The Pieces We Keep(57)

26


More than two hundred feet hung between Vivian and the ground. As the ascent continued, she shut her eyes tight. She had made a mistake. She wanted to get off. Yet with the ferocity of her grip, removing her from the ride could prove impossible without pliers.

“This was a horrible, awful idea,” she said to Gene, who was harnessed beside her on the canvas seat. She only vaguely recalled that the idea had been hers.

Created for the World’s Fair, the Parachute Jump had always appeared a thrilling ride with a partner. The open-air steel structure possessed all the sturdiness of the Eiffel Tower. This had been her claim whenever trying to sway Luanne, whose aversion to heights had prevented the adventure.

Vivian now recognized her roommate’s sensibility. Confidence came in greater supply when at the bottom gazing up.

“Focus right here,” Gene told Vivian. “Not down below, just on me.”

At first, she suspected pliers might be needed to lift her eyelids too, but the warmth in his tone lured them partially open. Her vision moved over his khaki tie, his collar, his face.

“That’s my girl.” He issued a casual smile, as if sharing a booth at a diner, not dangling in midair. “We’re almost at the top.”

She appreciated his efforts, and most of all the withholding of mockery, but a flimsy, overused chute couldn’t possibly slow their fall. A few faulty metal rings could send them splat into Steeplechase Park, flat as a strip of gum. It didn’t help that the scruffy men operating the cables were less interested in their jobs than the shapely females on Coney Island.

“Will it help if I hold on to you?” Gene asked.

She replied with a tiny nod, though internally the motion was vigorous.

He navigated his hand around the straps behind her. Over her pedal pushers, he wrapped the side of her waist. “I’ve got you, see?”

She did, and a small part of her relaxed.

Gene glanced up toward the release mechanism. “Remember, now, don’t look down.”

Vivian nodded again, a split second before they dropped toward the earth. She sucked in a breath, the air thin from altitude and fear, and buried her face in Gene’s shoulder. His firm hold braced her for a jerk of the straps. A sudden weightlessness followed, breezy and soothing-hopefully not from a trip to heaven.

“Wow,” he said. “Would you get a load of that.”

The sheer awe in his voice gradually lifted her head. Their parachute had mushroomed, enabling a dramatic, bird’s-eye view. Afternoon sunrays had formed the fingers of a wizard, turning canals into gold, softening buildings made of brick. All the bustling stilled and noises ceased, as if the world took a moment to rest.

“Sure is somethin’ else,” he said. “Feel like you’re seeing all of New York from here, don’t ya?”

“No,” she said in amazement. “More like the whole country.”

It was hard to fathom that at this very minute, on Pacific shores and European borders, young men were engaged in battle. Although Vivian lacked the naivety to believe so, way up here-above bridges connecting islands, the grand statue affirming liberty-even perpetual peace seemed possible. In fact, with Gene at her side, a sense of safety enfolding her, anything seemed possible.





They rode the Parachute Jump three more times in a row. Each went off without a hitch, thanks to Gene tipping the operators. Passengers otherwise risked getting stuck halfway-much too long for the “mishap” to be romantic, just an amusing pastime for the workers.

Powered by adrenaline, Vivian continued the charge for adventure. Together, they laughed and hollered while conquering every ride in the vicinity. They dipped on the Tornado, wound through the Cyclone, and zipped down the Thunderbolt, seizing each other’s hands or arms when needed. By the time they broke for a meal-a couple of Nathan’s Famous hot dogs-their physical interaction felt like an old hat.

It wasn’t until they were out on the pier, the sun retiring over the sea, that his touch caused her to tense. Gene’s thumb brushed her cheek and followed the slant of her jaw. The salt-scented air mingled with soap and pine from his skin.

Could a kiss come so soon?

They had known each other for years, but not like this. Always she had considered him handsome, but in a different way: as the brother of a friend, with a manner more reserved than her usual taste. In two short days, her perspective had pleasantly broadened.

At his second stroke to her face, she held her breath, anticipating the next step.

“You missed some,” he said.

She stared, confounded, as he dropped his hand.

“There was paint on your cheek. From yesterday.”

“Oh. Yes.” Blindly she rubbed at the spot. “Thank you.”