A wide grin crept across my face. “Really?”

“Good luck, Miss.”

“Maricela?”

She turned.

“I don’t know if they’ve asked you to report on what I’m doing, but I’d prefer you not tell them about the interview.”

Maricela had been with our family since I was in grade school, and she looked at me with maternal love in her eyes. “I just want you to get better, Miss Ellie.”

“I know. I’m trying.”

She closed the door, and I turned to look in the mirror, deciding to pull my hair into a high, smooth bun. Mr. Wick was going to hire me, even if he didn’t know it yet.

José glanced into the rearview mirror of the Audi. “You look nice, Miss Ellison.”

“Thank you,” I responded, turning to look out the window at the buildings passing by.

Our home was hidden away south of Highway 66, and the magazine was almost due north. It took José just over ten minutes to reach the highway, and he turned south, driving the opposite way from everyone else on their way to their jobs, and the tourists on their way to the mountain base. The sand trucks were out in full force, scraping a path toward Estes Park. We passed resorts and inns, a river and a cemetery … so many things I’d never paid attention to because they weren’t bars or restaurants without a dress code.

José turned down Mills Drive, and my heart began to race. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I had a feeling I was about to humiliate myself. We passed several buildings, all brown and filled with matching vehicles. Farther down from the rest, sat a small building with two garages and several emergency trucks parked along a circle drive. I sat up when I saw the sign.

INTERAGENCY CENTER

ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK

I sat up, touching the glass with my fingertips. I wasn’t sure if their crew stuck around throughout the year, but if I was going to be down the street for forty hours a week, I hoped not.

Next door to the fire station was a large RV park, and a quarter-mile of trailers dotted the landscape. Across the street from the station and the park was a new steel building. A driveway curved in front of the entrance, also continuing back toward another, smaller steel building that might have served as a garage, or storage building, or possibly both. The MountainEar office was small, a non-descript steel structure, newly finished on the outskirts of town.

I waved goodbye as José pulled away. He’d already promised to return in an hour. I stood on the sidewalk, inadequately dressed for the plummeting temperature. The clouds hung low over the peaks, and the snow had already spotted my hair like feathers, disappearing on contact.

A dually truck and gooseneck trailer barreled down the road toward the RV Park, all ten tires sloshing against the wet asphalt. I took a quick step back before a wave of water and ice soaked me from bun to boot heel. I walked toward the main building, passing the sign that read: MOUNTAINEAR MAGAZINE. My ankles wobbled with each step, feeling less confident and more ridiculous the closer I came to the front door. My hand hesitated to reach for the door handle, but I opened it, sighing in relief when the heat warmed my cheeks.

The door chimed when I walked through, the pristine industrial rug now wet from my boots. The walls were painted eggshell; the frames hanging in a line between windows contained magazine covers. Besides the front desk, six cushioned red chairs backed against the front wall, and a fake plant, the lobby was a whole lot of blank space.

At first, I could only see the top of the head of the girl manning the front desk. She stood up, acknowledging me with a nod. She looked barely out of high school, wearing braided blonde pig tails hanging from beneath a knit cap. Her name plate on the upper desk read JOJO.

She held a black phone receiver with hot-pink mittens, with far too much makeup on her young face. Although I was sure she only meant to hold up one finger, her entire mitten was erected, silently asking me with a wink and a smile to wait while she finished the call.

“No, Mike. Because Wick is busy, and so am I. He doesn’t want your pictures of the parade. Because they suck. I’ve got someone at the desk. I’m hanging up now. Yes, I am.”

She slammed down the phone and looked up at me with big eyes and fake lashes. Her orange skin had been baking in a tanning bed far before the ski season had started. She chomped on her gum and smiled at me with an inch of gloss slathered across her puffy lips.

“How can I help you?” Her tone changed as if she were a different person. She was no longer the cranky receptionist fielding questions for Wick. Jojo was pleasant, eyes bright, waiting to make me happy.

“I’m here for the nine AM interview. My name is Ellison Edson.”

Jojo’s expression immediately fell. “Oh. You’re Wick’s assistant.”

“No, I … I’m applying for the job.”

She stood up, gesturing for me to follow her down the hall. “Trust me, no one else wants the job. You’re the first person who’s even applied. The ad’s been out for a year.”

We walked through an extra-wide doorway to an empty room with a desk and a seating area, and stopped in front of a lightly stained door with J.W. Chadwick branded into the wood.

“Is there a reason no one has applied?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said, opening the door. “Because he’s a dick.”

Mr. Chadwick lowered the paper he was holding. “I heard that.”

“From everyone,” Jojo said, closing the door behind her. “Love you, Daddy.”

Mr. Chadwick sat up, interlacing his hands on his desk. “Love you, baby.” He looked to me. “When can you start?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Chadwick, I didn’t hear you correctly. When can I…?”

“Start. And it’s just Wick. Everyone calls me Wick but Jojo.”

“Maybe we should discuss what exactly being your assistant includes,” I said. “Hours, benefits, and pay.” I wasn’t sure how all of this worked, but I wasn’t stupid.

“Do you need a job?”

“Yes.”

“Then what does it matter?” he asked, chewing on the toothpick in his mouth.

“It matters.”

He sighed, leaning back in his worn chair. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Your Philip Edson’s daughter, ain’t ya? You’ve also been kicked out of my bar twice this year alone. Why do you need a job? I’m not in the business of hiring lazy people who don’t need a job.”