Page 85 of Pierced

“Jesus Christ. And you left that off your resume? Why?”

I shrug. I don’t know which answer to give. Because it was for kids like you, not me? And I didn’t go on to Princeton or Yale. Which is true. People see that school on a kid’s résumé and they expect big things out of them. Or I could say, I was only there as the librarian’s weird daughter, my education was part of her benefits package. Also true.

Or I could just tell him the truth.

“I think I get it now,” he says.

“Get what?”

“You left that behind, right? You left her behind and you came to Colorado to be close to your father.”

For a second I don’t understand the pronoun her. Because I mistake it for me, but then quickly realize he’s talking about my mother. “Yes. I… guess you could say that.”

“I did say that, but I want to hear it from you.”

“Fine,” I say, suddenly feeling agitated. I look out the window. We’re at that part of the drive up to Vail where the scenery takes your breath away. Most of the aspens are bare this late in October. The time to really come see them change color was two weeks ago. But there are still some patches of gold on the side of the mountain. And anyway, you don’t need to see the aspens to see the beauty. “I left her behind. I didn’t fit in there. I was the lion-tamer’s daughter. They made fun of me, OK? I was…”

I deflate a little.

“I get it,” he says. And then his hand is on my knee, squeezing. “I totally get it.”

“I don’t want to talk about that part of my life.”

“OK.” He pauses. “So then what happened?”

Jesus Christ. I should’ve seen that coming.

“You left Philadelphia and came to Colorado. And I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you weren’t the Myrtle I know now when you arrived. So things got better?”

“They… did,” I say, hesitantly.

“So how did you become this woman? The one with the dungeon in her basement?”

I turn in my seat to face him. Because I need to make this very clear. “I’m not her,” I say. “I put the dungeon away years ago. It was all packed up in boxes before you came over. I left her behind too.”

“How many years ago did you put it away?”

“Seven,” I say.

“So… when you came to work for me?”

I sigh and turn my whole body to the window. I feel like I’ve led him down this path and now I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere, defenseless.

“Myrtle?” he asks. Quietly. “What happened when you got to Colorado?”

I glance at him. He’s looking at me. So I avert my gaze and stare at my feet. I suck in a deep breath of air. Slowly, so he can’t hear it. Then on the exhale I say, “Wallflower.”

There is a long silence after that. Both of us pretend to admire the view as we make our way up the last mountain before the tunnel and then the darkness inside feels like it deserves silence. When we come out the other side, heading down into Silverthorne, the sun is shining brightly, reflecting off the snow on the ground, so we both go fishing for our sunglasses. The weather difference from one side of the mountain to the other never ceases to amaze me, but I’m relieved to put the sunglasses on.

“So…” I say, once we’re past the small towns and back in the wilderness, desperate to break our standstill. “Where are we staying this weekend? You have a house here?”

“No. I mean, yes. Le Man does have a house here. But we’re not staying there. It’s for corporate retreats and it feels like it’s for corporate retreats, so… Four Seasons.”

“Nice.”

“Yes. Much better than a corporate cabin. At least we’ll have room service. And they have a nice restaurant. And we can walk into the Village and… do stuff.” He glances at me for the first time since I used my stupid safe word. “Better than being stuck on the side of a mountain, don’t you think?”

I’m trying to figure out if he’d be nervous stuck with me in the corporate cabin or if he just put a lot of thought into this weekend, when the first sign for Vail whips by on the side of the freeway.