Page 79 of The Main Event

“Maybe she should spend less time stretching and more time kicking his ass,” I suggested.

“Meh. He’ll grow out of it. He’s just at that age.” She turned an expectant look around the area we’d found ourselves in, and it was impossible not to feel the warmth blasting off of her. She looked so happy it stole my breath. “Where do you want to start?”

“You’re beautiful,” I blurted.

She was clearly taken aback because her eyes went wide. “We’re supposed to be here for work, not play,” she chided, wagging a finger.

I caught it and held tight. “If you want to spank me later, I could probably be convinced. As for this place, I want you to give me the grand tour. I want to see it through your eyes.”

“That’s kind of sweet.” She leaned in, and I thought she might kiss me. I had no intention of stopping her. A few hours without those plump lips of hers pressed against mine was more than I could handle.

“Let’s start with the wax museum.” She grabbed my hoodie and gave it a tug, breaking the spell.

“That was mean,” I complained as she led me toward a door. “I thought we were going to do something else.”

“We’re in public,” she reminded me.

“I know. I just … miss doing this.” I snuck in for a quick kiss. There was nobody around. I was determined to deepen it, but she planted a hand on my chest and nudged me back.

“I thought we were trying to be smart about this,” she complained. “This isn’t smart.”

“Fine.” I was feeling petulant, so I stomped my feet up the stairs as I followed her. “This feels like cruel and unusual punishment, though.”

“You’ll live.”

The wax museum was as bad as she made it out. Some of the body parts didn’t even match up. It was also housed in one room, with curtains sectioning off the bays. It was, in a single word, ridiculous.

“Salem is folksy when it comes to this stuff,” she explained as we ate our apple pie fried dough and looked out at the Burying Point. Unlike the rest of Salem Witch Village, it was a somber scene. The graves had been cordoned off from the public by a wall, but the walkway was elevated so we had no trouble seeing the tombstones, which were thin and sad. It was as if the horrors that had occurred in Salem all those years ago had continuously weighed them down.

“You love this place so much, it’s hard not to fall in love with it simply because you love it,” I mused as I leaned against the fence. “Have you ever considered living anywhere else?”

“Why would I want to?” Her expression was guileless. “Salem has everything I could possibly want. We have access to the water. I happen to love seafood. Halloween is my favorite holiday. Boston isn’t that far away if I need access to a big city. Why wouldn’t I love it here?”

“You shine here.” I cocked my head. “I’m betting you shine everywhere, though.”

“You don’t think you shine?”

“I think maybe I could. I’m just not sure what that would look like for me.”

“It sounds to me like your parents did a real number on you. It’s not fair. I don’t think you got the love you deserved when you were growing up.”

“No?” Could she love me? I almost asked the question, but I caught myself. Right now, we’d agreed this was just a fling. We were trying to burn out on each other. The more time I spent with her, though, the more time I wanted to spend with her. What if we didn’t burn out?

“I would like to meet your parents so I can smack them upside the head,” she said. “Even though I had a few tumultuous years there when I was a kid, the one thing I never doubted was the fact I was loved. You still doubt it, and that makes your parents monsters.”

“I keep thinking about this place.” I turned and rested my elbows on the cement wall and stared out at the cemetery. “My grandfather recognized at some point that he would be happier here. He walked away from the family. I’ve always wondered if that was easy for him.”

“He honestly didn’t talk about it much,” Daisy replied. “I think it hurt to think about the family he didn’t associate with. I also think this place made him happy. There was little he loved more than a costume contest.”

“Oh, yeah?” I was tickled despite myself. “Did he dress up every year?”

“Oh, he had like ten costumes a year. His favorite was Herman Munster. He loved acting goofy.”

“What was his last costume?”

“I don’t know.” Daisy looked sad. “I don’t remember. I wish he would’ve told me he was sick. I would’ve committed more to memory.”

“He probably didn’t want you being sad.”

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