Memorial Day Weekend, 2003
The gates opened at 10:00 a.m. sharp.
Families from Watery, Bright Falls, and beyond filtered in through the wooden archway adorned with garlands of wildflowers and hand-painted signs. Kids darted past ticket booths like fireflies, dragging sticky fingers across railings. Somewhere near the coffee cart, a baby wailed. Overhead, the Ferris wheel creaked to life, and Ilmo whooped from the control panel like it was the launch of a rocket.
Jaakko watched it all with a strange mix of pride and dread, the way someone might watch a beloved old car being driven by a stranger.
He kept himself busy—refilling beans, restocking lids, burning the first three cappuccinos before remembering to exhale. By midday, the air smelled like cinnamon and motor grease and lakewater. It was, somehow, perfect.
Sari arrived around noon with a tray of chocolate-covered espresso beans and a smear of paint on her cheek.
"You've got… something," Jaakko said, pointing awkwardly to his own face.
She wiped at the wrong side. "Here?"
"No, other—" He reached out before thinking, brushing it gently away with the edge of his thumb.
Her eyes met his. For a heartbeat, everything else fell away: the children screaming on the teacup ride, the buzz of cicadas, Ilmo's off-key whistling somewhere near the souvenir shack.
Then someone tripped a breaker in the bumper boats circuit, and half the park went dim.
"Ilmo!" Jaakko shouted, already moving.
By the time the lights flickered back to life and the ride operators cheered, Jaakko's adrenaline had dipped into exhaustion. He leaned against the edge of the coffee kiosk, breathing hard, when Sari appeared with two iced lattes and a crooked grin.
"Well," she said, handing him one. "That was dramatic."
"You should've seen the soft opening we did for the Knights. Someone threw up in the ball pit and Ilmo got a splinter the size of a pencil."
"I'm almost jealous I missed it."
They sat on the steps of the supply shed, sipping coffee and watching the last light of day slip across the treetops.
"Did you ever think you'd end up running a coffee-themed amusement park?" Sari asked.
"Honestly? I figured I'd end up dead in a snowbank or possessed by a haunted flashlight."
She blinked. He winced.
"Sorry," he said. "That was… darker than I meant."
"No, it's okay." She looked at him with an odd sort of softness. "You joke like someone who's seen weird things."
He didn't answer. The silence between them filled with the chirr of insects and distant laughter.
Later that night, long after the guests had gone home and the rides had groaned to a stop, Jaakko walked the park's perimeter with a flashlight of his own. Not haunted—just a basic hardware-store kind—but he kept it pointed low, sweeping the trail edges and watching the tree line.
The lake was quiet. Too quiet.
When he reached the old bridge by the public sauna, he paused. Something in the water stirred—slow, rippling—but when he aimed the beam that way, there was nothing. Just reeds. Lily pads. Reflection.
He stood there for a long while before turning back toward the park.
Behind him, the water stilled.