Page 87 of Famous for a Living

It gets me to town whenever I want.

It gave me instant freedom.

And now I suddenly have more options than just Snowball Cornhole Risk Blitz for entertainment. I’ve actually had some adult conversations, and that first sip of coffee was like I’d swallowed a cloud in heaven.

It was a beautiful thing.

“I don’t know, Cat. I want to, I really do, but I’ll have to talk with my manager . . . I’m not sure I even have the time. I’m hitting up Thailand at the end of March,” Brody begins.

My hand grips the phone tighter. I swivel on my heel in the snow.

It’s time to throw the sucker punch.

“I’d be happy to help you out sometime, too, Brody. Anything within my power you can think of. Just say the word.”

There’s a long pause.

It’s a risky thing, offering whatever I have.

Used to be, that offer would’ve really meant something.

Now, though? Now there is half a chance he’ll laugh in my face.

After a pause so lengthy I begin to question if the call has been dropped, he exhales. “Tell you what. I do this for you, and when all the Bobby stuff is over, you give me another call. Maybe you’ll come out for that kiteboarding session.”

I press my lips together. Smile, touched at what he is saying. He believes things will work out for me. He believes this whole Bobby lawsuit mess will all pan out. Even if Bobby is nowhere in sight and there’s a court date looming.

He’s willing to extend a hand on that bet.

“I really appreciate it, Brody. It’s a deal.”

I get off the phone and log in his name beneath the tiny but growing list of influencers willing to make the trek out to Kannery National Park to shoot some content and promote it on their channels in the next month. I’ll have to throw in a bit of my own reserve cash for the partnerships.

And Brody, along with three other full-time travel bloggers with decent lists, is now my biggest catch.

I’m doing this, though, for Uncle Terry. For the way I come into work and there’s a wrapped-up breakfast sandwich—sausage thoughtfully already taken out (I never have the heart to mention the dairy)—from the local gas station sitting on my desk. No explanation. No acknowledgment. But his door is open and there’s a wrapper on his own desk and crumbs in his beard.

I do this for the way he and Peggy keep a steady word game going on their phones, and how throughout the day I’ll hear one of them mutter from their office desk about the other being a cheater.

I do this for the way he lit up seeing my new promotional material for the national park (complete with nice, normal T-shirts), and for the way he gazed in admiration at a postcard I created from my shot on Cades Peak, then launched into a story of the time he and Aunt Claire camped up there for their twenty-fifth anniversary and had a run-in with some hikers wearing nothing but bandanas on what turned out to be Naked Hike Day.

Kannery Park is a precious place to him. This job, these people, truly have become family.

And for him, and for Mina, Jax, Kevin, and Zaiah, I put myself out there, place my bets, hoping their jobs and this place can be saved.

Announcements come over a megaphone, and I pause to listen.

This is, for the record, the strangest event I’ve ever heard of.

Huge haystacks surround the outside of the winding track of snow, several children sitting on them, eager spectators. A dozen snow-covered mounds dot the track, jumps two or three feet high. Red rings like those kiddies use to dive with in the pool dangle from posts around the track.

Parked vehicles are everywhere, truck beds dropped as people mill around, throwing on blankets and setting up lawn chairs for their viewing experiences.

A huge rust-colored barn sits off to one side, crackling bonfire beside it.

There are no signs detailing what to expect from this place.

No flyers or banners or anything official to scream, “This is an approved event. Please come.”