It’s one of those October days when the sun shined a brilliant gold through a veil of somber clouds; the day could be hot or make a person chilled to the bone. I would be freezing, for medical reasons unknown as I suffer a constant chill, a small breeze could make me shiver, so the usual attire I wear consists of a tank top, covered by a sweater, jeans, and either hiking boots or sandals, today was slippers though due to the long drive.
If my attire didn’t give it away, I am a simple girl. I have never stood out, but I never minded it. I am slightly hoping that changes though because I am starting a new life. My new life would be in Loveland, Colorado, in the canyon where the Big Thompson River flowed. I’ve left my home in SoCal (Southern California) to handle the affairs of my dead grandfather’s house.
Two months-ago my dad received a call from the morgue informing him that they had Grandpa Owen, but the coroner wouldn’t explain the reason how he died, just that we didn’t want to know, but that is small town life for you. After organizing what would happen to the body and having constant video meetings with a lawyer, everything had been settled. Grandpa left the house to my dad, but my parents are too old to manage the property and deal with the cold; while my sister and my two older brothers had no desire to leave California. So, I went with great anticipation.
A day-ago I left my home and reassured my dad that I would take care of his father’s home as part of my new life. I packed up my Nissan Rogue with all the things in my room, which wasn’t much, the exception being my books. I had crossed into Colorado just a few hours ago and would hopefully be arriving in Loveland in about 2 -3 hours, depending on the traffic while passing through Denver. The road is familiar to me only because I have made the trip so many times, but there have been some changes since my last visit, 6 years ago. The trees were in the stage of whether or not they wanted to commit to the fall season. Oranges, reds, yellows, and a few greens, scattered the side of the highway as well as new apartment complexes. New to me at least. These apartments are nothing like the ones I had seen all my life in SoCal; there’s a homey, rustic look to them. I’m sure many weary travelers on this highway wished these apartments were hotels.
As the sun rises higher in the sky the traffic becomes dense as I get closer to Denver. I pass the time drumming out to 5 Finger Death Punch with my Darth Vader bobble head, who is forever stuck to my dashboard. Bumper to bumper traffic allows me to take long glances at the new city that would replace Los Angeles. There’re so many changes, so many similarities, but I’m hoping for the best with this new adjustment.
It’s hard to say how long traffic lasted since I am not in a big rush, but more than enough time passes, and I’ve finally made it to the heart of Loveland. The first thing on my list is to get to the realtor office so I can pick up the key to my grandpa’s house. A quick look at the maps, I find my way through the new environment and cross the threshold to the realtor’s office by 11:30am.
I don’t believe in purses and carry my important cards in the front pocket of my jeans. This does not help my appearance because at first glance I can pass as a high school student due to my young-looking face I inherited from my dad which made it difficult for me to get into bars even though I was 25. My dark auburn hair is usually pulled into a ponytail with bangs flapping at my forehead and with the clothes I wear, I wasn’t too surprised that none of the realtor’s jumped up at my entrance.
I scan the room and approach the closest desk softly asking a woman staring at her computer screen, “Excuse me, is Leonard Goforth in right now?”
The woman looks me up and down over her thin wired glasses, through her blonde side bangs that seemed to be a vision blocker, and smirks while readjusting her protruding breasts in the oh-so-small blouse. “He just got back from lunch. Walk down this aisle,” she points with a manicured finger, “then make a left and his office is 3rd on the right.” With that she went back to staring at the computer screen in front of her. In a matter of seconds, I find myself at Leonard’s massive black door. I knock quietly and slowly open the door to see that he is on the phone. He turned in his swivel chair and gave me a sign with his hand that he would be with me in just one minute, so I stood there quietly.
Based on his end of the conversation it sounded as if he were trying to close a deal on a house. This might take longer than a minute, but I didn’t mind standing since I had been sitting for so long in the car. I couldn’t help but look at the pictures strewn all over the office. Leonard was a decent looking man with a close shaven head, average height, and confidence that oozed from him. From his pictures he lived an exciting life. Frozen moments of fishing at a lake, camping with what could be friends, and a scenic photo of him in winter gear in front of the Rockies covered in snow. Not too shabby, the scenery I mean. Leonard finally hung up the phone.
