“Blane.”Of course, his name is Blane.
“Listen, Blane. I appreciate that you had the confidence to come up here and interrupt my conversation with my girl and tell me that I look like a nice piece. Which, I am, but you’ll have to do much better with your material to hold the attention of any woman who won’t be satisfied with a lazy lay.”
And with that, I move around Toothy Blane, grab Everly’s arm, which is bent at the elbow for me to loop through, and we make our way to somewhere less congested with mediocrity.
We carry on our conversation for another hour and it’s the first time I feel like I’ve met someone that any version of me would want to have in my life. Someone that could really be a friend, which is something I haven’t allowed myself to have in years.
She tells me about her family and how they own and run one of Colorado's biggest outdoor sports companies. About her plans to grow the business with her father and older brother, but for now, she’s working with the sales team to learn everything she can. Her two younger brothers are in college, one in Boston, and the other not far from here in Boulder, finishing his undergrad.
“What or who put its hooks in you to get you to Strutt’s Peak?” she asks.
Truth first, lies later.
“Its name.” She smiles, but waits for me to elaborate. “The place is named after an old English dude who discovered tons of important things, but the most beautiful of those things is the reason why we see blue skies.”
“Rayleigh’s Scattering,” we say in unison, smiling at one another.
“Then, when you actually see how breathtaking it is… the blue-ness of the skies. The massiveness of this place. It feels, more than anything,” I pause, a little lost on the tangent, “like a fresh start, a new adventure.”
This was my third town in the witness protection program, or WITSEC, if you want to be official about it. When my assigned U.S. Marshall finally realized it would be easier if I picked my next location instead of being plopped somewhere I didn’t want to be, I looked around the Midwest, the section of the U.S. that I needed to be folded into, and zeroed in on Colorado. The funny thing about having a memory like mine is that sometimes those memories need to be jogged a bit. When I saw Strutt’s Peak in the tiniest print, I remembered.
It was the one question I had gotten wrong in my geography class that sent my grade down a fraction, shoving me down as salutatorian instead of the valedictorian spot I deserved.
She tilts her head to take in what I’m saying. But before I can let her see the emotion behind the words, I say, “And I wanted to find a tourist location that wasn’t too over-hyped with a need for a tattoo shop.”
I tell her about Griff, the current owner of the only tattoo shop in town, who she knows, of course. Small town and all. The timing of him wanting to relocate and sell his business mixed with my arrival just seemed like a sign that I found where I was supposed to be.
The part I left out was that my only options were out west, far away from my old life, and this was my third stop. The other two were awful and I may have had enough verbal sparring with locals in those places that my intended low-profile wasn’t very low after only a couple of weeks. This place, however, I’ve been here a month now, and I like it. Enough that I want to stay.
“I love the artwork on your arms. So pretty.” She traces the vines and flower patterns up my forearm. Brushing right past the old design and only seeing what’s new. The only one I left untouched, unchanged, is the small vine of white lemon blossoms that trail, from my hairline to behind my ear. I couldn’t change those; it’s the one thing that’s the same on the outside, that reminds me of my pops.
He always called me “mio piccolo fiore di limone” (his little lemon blossom).
A loud group comes into the restaurant, and it pulls both of our attention. “So, can I assume you don’t have any other plans tonight, or are you meeting someone?”
“My only plans were to grab a few drinks, a grilled cheese, and maybe some decent dick.” She coughs after taking a sip of her drink and starts laughing.
“Oh my gosh, Giselle. I think I love you.” She studies me for a minute. “You can still do all of those things, but come with me to my brother’s dinner party first. I think he’s going to tell us that he’s proposed to his girlfriend.” She rolls her eyes.
“Do we like her, or…?”
“I don’t hate her or anything, but… I think I just always imagined when my brothers got married that I’d end up being super close to the women they chose. We’re all really tight and I thought it just meant that I’d gain sisters. Denise is kind of cold and always has a way of turning conversations back into something she’s done or seen or knows. I love my brother, and I see the way she talks to him too sometimes and it…” she cuts herself off, shaking her head.
“Got it.”
Smiling at me again, she says, “Giselle, I feel like it’s a little bit of fate that we met.”
“Fate is apparently a fickle bitch, so let's just say it’s a fabulous circumstance.”
“You’re going to love my family. My dad, especially. You were bound to meet him eventually. He’s like the unofficial mayor of Strutt’s Peak. I guarantee he already knows who you are and about your plans to take over Griff’s shop on Main.”
I follow Everly into the heart of the restaurant. Her effervescent personality is a relief, almost like a full breath after a dive into the deep end of a pool. I hadn’t realized how much I crave being around people. Building relationships, even if it can’t be completely truthful. It’s not like it’s going to harm anything. Having relationships isn’t off-limits. Just the level of details I share need to be monitored. It doesn’t make me a liar, just mindful. I need to take a deep breath, remind myself I can do this. It’s not against the rules. I need to be smart.
Don’t focus on the past, only on the present. And limit the lies.
6
Henry