“I didn’t run, Grandma. Look. They’re dolphins.” He pointed up at the hanging stuffed animals. “Can we go swimming with the dolphins?”
She had overreacted. Ethan had been nearby the whole time. She took his hand, fear evaporating. “Of course I’ll take you to swim with the dolphins.”
Her phone pinged. Probably Aubrey texting back. She glanced at the screen. Her daughter had written, U r both beautiful. Makes me very happy.
Diana wished Aubrey could be here with them, but she had to stay up at Brown to prepare for the classes she would be teaching. The winter semester began this week.
It saddened her that Aubrey was dealing with her rat boyfriend alone. Diana well understood betrayal and could have offered advice, or at least empathy, but Aubrey had always been stoic and didn’t like burdening others with her problems.
Ethan tugged on Diana’s hand and pulled her along through the crowd. They passed booths of local sponsors handing out pamphlets, balloons, T-shirts, and hats—Bob’s Flooring, Tia’s Latina Café, Dr. Gary’s Bright Smiles. But Ethan was focused on getting to the fun house, a one-story building painted neon-pink, green, and blue, with the mouth of a giant laughing face as its door.
When they reached the entrance, he dashed over to a placard of a measuring stick with the admission requirements:
UNDER 36 INCHES—WAIT UNTIL YOU’RE TALLER.
36–48 INCHES—COME INSIDE.
Ethan stood beside the measuring stick, making himself as tall as possible. He put his hand on his head, then stepped away to look back at his hand. It almost reached the forty-eight-inch mark. “See, Grandma? I can go inside.”
Several young children ran up the ramp leading to the laughing face. A group of adults watched them, but Diana wasn’t about to let her grandson go by himself.
“I’ll come with you,” she said.
“It’s okay. I’m a big boy now.”
Diana had occasionally been accused of being overprotective with her own two kids, but she’d worked long hours then and had needed strict rules for when she wasn’t around. She didn’t want to be unreasonable with Ethan.
Still . . .
“Pleeese.” He held the e like his dad used to do, then pointed to twin boys around his age who were climbing the ramp to the fun house. One wore Harry Potter glasses. “I can go with them. I promise I’ll stay with them.”
“That’s fine, but I’d like to go, too.” She would give him a little space but make sure he stayed within her sight.
“Okay, Grandma,” he said, catching up to the twins.
She handed the man at the doorway their tickets, then stepped through the gaping mouth a little behind Ethan and the two boys.
Cacophonous organ music punctuated by fake screams played too loudly from speakers. She blinked to acclimate to the darkness, then followed Ethan’s blue dolphin shirt into the first room.
The floor shifted beneath her feet—a fun-house gimmick, not her own instability. She struggled across the moving floor as quickly as she could, but Ethan and the twins were already exiting the other side of the room.
A group of children came toward her, going the wrong way. She tried to push past them—she didn’t want Ethan to get too far ahead of her. But when she finally got out of the room, he was gone. No sign of him or the twins in the giant barrel that spun slowly on its side.
Diana ducked into the barrel, the only way to the next room, grabbing at the inside walls to keep from falling. Dizziness and disorientation similar to what she’d experienced on the teacup ride returned. This time it felt like her old inner-ear injury acting up, the debilitating vertigo that attacked when she was stressed or some fresh trauma disturbed the balance in her life.
I need to get out of here.
She made it through the barrel, but everything around her was still spinning. At the end of a narrow hallway, she pushed through a curtain of leather strips into a pitch-black space. She stumbled forward, reaching for the walls, but her hands touched nothing.
“Ethan,” she called over the screams and too-loud music, hoping he would hear and wait for her.
Ahead, she could see red-and-yellow lights flickering. She entered a small room where flames licked the walls and the sound of explosions shook her to the core. A wave of nausea rushed over her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the memory of the worst day of her life.
Jets of hot air spat up through the floor, shocking her into action. She ran out of the fiery room and through winding hallways of distorting mirrors. Images of herself bounced back at her—bloated, emaciated, stretched out, shrunken. With each mirror she passed, her terror grew.
“Ethan!” She ran forward into blackness. Her hands touched something hard, then a door flew open. Bright light blinded her. She blinked until her vision cleared.
She was out. Safe. She drew the fresh air into her lungs and almost laughed with relief.
She looked around for her grandson. Children everywhere—running, eating cotton candy and ice cream.
“Ethan?”
There was no sign of him, but the twin boys stood by a woman, probably their mother. Diana hurried over. “Excuse me. The little boy who went in with you. . . do you know where he is?”
The twins shrugged. “Don’t know,” the one with the glasses said.
“He didn’t like the mirrors,” the other boy added.
“He’s my grandson,” she told the mother, not sure why she felt the need to explain. “He ran ahead of me in the fun house. Did you see him come out? Curly blond hair, blue T-shirt with a jumping dolphin. This tall.” She gestured to the top of her chest.
“I saw a little boy come out by himself.”
“Where did he go?” Diana could hear the panic in her voice.