Fallout

  Return for alcohol-absorbing pasta.

  (Finish one drink; start second.)

  Third trip is to the carving board.

  (Polish off drink two. Back to bar.)

  Finally, dessert. Chocolate cheesecake.

  (Work on third—really fourth—JD.)

  I think I’m doing pretty well.

  (No way to converse when imbibing.)

  And then Brendan starts talking.

  (About how Sparks has grown. Swallow.)

  Reminiscing about Wild Waters.

  (His lifeguard days. Single-gulp glass drain.)

  THE WASP BUZZ INTENSIFIES

  Only Nikki seems to notice.

  She shoots me a warning

  glance. But it’s too late.

  I stop Brendan midsentence.

  “So … do y-you ’member

  a girl name Kr-Kristina?” Damn

  booze. Damn mud daubing.

  I want to be coherent.

  Brendan’s forehead wrinkles.

  He thinks a minute, finally replies,

  Kristina? Sounds familiar.

  Why? Should I know her?

  Nikki’s hand lights gently

  on my arm. I swat it away,

  one of those bees. “You might

  have known her as Bree.”

  Bam! Recognition floods

  his eyes. Bree. Yes. I knew her.

  Clearly, he doesn’t want to say

  more. That was a long time ago.

  Nikki is close to panic.

  Uh, hon, would you get me

  another glass of wine? Please?

  She looks at me helplessly.

  Buzz. Buzz. “Just a minute,

  okay?” Buzzzzz. The entire

  table is staring now. Good.

  This deserves an audience.

  “I don’t suppose you remember

  a certain night, up on Mount Rose.

  Just you and her and a little

  crank …” Loud. Too loud.

  But he definitely remembers.

  Now, look. That was a long,

  long time ago and—wait.

  What do you know about it?

  “Dude, the whole world—well,

  a lot of it, anyway—knows

  what you did to her that night.

  I know because …” The rest

  sticks like tar in my throat.

  My face is hot and my eyes

  sting and oh my God, I will

  not cry. Nikki is on her feet.

  Montana is too. Brendan just

  stares stupidly, waiting for me

  to finish. So here goes, “I know

  because I’m her son and …”

  CAN’T CONFESS EVERYTHING

  I just can’t. But I can still

  accuse. “She said you raped

  her, you son of a bitch.”

  My hands clench, but I’m not

  going to hit him. Not now.

  Not here. Instead I start across

  the wide expanse of floor.

  I expect Nikki to come, but it

  is not her butterfly hand that lights

  on my shoulder just as I exit

  the big ballroom doors. Hold

  on. I think we should talk.

  I whip around, dislodging

  myself from his grip. Buzz.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  People stare. But Brendan

  doesn’t care. Come on.

  Let’s sit over there, okay?

  He knows better than to

  touch me again. For some

  insane reason, I follow him.

  The casino carpet is purple

  with wavy green lines, and

  it’s making me seasick.

  I will myself not to puke,

  and we sit in some eggplant-

  colored chairs at the far end

  of the foyer. I can’t look at him

  as he launches his story. Yes,

  I knew Bree … Kristina. We went

  out a few times, and we did

  a lot of crank together. All true.

  That night—the one you mentioned—

  we were messed up. Wasted, in

  fact. Now, I don’t know …

  Have you ever done meth?

  I have no choice but to

  look him straight in the eye.

  I shake my head. “Never.”

  Well, here’s the deal with meth.

  You’re not always in control,

  and that night everything got out

  of hand. I’m not proud of what

  happened, but the truth is,

  she kind of asked for it….

  Bzzzzzzz. My face flames.

  “Is that what you wanted

  to tell me? Because it’s not

  good enough. You forced

  yourself on her when she

  said no and that’s rape.”

  His turn to shake his head.

  Like I said, I don’t take pride

  in it, or in much of my life

  at that time. I did drugs.

  Did girls. Stole. Cheated.

  Lied. The reason I joined

  the army? A judge gave me

  the choice—military or a long

  time in jail. I’m glad now.

  I got clean. Disciplined. Did

  my time and went back, hoping

  to maybe make up for before.

  I WANT TO KEEP HATING HIM

  But he sounds

  reasonable

  honest

  apologetic.

  I want to keep blaming him.

  But somehow I

  believe him

  relate to him

  almost forgive him.

  I want to keep berating him.

  But words don’t

  make sense

  seem wise

  matter anyway.

  I want to keep thinking he’s the enemy.

  But suddenly he’s

  just a man

  not a monster

  no longer a stranger.

  My father.

  THE BUZZ QUIETS

  Blood pressure drops.

