Page 5 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

Right. Like what counts as reliable?

People with verifiable contact info that you can look up and then call independently of her references

K

I’m so so so so sorry I can’t go after everything.

A well of emotion threatened to spill out. Blinking hard, Mariah typed,Don’t be. I get it 100%. How’s he doing today?

A little setback, but I think they’ll let him out in a few days. Just worry about your happiness. He’s gonna be fine.

Good. Take care of yourself, too, k? I need my auntie.

After she ended the conversation, she paused and texted the applicant.

Pls bring character references.

Chapter Three

It was snowing again the next afternoon when Veronica pulled up in front of a Victorian house in a well-tended Denver neighborhood. As she got out of the car, she peered upward at three stories, painted in a subdued but very pretty palette of plum, pink, and gray. As a history buff, she knew the mansions had almost all been built by gold and silver barons, and no expense had been spared on this beauty.

She climbed the worn concrete steps, feeling as if she were in a Christmas snow globe. She thought of her Christmas tree, stashed in the storage unit below the apartment, and it made her heart ache. If Thanksgiving had been bad, Christmas would be even worse. The kids and Spence were all going to his folks’ place in Breckenridge, a ski-in, ski-out lodge on Peak 7, and she wouldn’t see them until after New Year’s.

The thought of those vast, empty days made her skin shrivel.

On the wide wooden porch, she stomped her feet lightly to clear the snow and rang the bell. Through the frosted glass of the door, she saw a figure with an uneven gait coming forward. She’d imagined a slightly elderly woman, possibly a bit frail.

Instead, the woman who opened the door was in her mid-twenties, with long, blond hair and a pale face. She leaned on a carved-teak cane with a lion’s head at the top. “I thought you’d be younger.”

“And I thought you’d be older.”

For one more moment, Mariah stared at her, then stepped back. “Come in.” She pointed to a doorway to the left. “We’ll be in there.”

The foyer was a circle with stairs rising at one end, and it must have gone to the top of the house, because light fell into the area. A fern bloomed on a stand. Wide doors faced each other, east and west, and a hallway opened at the side of the stairs, likely leading to the kitchen. In the dark day, lamps burned in various spots.

Veronica followed Mariah’s limping gait into a room that would once have been called a parlor. The walls were papered in a tasteful violet stripe, and the furniture was wine-colored velvet, modern but appropriately oversize, settled around a vintage Moroccan rug in pinks and blues. Veronica, a house-design devotee, mentally clocked the cost of the room, and her eyebrows rose slightly.

Mariah perched on a wingback chair. Veronica sat kitty-corner on the velvet couch. Between them was a table set with tea, clearly too low for Mariah to reach without another adjustment. “Shall I pour?” Veronica asked.

With some relief, Mariah nodded. “Thanks. Three sugars for me,” she said, and then, as so many people did these days, explained her choice. “I’m—or Iwas—a full-time athlete. Can’t quite break the habit.”

The tea was fragrant, deep caramel in color. “I am no athlete, but I still like three sugars,” she said with a smile, carefully handing the tea over. As Veronica poured her own, she asked, “What sport?”

“Snowboarding,” Mariah said, glancing toward the windows, where snow floated by. “Not anymore.” She pointed to her leg. “Messed it up pretty bad this time.”

Veronica nodded. “Sorry to hear that.”

“That’s actually why I need help for this trip. I thought I could do it on my own, but ...” She looked down, paused. “I can’t carry or drag a suitcase. My aunt has talked me into hiring someone to help.” She frowned and blurted out, “I really thought you’d be a grad student or something. It’s not really a job for a—”

“A woman who should be further along in life?” Veronica said.

“No, that’s not what I meant. Sorry. It’s just ... this is all weird and new to me.”

Taking pity on her, Veronica said, “I’m newly divorced, and the alimony isn’t enough to support me.” She shrugged. “So.”

“Okay. I get that. What have you done for work during your marriage?”

“Managed the life of a busy professor and our children. I’ve done some nonprofit work, grant writing and that kind of thing, but mainly that was my job.”