The clock on my end table reads 2:17 a.m. I’d like to get up early tomorrow—er, today—and look for a job. Rodrick and his family are nice—but I’m only staying until I turn eighteen and then I’m on my own. Maybe Cytha and I will rent a place together, maybe we’ll get jobs, or, if we’re lucky, go to college.
It’s a nice thought, but it won’t put me back to sleep. I need a drink of water and maybe some music. I plug my headphones into my cell, turn on some Bob Marley, and click on the flashlight from my phone settings. I make it downstairs, no problem, but I spent no time in the kitchen. I don’t know where to find a glass or even water. I feel around the wall for a light switch and eventually find one. The light burns my retinas and makes my eyes water. After opening three cupboards, I find the glassware and fill my cup to the brim with tap-water.
Rodrick and Summer’s house is nice—like Pottery Barn nice. I can’t imagine them allowing their children food or drink upstairs. So, I sit at the table and look out the paned window at the dark sky. There are more stars in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, than anywhere I’ve ever been.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
I slosh the water onto my shirt and sweats, whipping my head around to see Rodrick at the fridge. I pull out the one earbud in my ear and toss both over my shoulder.
“Sorry,” he cringes. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He hands me a rag and returns to the fridge where he rifles through it.
I hadn’t been brave enough to open the refrigerator.
“Are you hungry?” He sets a plate of cheese and crackers on the table and sits next to me.
It’s strange after coming from Lisa’s where Smitty never spoke to me.
I am hungry though, so I pick up a slice of marbled cheese and pair it with one of the wheat crackers. “Thanks.”
“Are you having trouble sleeping?” he asks again. “It can be hard being in a new place and all.”
I don’t feel like mentioning my dream to my uncle. It’s strange and unsettling, and I don’t need someone else trying to analyze my subconscious. Cytha’s got that job down. “Yeah, something like that.” I pop the cracker and cheese into my mouth and avoid Rodrick’s gaze.
“Anything I can do to help?”
I shake my head no, but he doesn’t motion to leave. “Esther, I know we haven’t really gotten to know one another—and I’m sorry for that. I’m the adult, I should have made that happen.” He clears his throat and fumbles with a cracker, flipping it from finger to finger.
I don’t know what to say. I never really thought about my uncle or his family. It never hurt my feelings or occurred to me that we should have any type of relationship.
“So,” he says at my silence, “what are your future plans?”
I bite my inner cheek. “I plan to get a job. Tomorrow, I’ll go look.”
Rodrick’s lips turn up. “That’s great. Very responsible.”
I nod, and though I don’t need his approval, I’m not offended by him giving it.
“I could check at the ski lodge—I’m sure we have a position that you’d be great at.”
“Uh—thanks. But I kind of want to do this myself.” It’s nice of him to offer, but I have no desire to work at the ski lodge my uncle manages. “Besides, don’t you guys close down in the summer? You don’t get it off—like a teacher?”
Rodrick smirks and picks up a slice of cheese. I do the same, filling my mouth with the nutty creaminess I can’t put a name to. “No way,” he says. “We’re open all year. People still stay at the lodge, walk the grounds, the lift still works too. It’s actually really beautiful in the summer—and busy.” He takes a bite of his cracker. “I’ll take you by sometime.”
“Okay.” I brush the crumbs from my fingers. “Is the sky always like this in Jackson Hole?”
“Jackson Hole?” Rodrick chuckles. “No one calls us Jackson Hole. It’s just Jackson. That’s the easiest way to spot a tourist.”
I bite my lip and nod. “Good to know.”
“And, yeah, it is pretty much always like this.” He peers out the window, marveling at the view.
“Thanks for the snack.” I stand and down the rest of my water. I return the one earbud to my left ear and start for the hall that leads to the stairs.
“Hey, Esther,” Rodrick says.
I pause, looking back at him.
He holds the plate of cheese in his hands, his carefully cropped hair sticking up on one side. “I saw a help wanted sign in the bookstore out north of town. It’s kind of away from the touristy part of town. Maybe check there.”
I smile—Rodrick is kind, and if I could remember my dad better, I bet he’d remind me of him.
3
The help wanted sign sits in the window of the little bookshop. It about blends in with the dozens of books piled in the big picture window. The shop is at the bottom of a three story building. The lowest level has a maroon front, and just above the window, in gold raised letters, it reads: The Bookcase.
My skinny jeans are full of purposely placed holes, but they’re the best I have. Summer offered to take me shopping, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I smooth out my Beatles T-shirt and adjust the headband in my hair, hoping I look decent enough for an impromptu interview.
I push open the door to the quiet store and breathe in the dust from books that have sat on shelves for far too long. The woman at the counter is reading a book about zodiac signs. She’s engrossed, and though the bell on the door has rung, she doesn’t look over to me. I glance around, but I don’t see anyone else. The space looked small from the front, but the store is deep. I can’t see the back wall from where I stand. Used and new books line dozens of shelves that make their way back to the mysterious end of this building. There’s a red carpeted set of stairs leading upward to another floor that I can’t see, except for the open balcony.
The woman flips the page, still oblivious to the fact that I’m here. She’s maybe Rodrick’s age—thirties or forties. She looks like something out of a TV show. She’s got flowers—like actual real flowers in her hair, little purple things. Her dark blonde hair hangs past her shoulder blades and her thick bangs lay just over her eyebrows. Round glasses sit on the tip of her nose.
She stands, still holding the book in front of her face. With her free hand, she holds up one finger toward me. Blinded by her book, she makes her way from behind the register and around a stack of used books that build in height from the ground to her cashier table.
She smacks the book closed, pushes her spectacles up on her face, and grins. There’s a gap between her front teeth—but it suits her. Her floral skirt sways as she walks, holding the book to her chest. “What’s your sign?”
My mouth drops, taken aback. I’m holding a reference from my uncle—which seems ridiculous since really he knows me as well as this stranger, but he insisted on sending me with something. I’d planned a small intro of myself and then I’d give her my reference. But my sign? “Umm—”
“When’s your birthday? I can tell you your sign.”