“Everly! Hope traffic wasn’t too bad for you. You are here to pick up the keys.” He began shifting through the desk drawers until he pulled a set out, “there you go. Was there anything else you needed?” He asked with a smile that could light up a cloudy night.
“Uh no. I think I will be okay. Thank you for the long-distance assistance in the housing affairs.”
“It was no problem at all. If you need anything else, you know where my office is or better yet my number.” He flashed me a grin that I expected to twinkle like in a commercial.
“Thank you. I-” Leonard’s office phone rang and without a second thought he picked up the phone, then mouthed ‘sorry’. I drew my hand off to my head and made a small salute as to say goodbye.
With the house keys in hand I started up my Rogue and took highway 34 west to my new home, and old memories. Driving the winding road, I can hear my dad’s voice echo through my head ‘careful Everly, this highway is dangerous’ and he was right. This highway was just as dangerous as Blood Alley in Southern California, the reason being that it is a 2-lane highway. Anyone driving this road needs to be especially alert for any possibility such as other drivers making their way to and from Estes Park, wildlife crossing the river, rockslides from above, and the fact there was nowhere safe to pull off at. The only options were the canyon wall or the river. And while the river has a higher chance of living, the Big Thompson River was also a death trap from the sheer height and rapids. Glancing over the edge, the river seemed to have a nice flow considering that summer had been dry. I turned off my mp3 player, rolled down the windows and listened. The sound of the river brought back so many memories, beautiful and terrifying. The trees in the canyon had made up their minds to embrace Fall and it made for an enchanting sight. Living in SoCal I never experienced the seasons. It was sunny 360 days out of the year, and for most that is a dream, but to me…it was a nightmare on many levels. The few times it had rained I would go outside and stand underneath the raindrops, I didn’t cower at the sound of thunder, and when lightning struck across the blackened sky my heart felt alive. I became a different person in the rain, and when it didn’t rain, it felt like I had lost a best friend. I so didn’t belong in SoCal.
I almost missed the turnoff to the house as I daydreamed. There isn’t a street sign that says TURN HERE, the only indicator was a jam store in a dirt lot. I had to make an immediate left off the highway into the dirt lot which led to a dirt road where the house would sit in the back. I was lucky that there wasn’t a lot of traffic, otherwise, I would block my lane trying to get over. Don’t want to piss off the locals on the first day as a resident, especially when I still had my California plates on.
The turn was easy, and I took the familiar dirt road to the back lot. My grandpa, for as long as I could remember, had only four neighbors, but they were spaced out pretty far from one another that the area didn’t feel crowded one bit. All the other houses were guarded by giant hedges or pine trees, making natural fences between the properties and impossible to see one another, at least that hadn’t changed. I wondered if grandpa’s home had changed though, since the last time I came here. Passing the last hedge was the sign I had crossed over onto grandpa’s property, or my property I should say. Nothing changed drastically other than the wild flowers growing in the front planters in front of the house which surprised me since I thought they would be dead by now.
The house had a circle driveway as well as a carport on the far-right side of it. The front lawn was lush, a greenhouse pushed up to the neighbor’s hedge, blackberry bushes that defined the property line to the far right and a giant Christmas tree in the middle of the lawn. Some would say the Christmas tree ruined the view, but that tree had carried many lights on it during Christmas and would be a winter beauty during the snowy months. I parked the Rogue in the car port and admired the front lawn for a bit as well as the giant mountain that was across the highway. Walking past one of the ginormous flower beds that eventually parted to lead up a few stairs to the front door, I pulled out the house keys and froze.
My Grandpa Owen had been a wood crafter. He made the most beautiful furniture and art with the wood that had fallen to the forest floor in the Rockies; this craft was his passion and it showed in each piece. The old man had a way of figuring out what would make the different types of wood come to their full glory and it showed right in front of me. The screen door that used to be an eyesore was now a beautiful glass door encased between cut out wood that depicted a forest scene. There was a deer stationary and trees that would never have their branches blown by the wind. He carved this and treated the wood to make it look dark burgundy, a rich color full of passion. I almost didn’t want to open the front door because I knew what I remembered last could all be gone, worst case scenario I had the front lawn. With a deep sigh I opened the door to a cold and empty house. Most of the furniture was gone to pay for grandpa’s financial affairs. The living room had beige carpets and the walls were the same material made of the outside of the house, wood. It was a log cabin after all. I didn’t go farther into the house since my only objective was to get my things out of my car so I could go to Estes Park and hopefully finish the rest of my errands.
