1
evelyn
The Iron Peak Ridge Public Library is smaller than my apartment in Lumberjack Lagoon.Was.Smaller than my apartmentwas.Past tense. That place doesn't exist anymore. Neither does the woman who lived in it, technically. So we're all just moving forward here.
I park my ten-year-old Honda Civic and pat the hood. She’s got a cracked dashboard and one headlight that flickers when it’s cold, but she’s still kicking. I get out in front of a brick building that’s seen better days. It’s tall and wedged onto the street between an empty lot, a converted mining warehouse and close to The Ridge Diner which appears to be a café with fogged windows.
I let out a breath. “This is it I guess.”
The library has a green door and a hand-painted sign that saysOPENin letters that lean slightly to the left. There’s a window box with dead marigolds that someone hasn't gotten around to pulling yet and I think I might be in love.
It's perfect. This building isn’t trying to impress anyone. Right now that's exactly the energy I need from my new employer.
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror. My dark curls are piled into a messy bun that says, I promise you can trust me even though my life is chaos. My eyes look huge, which is what happens when you sleep three hours in a motel outside Pueblo and then drink gas station coffee until your hands vibrate.
My black-framed glasses are slightly crooked. I straighten them twice, but they slide back and I give up. If I let myself, I could totally cry right now. But I won’t. I’m simply not the kind of person who cries over the details.
"Let’s go Evelyn. You are a person who has a library science degree," I tell my reflection. "You are a person who is qualified for this job. You are a person who is for sure not going to throw up in the parking lot on her first day. Get your shit together lady."
Okay, so the pep talk needs work. But the bar is low. In fact, the bar is in hell. Or at the very least it’s underground and buried somewhere beneath this little mountain town at the bottom of a box canyon where nobody is going to come looking for me.
That's the hope, anyway.
I grab my bag and get out of the car. The air hits me first. It’s cold, sharp, and so clean it almost hurts. The canyon walls rise on either side of town like massive granite arms. They’re steep cliffs streaked with waterfalls that feed into hot springs somewhere below Main Street. I can see the steam curling up between buildings.
The whole place feels like it's breathing easily… At least someone is. My breath comes in short gasps. My heart rate is at its usual four-million beats per minute and my eyes water from the cold. But there isn’t any going back now.
I push through the green door and a silver bell chimes overhead. It’s an actual bell, not an electronic beep, because this town is apparently frozen in a decade I can't identify. Another reason to love it here.
"You must be Evelyn."
The woman behind the circulation desk is in her mid-forties with her long dark hair braided over one shoulder. She’s tall and lean and wearing a wool skirt with a cardigan. She’s smiling at me. It’s not like she’s sizing me up… It’s more like I'm a niece she hasn't seen in a while. She’s just straightforwardly warm and I’m taken aback.
"June?" I manage.
"That's me. You made it through the canyon in one piece. That’s the first test. Come on, I'll show you around. It won't take long."
She laughs when she says it, gesturing at the space, and she's right… The whole library isn’t big. It’s got low ceilings, wood floors that creak, and mismatched shelves that look like they were built by someone who cared more about sturdiness than aesthetics. June opens a metal drawer for my purse, then jumps right in. I try to keep up.
There's a kids' section in the back corner with a braided rug and beanbags. A row of windows along the east wall lets in watery mountain light. There’s an old staircase that leads to the archives and a mysteriously locked cabinet that June claims contains “local records.”
“You’ll meet the ladies, at some point. Jocelyn is lovely, she’s our unofficial event planner. And some of our locals. Willa tutors in the back most days…” She keeps talking and paints a picture that’s hard to believe. June’s from here and I can only hope that this town becomes as much my home as it is hers.
We get to a staff room and there’s a pot of tea ready. It smells like old paper and pine cleaner. It’s no bigger than a closet but the low hanging pendant lights and the oak furniture make it cozy somehow. There’s not a social media worthy corner here. I’m ready to move in.
From there, June walks me through the basics. We cover the circulation system, hold requests, and the town regulars I'll get to know. There are loggers who come in for audiobooks. Tour guides who use the printers. Old-timers who sit in the reading chairs for hours and don't check out a single book, but get personally offended if you try to rearrange the magazine rack.
"Iron Peak takes a minute to warm up to new people," she says, leaning against the desk. "But once it does, you're stuck with us. Fair warning."
"I can handle being stuck," I say, and I mean it more than she knows.
“Stuck here without your friends and family?” She pauses and gives me a look.
It’s not exactly prying, just perceptive. But it’s enough to make me look away.
“Thank you for the tour. I think this will be a great fit. I’m ready for you to put me to work.”
That’s all it takes. June doesn’t need to be told twice. Thirty minutes later I’m hard at work shelving returns like I’ve always been here. It’s mindless, physical, and monotonous. The routine wraps around me like a warm blanket on a cold night. Of course, my hands knowing what to do can’t stop my brain from spinning.
