Her smile widens. “I love you, too.”
Then she sees something in him. His eyes, wide and eager. His hand trembling.
Her stomach turns. Her nerves go ice cold, the back of her neck prickles. My god… no, it’s impossible… my god oh my god please… is he? Is he?
Rob tries to look relaxed, happy, but fails. He settles for the adrenaline of excitement. The thrill of the biggest step of his entire life. Of their lives. He kneels and her free hand shoots to her mouth, her eyes show whites. She screams something into her palm. A tear falls from her eye, drifts over her cheek, her knuckles.
Rob lifts the ring. The diamond glints kaleidoscopic colors of the night.
“Mary, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
She can’t help it. She laughs. A jailbreak of tears. Now he’s crying, and she cries all the harder while nodding, nodding frantically. Yes. Yes. Yes! Rob starts to put the ring on her finger, hesitates. She extends the correct one. He smiles shyly, appreciatively.
The fit is perfect.
The tub rocks on its hinges when they kiss.
6
JEREMIAH HEARS THE crowd’s growing voice surrounding him. Number nine is rocking at the top of the wheel. He pretends to study the gearbox, as if there’s something wrong with it. How could he have been so fucking stupid?
He takes a deep breath. Rubs his eyes. A verse from the Bible, one he has written in his AA book, comes to him.
“I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
“Shit,” he says, ready to take his chances. He can’t leave them up there any longer. It’s already been more than three minutes, and the assholes stuck in the tubs are beginning to act stupid. Throwing shit down at the laughing crowd. Maybe I deserve whatever I get, he thinks. He moves to release the brake. Stops.
Someone is screaming.
Jeremiah spins, scans the crowd. The folks waiting to get onto the ride. To feed the great wheel. Some of them are still chatting. A few of them look outright horrified. Two of them are pushing away, through the tight group. A woman is knocked down.
There’s a… whining noise.
A few of the kids in line are holding cell phones to the sky. He’s not sure if it’s an offering or a prayer.
He turns as something drops in front of him. The platform shakes. A white-faced teenager. He jumped from one of the lower-hung tubs. Number thirteen. What the hell?
“Hey!” Jeremiah yells, but the kid is running. “Hey!” he yells again.
Now the crowd is backing away. The screams are becoming more prevalent. The whining sound growing louder. Jeremiah looks wildly at the sky, tries to see what they’re all on about. Toward the ocean. Toward the moon. But the wheel is between him and IT. Whatever IT is.
He ducks under the rim of the wheel, steps onto the opposite side of the platform. Twelve feet of dimpled metal flooring followed by a giant gearbox the size of a compact car, then a fire lane that runs the length of the pier. Beyond that, there’s nothing but a wooden handrail and the great sea facing due south. Jeremiah searches the sky. It doesn’t take long. He sees it now. Sees what many of them have already seen. Knows why the kid jumped from number thirteen.
Holy hell, he thinks. It’s a goddamn airplane.
MARY CAN HARDLY breathe. She’s never been so happy. Rob is sitting beside her now and they’re clutching at each other’s hands, almost desperately. His fingers still shake. Hers now, as well. They’re so young. Children deciding to become adults. Partners. He kisses her again.
“So it’s a yes?” he says, swiping at his wet cheeks with the palm of a hand.
“Yes,” she replies, and laughs.
“I…”
Rob starts to speak. Stops. His eyes flicker off hers, focus over her shoulder.
“Rob?” She hears it now. From behind. A noise so loud… she can’t believe she hadn’t heard it until this very moment. “Rob?” she says again, not daring to turn.
His eyes are wide. He looks to her, then over her shoulder once more. The screams from below more evident. Mary’s terrified stare won’t leave his face. She’s petrified.
“Oh, shit,” Rob mumbles, dreamlike. Then, “Mary?” The inflection of a question. As if she’s just arrived here. He grabs her hands tightly. His face twisted, grotesque. A snarl. His eyes pure terror, brown irises being devoured by white. “Mary!” he shouts, and she is so startled and flushed with fear that she can physically feel the blood draining from her face. “Oh no, Mary!” he sobs.
The noise fills the air. The roaring of an engine so loud she can barely hear him scream her name. She can’t take it. She turns.
A plane.
Coming right at them.
Fifty yards out she’d guess. A private plane. The ones that are always running into phone lines and crash-landing on golf courses. It’s dipping and swaying, as if being throttled by a hurricane.