Slowly but surely, I unloaded the SUV until nothing was in it. In SoCal it was dangerous to keep anything in the car because for whatever reason anything from a phone charger to a lawn chair was of some value to someone and in most cases the car would be broken into. I am not sure how Estes Park is, but SoCal habits were going to be hard to get rid of. I walked to the left side of the living room, passed the fireplace to get into the dining room and kitchen to see if there was even a refrigerator. It looked like grandpa updated his refrigerator to a stainless-steel design. The piece didn’t fit with the log cabin, but a fridge was a fridge and it meant I could get some groceries. I made a mental checklist, changed out of my slippers, locked up the house and went back out to highway 34 to continue west towards Estes Park.
The drive was exactly as it had been from the start of entering the canyon, the only difference was a lot of the houses were gone. There was a massive flood, a ‘hundred-year flood’ experts said, that had happened about a year ago and many of the houses did not make it or had received too much damage to think of repairing. After that flood the city made it so that no more houses could be constructed in the canyon, and the houses that remained were allowed to stay. So, the houses went for big money here, the equivalent to beach property in SoCal. As I drove farther and got closer to Estes Park, I saw the small church steeple hiding in the trees off to my left, a sign of my grandpa’s old fellowship. I would need to make an appearance eventually since the canyon community was small and many of these people knew me from the frequent visits my family had made. Just a few more minutes and the canyon opened up to Estes Park, a beautiful mountain town nestled amongst the Rockies.
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Grandpa had referred to this place as a ‘water bowl’ since it sat in the middle of mountain ranges, and because a lot of tourists gravitated here. This town also allowed for easy access to the national park, hence the title to the locals as the “Gateway to the Rockies”, so it was ideal for tourist’s wants and needs. I drove down the newly paved roads and made my way to the downtown area. I had been looking for jobs online and I found a few positions at mom and pop shops; the mission today was to try and secure a job before the tourist season.
I drove down a cobbled path to park my car so I can walk to the stores; there is a bridge I need to cross because of the small river that ran through this area. If I hadn’t been here before I could have easily been mesmerized by how picturesque this area looked; the Rockies in the distance, the collaboration between city and nature, and the friendly faces of the people. When I pass by people more often than not, they make some inclination that I was there whether it be a nod, or a quick ‘hi’. This was odd when I first visited the area as a child due to coming from SoCal there was hardly any friendly interactions with strangers, people kept to themselves and even if you tried to strike up a conversation the people would more than likely ignore you. It may be a city where the weather is warm, but the hearts are cold.
I walk a little-ways before I reach the used book store I saw in an online ad. It was perfect! The store's name, Jabberwocky, which for those who read books would know it was the creature described in the most-obscene way in the poem written by Lewis Carrol. The poem is unique because it defined the Jabberwocky with made up words, but the human brain is somehow able to get an idea of what the outlandish creature looks like. Such a classic, and proof the owner was a fellow literature nut such as myself.
On one side is a candy store that turned its own taffy and a small café to the right called Pikava. The smells emitting from the stores made my stomach growl in anticipation. But I needed to see the owner of the Jabberwocky before eating, I didn’t want to get something stuck in my teeth as a first impression.
I push on the wood door and am greeted by a small jingle, alerting who was ever in charge at the moment. A few seconds pass when a young woman made a mad dash for the front and gave the warmest smile I had ever seen.
“Hello there, welcome to the Jabberwocky! Is there a book in particular you are looking for? Or I can suggest some based off of your preferences.” Her smile still beamed after speaking.
“I was actually hoping you were still hiring?” I said sheepishly.
If it were possible, I am sure her smile got even bigger, and she shoved out a manicured tan hand in my direction. “My name is Alice, I am the owner. I know, I know. Pretty clever.”
I giggled at the connection of the worker’s name and the store’s name before shaking her hand with my less glamorous pale skin and mediocre hands. “My name is Everly. I can appreciate the literature play on names.”
