Page 67 of Famous for a Living

I can’t help it. I’m surprised by the reality check about his job. For some reason—I don’t know, probably because all I’ve done is sit in an office the past three weeks hearing Peggy directing tourists to the closest bathrooms—I’ve had the understanding that being a ranger is just about taking people’s six bucks at the gate. Picking up trash. Shooing off the raccoons so they don’t scare the visitors. And in the case of Kevin, explaining way too much to visitors about things they don’t really care that much about.

I never thought about this other side of ranger life.

Being the law enforcement, and sometimes the only law enforcement, when there is no backup for a hundred miles. Protecting the wildlife, sure, and the trees from burning down by teenage pyro idiots with matches, yes, but also . . . what? Coming to the rescue of a fallen hiker? Stopping a domestic dispute? Making arrests? Protecting against potential murder?

Facilitators of peace.

Uncle Terry has those words on a coffee mug in his office, but the most peaceful thing I had been able to imagine was him fixing the snack machine before hungry hikers started a riot.

In this moment all the rangers gained something I hadn’t given them too much of before. My respect.

And even, to a degree, my admiration.

I furrow my brows at the image of little Mina in her long braids trying to break up a group of backcountry poachers. “What about Mina? I don’t—Should she—”

I mean, the girl is still technically a teenager. Out here in the woods. Doing all that. I’m not trying to be antifeminist, absolutely not . . . but still. She’s a ninety-five-pound sewing machine.

Zaiah’s voice almost explodes with a laugh. “Mina can handle herself just fine. If you want to lose sleep over someone, choose Kevin.”

I grin. “I have wondered a little bit about Kevin. He just seems like he would make a great . . .”

“Anything else?” Zaiah nods. “He’s an asset when lecturing in the tourist center, I’ll give him that. But the actual walking outside part . . . well . . . we’ll have to see.”

We follow the turn in the winding river, see the clusters of people up ahead. Some are starting to leave, standing at the water’s edge, slipping shoes back on. Several are trekking back up the path toward their cars.

“You like your job?”

I don’t know that I specifically meant to ask him this question aloud. I hadn’t intended to be so inquisitive, really, about his life. Or what he thought about . . . well, anything.

But I’m finding myself curious. What exactly is going on behind Zaiah Smith’s broody eyes? What exactly makes him tick? What kind of life does he lead outside these 353-square-mile walls? Who are his friends? Family? Just who is he?

He pauses and looks down at me, seeming to note the weight behind my question. Realizing I didn’t ask it flippantly, in such a way that “Sure” or “Oh, there are good days and bad” could sufficiently answer.

He hesitates, as though trying to decide on his next words. “I grew up in Brooklyn. Did you know that?”

Well. Of all the things he could’ve said, I didn’t expect this. I feel like I batted a tennis ball at him, and what was lobbed back over the net was a lobster.

“No,” I say, stunned. “I had no idea. So we’re both New Yorkers.”

“I am not a New Yorker.” The rigidity in his voice is unmistakable. “That was a long time ago. And for me it wasn’t . . . it wasn’t a good experience.”

I raise a brow. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed your distaste for the place roughly . . . hmm . . . every single second it’s come up. You looked like a caged animal that night at my house.”

“Well, forgive me for being a little preoccupied at the time. If you recall, I was kind of dealing with a situation.”

I smile back at the memory, remembering how good it felt to put him in his place that night. A moment of glory.

“But aside from the hotel, yes, I’m not exactly a fan of the city.”

I wait. A part of me, a very small part, wonders if he was going to add, “Or the people who live in it.”

I can’t help noticing he’s stopped entirely now, in no hurry to get back to the group.

“Mind if I ask why?”

“It wasn’t the best place to grow up.”

“I get it. It’s not for everyone—”