Send Down the Rain(47)

“I locked the gate more than a decade ago and haven’t been back since. I’m kind of surprised it’s still here.”

“Why’d you put it so far out here in the sticks?”

“I didn’t initially build it to draw a crowd. I was just giving my hands something to do while my mind spun itself. One bolt led to another. Before long I had a merry-go-round. Then a shooting range. Baseball toss. Bowling lanes. A dunk tank. Whack-a-mole. Guessing people’s weights. The power meter thing where you see how hard you can swing an ax like Paul Bunyan. Snow cones. Cotton candy. Popcorn. Candied apples. Photo booth. Pony rides. Horse shoe toss. I’d dress up like a clown and take pictures with people.”

Allie laughed. “Did you really dress up like a clown?”

“I wanted an old-fashioned carnival. But what I learned was that when you turn on a light at night, people want to see what you’re doing. Turn on ten or twenty thousand and they really get curious. Add carnival music and . . . Most nights I operated at capacity. We even had amateur rodeo night once a month.”

I led her through the maze of rides toward the only enclosed section of the building, the restaurant. It was nothing fancy. Function over form in every way. Picnic tables with enough seating for about two hundred. A cafeteria-style buffet line. Behind the counter was the kitchen. I wound through the line and back into the industrial-sized, commercial-grade kitchen. A stainless-steel ghost town.

“We used to serve several hundred a night. Sometimes a thousand.” I pointed as I talked. “Fryers. Griddles. Grills. Exhaust fans. Refrigerators. Freezers. Ice makers.” Cobwebs had spread across the corners.

She surveyed the expanse of once-shiny machines. “How many people did you employ?”

“In our heyday about sixty, but that included folks making balloons, people in dunk tanks, pony walkers, folks parking cars . . .”

She walked through the kitchen, her fingers gently rolling through the dust along the tops of doors and handles. “We never had equipment this nice at the Tornado.”

Rosco was sniffing behind a fryer, his tail rhythmically thumping the sides.

“I have a proposition for you.”

She slid her hands into her jeans. “Okay.”

“Let me help you. I’ll stick around, we’ll put the Tornado back the way she was when we were kids. Once it’s up and running, if you want to run it, you can. If not, sell it and make a little money.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’d do that?”

“If you let me.”

“Why?”

“Because you need a break.” I waved my hands across the kitchen. “Some of it might need a little work to get it going again, but it’s yours if you want it.”

She pushed her hair out of her face and leaned against a griddle. “I appreciate the offer, but the Vacuum needs more than a kitchen to get her up and running.”

“Like what?”

“Wood rot repair, to start with. Walls. Floors. The roof is zinc, but it needs a few sheets. The whole thing needs to be replumbed. Rewired. And, yes, it needs a kitchen.”

“What happened to the last one?”

“Sold it to pay the property taxes.” She crossed her arms again. “But all of that work does nothing to pay down the debt.”

“How much do you owe?”

She shrugged. “I try not to think about it.”

“Ballpark.”

“400K plus.”

“Any second mortgages? Unpaid taxes? Anything else?”

“Nope. That’s pretty much it.” She summed it up. “My father used the restaurant as collateral and accumulated debt my mother could never climb out of. I paid that off, made a little money, and then the whole Bobby thing happened. His rehab wasn’t cheap. Now I get sucker-punched by Jake. Truth is, I love everything about that place, but it does not love me.”

“You want to make another go of it?”

She laughed. “Did you not hear anything I just said?”

“I have some money.”

She chuckled. “How much?”

I shrugged. “I told you I was good at the poop business.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I’ve got more than enough to help you get back on your feet.”

“And what if, after all your best intentions and all your hard work, the restaurant tanks and you lose it all?”

“What am I going to do with it?”

“I don’t know. Travel?”

“I’ve done that.”

She did not look convinced.

“Allie, I’m just offering you a chance. A fresh start. If you want it.”

She pointed out toward all the rides. “What about all that stuff?”

“That’s yours too, if you want it.”

“Where will you be in all of this?”

“I’m pretty handy with a wrench.”

“What about your cabin?”

“It’s not going anywhere.”

She let out a deep breath. “Jo-Jo, I’m pretty fragile right now. Starting with my dad, every man I’ve ever trusted has . . . not proven trustworthy. They’ve lied to me, stolen from me . . .”

“I have only lied to you once.”