She turned to the front of the desk rummaging through some papers on top and I guess she couldn’t find what she needed since she got on her knees to go through some of the drawers. I take a quick glance around the room to see the neat aisles of books and at the top of the shelves the books are sorted by genre. There are a few love seat couches scattered through the store, but the mural on the walls was enough to make my mouth gape. The section upfront has a reference to Lord of the Rings, The Great Gatsby and 1984. The collage is amazing, especially how whoever made this was able to make such different genres and eras intermingle within the beam of Gandalf’s staff.
“If you could please fill this out really quick then I will ask a few questions. Just call me when you are finished, and I will come back to the front.” She breaks me from the trance and hands me a clipboard with the application and a pen. As I sit on the sofa closest to the front desk, Alice walks to the back of the store. I begin the tedious task of filling out the mundane questions: name, address, numbers, emails, school history, etc. I didn’t mind so much as long as I could work in this wonderland.
The paper is two-sided and does not take too long to fill out, maybe 15 minutes. I stand up and try to do a quiet, but loud call for Alice. “Alice? I finished.”
She comes dashing out of nowhere and gingerly takes the paper from me to scan it. Alice looks to be a very sweet person, and homey, everything and everyone seemed homey in Colorado. She has dirty blonde hair cut shoulder length and dark eyes. It is hard to tell the color because they are so dark, almost black. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was from SoCal because she had that beach babe look as well as some womanly assets. Her eyes jet back and forth on the paper, then look up to me. “All these past jobs are from California. Did you just move here?” I nod my head, but she waits as if she wants a reason.
“My grandpa died, and we didn’t want to lose the house here, so my dad asked me if I would take the house. And, well, here I am.”
Alice’s face looks a bit somber, “wow…I am so sorry. Who was your grandpa?”
“Owen. Owen Evergreen.”
Alice’s eyes became wide and her smile followed. “Oh my gosh! I knew Owen! He came here quite often to find any new books on wood work. He was such a sweet man. I really am sorry for your loss, it has felt empty in the community without his presence.” Alice pauses just briefly before speaking again, “So, you are his grandkid then. How great, we have an Evergreen back in the community!” She became silent as she went back to reading the application. “You also have a bachelor’s degree.” A whistling sound came from her lips. “In Literature.”
“Books are a passion of mine.” She nods as she finishes reading the application and looks up at me.
“I couldn’t think of a better match for my store. I have a full-time position. We are open Monday through Saturday. The hours of the store are 10am to 6pm. What were you hoping to make?”
I am in shock that she has already decided to hire me and I can’t comprehend a number to give her. My situation isn’t too dependent on money since the house is completely paid for other than utilities; I also didn’t go out too much, so many numbers flash through my head as I think of an amount that could support my utility needs and my obsession of books. “Would it be plausible to ask for $14 an hour?”
Alice makes the crudest noise before she speaks, “Everly, you have a degree in literature. You are the expert in this area and to be honest, besides myself, it is just me working right now, but if I hired you then I can work more on marketing. You seem like a hard worker, so I will do you one better and pay you $18 an hour.” I must have made a disbelieving face because Alice giggled. “It is no trouble at all. Just as long as you help me keep this place going. If you have new ideas, bring them. We need to bring some egg heads into this mountain town. Deal?”
I am still in shock that, not only would I be working at Jabberwocky, but for a decent amount of money. “Oh yes! Thank you!” I shake her hand vigorously.
“Let’s see…today is Friday. Why don’t you start work on Monday? That way you can finish getting your new home fixed up.”
“Thank you again Alice. I will be here Monday morning.”
“Alright then, have a good day and I will see you then. Bye!” She waves at me then dismissing herself back in the aisles of books.
“Bye! Thank you!” I leave the Jabberwocky in high spirits realizing that things are coming together for my new life here. I mean, how lucky was I? First interview and I nail a job, probably not the job my parents wanted me to have, but I didn’t need much money for this new life.
A new start in the best place for a bookworm such as myself. I couldn’t believe how smoothly that went, but as the adrenaline began to wear off, my stomach makes some feeble attempts to remind me I am still hungry. Making a quick left after leaving the Jabberwocky I go into the small café, Pikava. I push on the glass door and the smells are a punch in the face, a flavor knock-out. There are baked goods hanging behind the barista bar, which are all shapes and sizes as well as colors. There is a deep aroma that made me feel light but kept me grounded, the culprit none other than a glass case filled with small desserts. I was going to get fat working right next door… I stroll up to the oak counter where I am met by a handsome man with gorgeous emerald eyes and strawberry blonde hair to boot.