  Anger dissipates, ghostlike.

  But I’m still just this side

  of wasted drunk. Enough

  for me to open my mouth

  and say, “Did you know

  Kristina got pregnant that

  night?” I think surprise

  should surface in his eyes.

  Instead he says, Actually, yes.

  She sort of blackmailed

  me into abortion money.

  A half laugh stutters out.

  “You still don’t get it, do you?

  I’m that baby. And you, quite

  probably, are my biological father.”

  HIS JAW PLUMMETS

  And that alone is almost worth

  every emotion I’ve lately

  sorted through. “Really.

  I mean, hello. Have you

  not noticed a resemblance?

  Did it not cross your mind?”

  His eyes—my eyes—scan

  my face. It never occurred—

  I mean, I saw her mom with a baby,

  once. You, I guess. But I thought he—

  you—she said—Oh my God.

  Why didn’t anyone ever tell me?

  “Why? What would you

  have done? Married her and

  played house for a while?

  Look, I don’t expect anything

  from you. My grandparents

  adopted me, gave me a great

  childhood. Better than you

  or Kristina ever could have.

  I just thought you ought to know.”

  OUR EYES LOCK

  Green-marbled gray

  to green-marbled gray.

  But really, there’s not

  a whole lot more to say,

  except, “Why did you

  come back
here?”

  He shrugs. This is home.

  My mom died two

  years ago, but my dad

  still lives in Fernley.

  Blood is thick, you know?

  He chokes on the sentence.

  I have a grandfather

  in Fernley. Maybe we’ll

  meet one day. Maybe he

  listens to me on the radio.

  Oh. He’s old. Probably

  not exactly an X listener.

  Brendan gets to his feet,

  and I notice that Montana

  and Nikki are standing

  a respectful distance away.

  Uh, look. This is kind of

  a lot to absorb and …

  I stand too. “Like I said,

  I don’t expect anything

  at all from you. So no

  worries about blood tests.

  I’m an adult, and I can

  take care of myself.”

  We start toward the girls.

  Montana looks wary.

  Guess I have to tell

  the story twice, huh?

  Oh, well. Relationships

  shouldn’t have secrets.

  Suddenly I notice

  Nikki’s stance. She’s

  pissed. Maybe even

  more than pissed.

  Because of what just

  happened? It’s all good.

  EXCEPT IT’S NOT

  Brendan shakes my hand,

  takes Montana’s arm, and they

  return to the party. I reach for

  Nikki, but she yanks away.

  She hands me my jacket,

  which I left on a chair,

  holds out my cell phone

  between two fingers,

  like it’s poison. Heard it

  ring and thought it might

  be important. By the time

  I dug it out of your jacket

  it had gone to voice mail.

  Her own voice crackles.

  Sorry, but I went ahead and

  picked up the message.

  She straightens, squares

  her shoulders, and I know

  I’m in trouble. It was from

  some girl named Leah….

  Autumn

  ONE DAY

  Until the wedding. One week

  until Christmas, such as it will be.

  School just let out for vacation.

  And there’s so much to do.

  Shopping. Manicure. Rehearsal

  dinner tonight. More shopping.

  Hair appointment. Studio

  portrait. More shopping.

  I wish I could be excited

  about it. But all I want to do

  is hole up in my room with a little

  borrowed liquor and think

  about ways to be with Bryce.

  It wasn’t so hard when school

  was still in. But this week

  will offer many challenges

  as far as spending time

  together. Sneaking out

  when Grandfather passes

  out is the only way I know.

  PILFERING BOOZE

  Sneaking out.

  Hooking up with

  Bryce for sex.

  I can’t believe this

  is me I’m talking

  about. It’s like I’m

  on a runaway train.

  I want to jump off

  but it’s not slowing

  down and taking

  that leap would

  kill me for sure.

  And the wonderful

  irony is I used to

  think about dying.

  Maybe even by my

  own hand, if things

  turned too, too bleak.

  But now I want to

  live. Want to love.

  Want to be loved.

  I have to keep on

  riding this train

  for that to happen.

  TRAINS LIKE THIS

  Generally wreck sooner or later.

  So far so good, though.

  Grandfather has not missed

  the short pours of whiskey

  I’ve indulged in lately. They say

  liquor is quicker, and whiskey

  is definitely quicker than champagne

  when it comes to a good buzz.

  A shot or two, nothing scares me,

  nothing hurts me. I like how that feels.

  The weird thing is, Grandfather’s

  own drinking has waned. It’s as if

  the wedding planning has reduced

  his stress. I don’t understand why.

