kids might be scared of the characters, but they act like they’ve always known these people—or mice or dogs or whatever.”
Tim looks at her like she’s a genius. “I never thought of it that way.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Sandy says. “They’re really having fun. It’s great.” But nobody says anything, except Chloe, who says she has to pee. Sandy says okay, she’ll take her, and then they should all be brave and go on the Matterhorn.
Amber has no intention of riding any roller coasters, but she wants Tim to go so he can tell her about it, and it is decided, mostly by Sandy, that Joan will take Amber on the teacups and then on Alice in Wonderland while Harry and Chloe and Tim and Sandy ride the roller coaster.
“It’ll be a good chance for you to …” Sandy mimes a cigarette at Joan.
Joan ignores the gesture. “Does that sound okay, Harry?” she asks. “Do you want to go on the Matterhorn?”
“Okay,” the child says.
Sandy suspects Harry is afraid but doesn’t want to be shown up by Chloe. She wishes everyone would go away for a while, let her and Tim be alone in little cars in dark places, get rattled around and pushed into each other.
Yodeling music is piped through speakers along the line for the Matterhorn, which is very long, wrapping partway around the mountain before a series of switchbacks inside an open structure meant to suggest a Swiss train station or chalet or something, not that Sandy’s ever been to Europe. Gary promised to take her, but now he says it’s too expensive. Hearing Joan casually mention her time in Paris and all the other places she went on tour with the company doesn’t help. Sandy once confessed her dream of seeing Big Ben and the Tower of London, and Joan only said the food was bad in England. Sandy asked her how she would know, since she never eats, and Joan had not laughed. She wishes she could be nicer to Joan; she wishes she liked her more.
The Matterhorn is a craggy cement sculpture of a miniature mountain with a white-painted overhanging peak. Speeding toboggans flash through the caves that perforate its sides. A waterfall cascades behind an arched stone bridge. Passengers shout and scream; every minute or so the abominable snowman who lives inside gives a loud roar. Tim offers Sandy a sip of his soda, and she drinks coquettishly from the straw. Harry clutches his stomach and complains of butterflies. “After this,” Sandy tells him, “when you’re a roller coaster pro, we can go on the space ride. You go really fast past stars and planets. There’s a chocolate chip cookie in the sky, but only for a second. You have to watch for it.”
“My mom might want me to wait with her,” says Harry.
“You’ve been on it?” Chloe asks Sandy.
“Yes,” Sandy says.
“Daddy was probably with you. That’s probably why you weren’t afraid.”
“No,” Sandy says, “I wasn’t afraid because I wasn’t afraid. It was fun.”
“Your mother is very brave,” Tim tells Chloe. “Fearless.”
“How do you know?”
He winks at Sandy. “I can just tell. She’s that kind of lady.”
“You have no idea,” Sandy says, feeling cheerful again. Tim starts to yodel along with the music. The children fall all over themselves laughing. She wonders if he’d been making her jealous on purpose, as a tactic, or if Joan is simply out of sight and out of mind. She sidles closer to him, leaning against the railing, and while the children reach through a low fence to pluck white and purple petals from the flowers planted around the mountain’s base, he puts his arm behind her, around her, his fingers brushing her side. When the children look up, he swings away as though stretching.
“How’s the single life?” she asks in a low, confidential voice.
“Fine most of the time, but I get lonely. I don’t do so great with being lonely.”
“Fat chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“I bet you’re never lonely. I bet you’re a ladykiller.”
“Me?” He twinkles. “Nope, crying into my can of soup every night.”
“Right.”
Chloe lolls against the railing, watching them, her fists full of petals. “Sweetie,” says Sandy, “don’t stare. What is it?”
“Why are you talking to him?”
“He’s my friend. My new friend Tim.”
Glowering, Chloe goes back to the flowers. Tim leans close to Sandy’s ear and says, “I do like those ladies, though.”
“Big surprise.”
He undoes his ponytail and combs his hair with his fingers, making a new one. There are damp spots in the armpits of his red T-shirt. “How’s married life?” he asks.
“Could be worse.”
“Sorry.”
“You know how it is.”
The tip of Tim’s thumb rubs the side of her hand. “This is a great day,” he says. “My girl is happy. Not a cloud in the sky. Got a gorgeous new friend. Life seems pretty good.”
“I agree,” Sandy says. The pressure of his thumb increases.
BY THE TIME they board their toboggan, which, Harry rightly points out, looks more like a spaceship than a sled, Sandy is officially keyed up. Sex saturates the world, blurring it. Tim climbs in first and pats the blue plastic between his legs. Sandy sits, nesting in his groin. Chloe hesitates, wanting to sit with them, but Sandy tells her to get in the front compartment with Harry. The children are loose in the space, small and jittery. As the ride jerks out of the station, Sandy leans back against Tim’s chest. Chloe twists around. “Mom, I don’t want to fly out.”
“Did you fasten the belt?”
“Yes.”
“Then you won’t fly out.”
“We can fly out?” Harry cries, also turning around.
“No,” Tim says. “You’re safe. Look straight ahead so you don’t hurt your neck.” The toboggan rattles down through a cave and then clanks slowly up through a steep darkness, flattening Sandy against Tim. His breathing lifts and lowers her. Boldly, he slips a hand under her arm and squeezes her breast, too hard really, but she lifts her arm, giving him better access. The air turns cold and damp; tape-recorded wind howls; the abominable snowman’s two red eyes appear in the darkness with a roar; the children shriek. Tim’s hand goes away and comes back, snaking around her stomach, grabbing the inside of her leg through her shorts. Gary has told her he doesn’t want to have sex until she loses some weight, and in response she has defiantly gained a few pounds. She has started sleeping naked, knowing she is turning him on but also that he won’t yield out of principle. Don’t your pajamas fit? he asks. This is more comfortable, she says. Not everyone has to look like Joan. Joan would look like Sandy if she weren’t anorexic.
The toboggan makes a sharp turn, gathering speed, and they pass through a blue ice cave and out into the rushing air. The bright buckets of the Skyway float past. Tim’s thighs clamp Sandy in place; his fingers creep inside her shorts. His aggressiveness and her own furtiveness remind her of being young. They spiral down, cutting through the mountain and changing direction. Sandy doesn’t want the ride to end. She can’t get out of this toboggan. Tim’s mouth is against the bare skin of her neck, his teeth and tongue rattling along with the ride. She lets her head fall back against his shoulder, her eyes close. His mouth jerks away; wind cools the wet spot left behind. Opening her eyes, Sandy sees Chloe staring at her. The tracks dip into a pool of green water and the toboggan sails through, sending up sheets of spray.