“Hello, how can I help you?” His name tag read Falon.
“Oh um. Did you have a menu I could look at first?”
“Of course.” He reaches underneath the counter and pulls out a small paper, “Is this your first time here?”
“Ya. I just moved here.” I didn’t look up at him as I try to read the many options on the menu.
“Oh. Mind if I ask you where? We are kind of a close-niched community.”
I look back at Falon, “I don’t mind. I live in the canyon.”
Falon’s emerald eyes narrow and his face becomes tense. That’s a pleasant face, not. “Did…did you move into Owen’s house?”
“He was my grandpa.” I respond cautiously.
Falon looks to be in great thought, then all of a sudden, snaps out of it. “Well, welcome! I knew your grand dad, and it looks like I will get to know you as well since I am one of your neighbors.”
I scan Falon and his mischievous smile. I had been so engrossed by his eyes that I hadn’t noticed how tall and built he is. He could have been a fitness model. Not the kind where the muscles are overly bulgy and veiny, but someone you would see in a Hollister magazine. His hair is styled in the latest trend for men, the ‘just rolled out of bed’. This hunk is one of my neighbors?! Oh boy. “Whoa. Small world,” is all I can manage after my nerves hit me.
The gorgeous man must have noticed how tense I got after evaluating his body because he leans in close over the counter, inches away from my face as I look back at the menu. “We are known for our hot chocolates, if you are interested.” He says in a sultry voice.
I make a small gasp but don’t allow the sound to leave my mouth. “Is that right? I will have the original hot chocolate and a bagel then.” I pull my visa card out of my pocket and hand it to him quickly. He grabs the card gingerly and smirks at me. Probably laughing inside at how nervous he is making me. After charging the card, he holds the card out for me to grab, but when I go to take the card, he still holds onto it.
“Is…there a problem?” As soon as the words left my mouth, he had fully extended his thumb and touched my index finger. I got shocked! I withdrew my hand quickly letting the card fall onto the counter. There is a tingling sensation that runs through my hand and eventually dies out in my upper arm. What the heck was that?
“Oh, sorry about that. Here you go.” This time he pushes the card across the counter and looks at me intensely. Was he evaluating me now? I have no idea what this guy is trying to get at, but the fact that he is my neighbor made me anxious. Was he going to do this stuff all the time?
I pick my card up, shove it into my front jean pocket and find a small table to sit at. I just need to eat something, and I could go about my day, hopefully, Falon wouldn’t bug me at home. Falon brings my bagel on a small floral decorated plate and my hot chocolate in a matching mug right to my table in a timely manner. But he takes his time setting it down and stares down at me.
I stare intently back at him, “Thank you,” then I begin drinking my hot chocolate. Falon stands there a few more seconds then leaves to go back behind the counter. This has to be a world record of me eating and drinking because I couldn’t have been there longer than 2 minutes when I finish everything, which didn’t leave much time to enjoy the flavors I smelled prior. Standing up and pushing my chair in I head for the door with my head down.
“I will see you later, neighbor!” Falon calls after me and I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach; I didn’t even respond back. Following the cobblestone, I make it back to my car without any other incidents. The last thing to accomplish for my errands is a grocery store run, then I could call it a day.
I pick up a few things from the grocery store: bread, lunch meat, condiments, milk, cereal, a few soup cans, etc., with the money I had saved from my previous job in SoCal. The ride back home gives me time to think of what happened in town. I think I may have made a friend in Alice, she seemed so great compared to Falon. Then again, maybe Falon acted so weird because he was nervous that I was his new neighbor. Come to think of it, he started acting weird as soon as I told him that. Maybe Falon wasn’t such a bad guy, but his nerves got the best of him. I mean, I do it all the time, it just happened, and it isn’t something you can control. As I come to this conclusion, I arrive at the jam store in the dirt lot. Just in time too, the sun was going to go down in an hour or so thanks to the high mountain peaks.