  I do know I’ll have to find a way

  to replace what I’ve taken from

  the liquor cabinet before he swings

  the other way again. Bound to happen

  after tomorrow. Once the wedding

  is over. The reception done,

  and Aunt Cora and Liam go off

  on their honeymoon, return

  to their new house in Austin.

  They decided to live there, near

  his family instead of hers (mine), go

  into business together. Massaging

  the uptight of Austin. That thought

  is good for another swallow. Hot

  liquid amber down my throat. Better.

  Almost good enough to deal

  with lingerie shopping. Aunt Cora

  should be here to pick me up

  any time. Okay, just a quick nip and

  then I’d better use some mouthwash.

  The worst thing about whiskey

  is the smell it leaves behind.

  LISTERINE ROCKS

  Aunt Cora doesn’t notice a thing

  on the drive to the mall. I close

  my eyes, lean back into the seat,

  absorbing radio music and traffic

  music and the music of Aunt Cora’s

  voice. Something about dresses.

  Something about the hotel where

  you get to stay tonight. Something

  about pick you up at eleven sharp.

  And something that really grabs

  my attention. So, okay. Are we going

  to meet your Bryce tomorrow?

  Just the name makes me smile.

  “Last time we talked, he promised

  he’d be there. On time, even.”

  She laughs. You didn’t give him

  a hard time, did you? I mean about

  being punctual. No wedding starts

  exactly when it’s supposed to.

  There’s always some sort of delay.

  Don’t know why that is, but it is.

  “If you say so.” Not like I’d have

  a clue. “I’ve never been to a wedding.”

  Not like she doesn’t know that.

  “Yours will be my first.” And hopefully

  not my last. I want one of my own

  before too very long. The amazing

  thing is Bryce hasn’t even asked

  about protection. Maybe he wants

  me to get pregnant too.

  “Are you going to have a baby?”

  Her smile drops away. “I don’t

  mean right now. But ever?”

  She looks like she has something

  she wants to tell me. But the mall

  has suddenly reached our line

  of sight. She perks up and says,

  Who knows what the future might

  bring? Let’s start with underwear.

  UNDERWEAR SHOPPING

  Is likewise something I’ve never

  done. Well, I mean Wal-Mart undie

  shopping is one thing. Upscale

  bras and panties is all new.

  And radical. There are even

  salesladies who are trained to

  fit you right, and tell you what kind

  of bra will flatter you best. It’s kind

  of embarrassing. If it wasn’t for r />
  the whiskey, I’d be freaking out.

  Only problem is, now that it’s

  wearing off some, I’m getting

  a headache. Hope it doesn’t

  get worse. Anyway, Aunt Cora

  and I take our fancy understuff

  up to the counter. In her pile:

  three stretch lace thongs, two gel

  underwires, and a teeny purple teddy,

  for the honeymoon. In my pile: red

  velvet panties, matching push-up bra.

  BOY, DOES THAT ADD UP

  Almost one hundred fifty big

  ones! “Uh, are you sure you can

  afford that? I can wear my old—”

  Aunt Cora stops me. This day

  is only going to happen once.

  Besides … She reaches into

  her wallet, fishes out a shiny new

  credit card. Liam’s mom gave me

  this. Said to get anything my little

  heart desired. She knows Daddy

  doesn’t have a bottomless bank

  account. I guess she does.

  I think back to Thanksgiving and

  the Cregan place. Big house.

  Nice furniture. Pretty backyard.

  Pricey (if unremarkable) neighborhood,

  the same one where Aunt Cora

  and Liam will live, thanks to a big

  down payment wedding gift.

  Aunt Cora will be well cared for.

  Do I feel good about that?

  THE QUESTION NAGS

  The rest of the afternoon.

  Through manicure.

  Pedicure.

  (And just who wants a job

  dealing with scaly feet?)

  Trousseau shopping.

  Christmas shopping.

  (And why does Aunt Cora

  think Liam wants pj’s?)

  Makeup shopping.

  Window shopping.

  (And by now I’m getting

  totally sick of shopping.)

  Stuffing the car with

  packages. Gassing up.

  (And I majorly wish I had

  an ibuprofen in my purse.)

  Driving the eighty

  miles to Austin.

  (And now the nagging

  question really gets loud.)

  Am I happy that Liam will

  care well for Aunt Cora?

  (And will she be happy when

  Bryce is taking care of me?)

  STUPID FANTASY, I KNOW

  But at least Bryce is a real guy, not

  a vampire or something. Fantasy

  minus the fangs. Sounds good

  to me, especially if there ever

  is a baby involved in this story.

  Meanwhile, we have arrived

  at the hotel, and it is not

  what you might call a dive.