ordered.

  Tuesday pointed at her chest and mouthed me? Guess that’s the first rule of gossip. If the urge to gossip strikes, don’t partake in front of the entire break room. She folded her hands and placed them on the table. “We understand that the park is facing serious financial trouble.”

  Sweat sheened Mr. Wilcox’s bald head. “We’ve had better times.”

  “And there are suggestions that Everland is being pressured not to renew our hundred-year-lease that’s up next year.”

  “An oversight. The town offered the land as a gesture of goodwill. To see if it might attract more visitors. We were founded on a dream. A dream of the town.”

  “Or a nightmare,” Eugene muttered.

  “So it’s true? The park might go out of business? Make way for a Discount-Mart and an outlet mall?” Gil sounded disbelieving.

  “But it doesn’t make sense,” Lettie Sue said. “All this infrastructure? Where will that go?”

  “They’ll tear it all down.” Mr. Wilcox’s voice cracked, his rheumy eyes bright with alarm. “Haul it off for scrap. Sell a few rides to traveling carnivals. There’s talk of donating one ride to the Smithsonian for a museum exhibit.”

  “The conversation’s as far gone as all that.” Toots pursed her lips, and deep lines bracketed her mouth. “And you never said a word!”

  “It ain’t over until it’s over,” Mr. Wilcox said. “The lease could be renewed. I am trying to figure out a way to convince the mayor to see reason. With his support—”

  Toots shook her head. “You couldn’t convince a man out of a wet paper bag. You’re a good man, boss, but you ain’t got any sense. You’d start on those nervous jokes and annoy everyone into shutting us down.”

  “You can do it,” Caroline whispered to Toots. “Speak with Mayor Marino. Get the city behind us.”

  “But it’s always my way or the highway. Politics don’t work like that. They require more finesse.”

  “That’s it,” Eugene announced. “We’re doomed.”

  “But this place brings so much joy,” Gil said. “It just ain’t right. We help make Everland special.”

  Z-Man squeaked his red nose, looking thoughtful. “Princess here wins people over.”

  Everyone turned to face Tuesday.

  She gulped. “I do?”

  “You keep the kid trips in line better than anyone we’ve ever had.”

  “You’re likable.” Lettie Sue nodded slowly. “Everyone likes you.”

  She arched a brow. “Except Mayor Marino.”

  Toots whipped off her glasses and narrowed her eyes. “Especially Mayor Marino.”

  She snorted. “You might need to up your prescription, see the situation clearly. He despises me.”

  Gil coughed. Robbie was his little brother. No doubt he had blabbed about catching her kissing the mayor.

  She shot him a warning glare and he clammed up. The kiss was an aberration. Hatred was as strong an emotion as love or desire. That’s all that happened there. Nothing more.

  “Wilcox, that’s it, that’s your lobbyist,” Toots said, wagging a finger at Tuesday.

  Tuesday stared at her cupcake with longing. “But I just said—”

  “Quit your malarkey. The mayor is interested in you. You’ve got his attention. When you’re around, he doesn’t look anywhere else. You connect to folks. You’re genuine. It’s why all visitors gravitate to you.” Toots didn’t sound like she’d be swayed.

  “He’s arrogant. I don’t like him,” Tuesday protested weakly.

  “Sure, he might be a little stiff, but he grows on you.”

  “So does ringworm,” she muttered.

  “And your smile lights up the room,” Gil said. “Why even ol’ Mean Gene here can’t help but smile back.”

  Eugene gave a rueful smirk. “Kid’s got a point. You got a way of making people feel good inside.”

  “A natural leader.” Z-Man nodded.

  “Our savior.” Caroline pressed a hand to her chest.

  Tuesday never suffered from stage fright and could ad-lib through most any situation. But it seemed her improvisational powers had run out. She surveyed the room. Who was this persuasive, strong, charismatic leader that they spoke of? “Are you guys sure you’re talking about the right person?”

  “Deal me in.” Mr. Wilcox threw up his hands. “I thought this was a job for a knight in shining armor. Maybe what we really need is a strong princess in heels.”

  Eugene rapped the table with his knuckles. “Let’s put it to a vote.”

  “All in favor of making Tuesday Knight the official Happily Ever After lobbyist say aye.”

  “Aye.”

  It was unanimous. Getting the park their fairy-tale ending was up to her. But she wasn’t a heroic leader. A dragon had defeated her, chopped up her self-confidence and spit her out.

  The group stared with trusting eyes.

  Her next breath was shakier than one of James Bond’s martinis. What could she do?

  Play the part. If they wanted a leader to save the park, she could pretend.

  At least she still knew how to do that.

  Chapter Twelve

  Beau frowned at his in-box, idly clicking his favorite retractable pen. His e-mails bred like rabbits. The latest was from Janice in the Planning Department, the woman notorious for hitting “reply all” to every single damn query. This one simply said, “Got it! Thanks!!!!!!!”

  Sixteen people had been forced to read that exclamation-laden response.

  His frown deepened. Maybe the solution rested in a municipal resolution banning frivolous e-mails. Each time he got cc’d on a group e-mail, which he did all day, every day, he hop
ed maybe this one time no one would hit “reply all.”

  Ping!

  Another e-mail. This one from Councilman Jerry Merryfox. His personal specialty was waiting until a group e-mail thread was finally poised to expire, then resurrecting it with a long-winded non sequitur that served no purpose other than to demonstrate the basic ability to connect his fingers to the keyboard.

  But because people loved to weigh in on anything that required an opinion—even if that opinion was “Should we purchase a new coffeepot for the council chamber room?”—the whole conversation would rear back to life like a Hydra that refused to die.

  A notification popped up from his calendar: Listen and Lead 3pm

  He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. That was more like it. The purpose of being mayor wasn’t to broker staff infighting over the merits of vanilla versus hazelnut coffee creamer; it was to improve his community. Listen and Lead was an initiative he had implemented his first month in office. Twice weekly he’d open the doors and clear his calendar between three and five o’clock to hear from any Everland resident who wanted to stop by.

  “Mayor?” His assistant’s voice came over the intercom. “Your first L&L is here.”

  “Very good. Thank you, Karen.” He gathered the report he’d been skimming and neatly stacked the pages. Even the worst fifteen minutes spent engaged in a constituent chat was better than listening to Councilman Merryfox drone on during a conference call about how life was better before the advent of the Internet, all the while munching on something crunchy out of a foil bag.

  “Good afternoon, Mayor.”

  That voice. Only two people in Everland spoke with a New England cadence. One was engaged to his best friend. The other?

  His hands slipped from the report he was stacking and his left index finger got one hell of a paper cut. He plucked a tissue from the box on the corner of his desk and pressed it to the wound before looking up.

  He glanced up without raising his chin. This vantage point afforded a direct line of sight to a navy-blue ruffled bow skirt and two long gorgeous legs in a confident stance. He raised his gaze higher, to the narrow waist and torso, the arms tightly folded over the chest, partially obscured by white-blond hair, narrowed brown eyes framed by a heavy fringe of lashes.