Page 21 of Fallout


  “Wow. Pretty fancy. How can

  we afford to stay here?”

  Aunt Cora rattles her purse.

  Credit card, remember?

  Whatever my heart desires,

  remember? I wanted this to

  be a memorable experience.

  The Mansion at Judges’ Hill

  is quite impressive, with an

  obvious history. Later I’ll find

  out what it is. Right now, I just

  want to check in and find ibuprofen.

  I GET MY OWN ROOM

  It isn’t huge, but it is beautiful,

  all done up in restored antiques.

  I get a couple of ibuprofens

  from Aunt Cora, go looking

  for something to wash them

  down with. Score! Minibar.

  Pricey water, soda, and yes,

  liquor. Very pricey liquor.

  But hey, the credit card

  is buying, right? Three-dollar

  Coke. Six-dollar miniature bottle

  of Dewar’s. Never tried scotch

  before. Ugh. Not great. But too

  late to turn back now. Nine

  dollars’ worth of refreshment

  later, I lie down on the bed.

  The headache fades and I close

  my eyes to rest up before dinner.

  NEXT THING I KNOW

  A thumping brings me around.

  No, not thumping. Knocking. Loudly.

  On the door. I sit up, too quickly.

  My head feels like a merry-go-round,

  and I think maybe I have to throw up.

  “Who is it? Hang on, I’m coming.”

  It’s me. Aunt Cora, of course.

  Are you about ready? Hurry up.

  I’ll wait for you in the lobby.

  Ready? What? I glance at the clock.

  Almost five. How long did I sleep?

  Bathroom. Quick. To throw up or not

  to throw up? I give it the old college

  try. Nothing. Not even a dry heave.

  Guess I’m okay. No time for a shower,

  I splash my face. Makeup? No time.

  I make time for mouthwash, stay

  in my rumpled clothes. Not trying

  to impress anyone, anyway, right?

  Room key in my pocket. Out the door.

  Twenty-four hours, it will all be over.

  THANKS TO ME

  Aunt Cora and I get to the church

  ten minutes late. Everyone else

  is already there, waiting. Pacing.

  Talk about nerves! Liam looks

  green, although he’s trying to

  hide it. He and the preacher

  stand off to one side. Aunt

  Cora goes to join them. Let

  the rehearsal begin! The wedding

  party gathers as the minister starts

  a blessing. I bow my head, close

  my eyes. Someone taps my shoulder.

  Micah! Why didn’t I make time for

  makeup? Suddenly, midst long-

  winded prayer, my breathing goes

  shallow and my hands tingle.

  I haven’t done this in weeks.

  Micah sees. Is it me? he whispers.

  I need air. How do I get out

  of here? But just as my feet start

  to move, the amen stops them.

  I suck in oxygen, concentrate

  on a mental picture of Bryce so

  Micah’s cool steel eyes don’t

  pierce so hard. I can do this.

  Okay, everyone, says the pastor.

  Let’s get this over with. I’m hungry.

  A half hour later, we’re all pretty

  sure of our roles for tomorrow.

  Through the entire instruction,

  Micah managed to either be

  very close to me or to let

  me know most definitely that

  he was watching me. If I didn’t

  know better, I’d say he was hitting

  on me. Impossible. No makeup.

  BUT, MAKEUP OR NO

  Micah finds a way to sit next to me

  at dinner. His leg rests against mine,

  and despite willing myself to think Bryce,

  Bryce, Bryce, I don’t push it away.

  I like how it feels. Warm. Protective.

  Still, just to be fair, when the conversation

  around us is loud enough to cover it,

  I say, “I have a boyfriend, you know.”

  Micah keeps chewing his chicken

  Marsala. Finally he swallows. I would

  have been surprised if you didn’t.

  God, he is just so smooth.

  Bryce would never say something

  like that. My face flushes. At least

  it will have a little color now.

  Pop! goes a champagne cork.

  Pop! And another. Pop! Three.

  Around come glasses, and this time

  I don’t hesitate to take one, despite

  the way the preacher is looking at me.

  Micah sees that too. He laughs.

  You’re on the path to hell young,

  he says. But he isn’t much older,

  and he has a glass in his hand too.

  No one else seems concerned as

  the toasts begin. Plenty of wine

  for all. Including me. I like the bubbly

  stuff okay. But am starting to crave

  something stronger. Something

  to take my mind off losing Aunt

  Cora tomorrow. Something to make

  me forget all about Micah and how

  his hand feels exploring my knee.

  I like it. I do. But this time I summon

  my courage, push it away. “Stop,”

  I whisper hoarsely. “Please stop.”

  He does. And that makes me want

  another glass of champagne. And

  I know that isn’t good. I’ll stop after

  tomorrow. I’ll stop when I get pregnant.

  WEDDING DAY DAWNS

  Heavy with impending rain.

  It’s going to storm crazy.

  Wonder if it’s an omen.

  Wonder if Aunt Cora’s

  aura has gone all gray.

  I want sun on my wedding

  day. But in Texas, anything

  goes, weather-wise, on any

  given day. So an indoor

  thing is the way to go.

  Still, indoors or out,

  a sense of foreboding

  weighs me down. I want

  to float in this soft bed,

  with the curtains drawn.

  At least I’ll get to see

  Bryce. The thought buoys

  me from under the covers.

  Lots to do before then.

  All in the name of beauty.

  Shower. Makeup. Hair,

  courtesy of the hotel’s

  fancy stylist. Low-cut dress.

  Flowers. Hope I can be

  as pretty as the bride.

  EVERYTHING ACCOMPLISHED

  And as pretty as I’m going to get,

  Aunt Cora and I arrive at the church.

  It’s filling already. Most everyone,

  of course, is either related to or

  a friend of Liam. Our herd is much

  smaller. I’m glad Bryce will be there

  on the Shepherd side. There he is,

  in fact, standing alone, in back.

  Aunt Cora goes off to the dressing

  room, gown hidden beneath a plastic

  bag. “I’ll be right there,” I call. Then

  I go over to Bryce. “Glad you made it.”

  His eyes light up. You look great.

  But I feel like a fish out of water.

  I guess you can’t sit with me, huh?

  “I have to stand up in front and hold

  Aunt Cora’s bouquet. But I’ll sit

  with you at
the reception.” I should

  introduce him to some people.

  There’s Micah, too handsome

  in his tux. No, not him. Not sure why.

  IT’S AN EXERCISE IN FUTILITY

  First, I’m having a hard time

  remembering everyone’s names.

  And as I struggle to label faces,

  Micah comes over to, uh … help?

  First he gives me a major once-

  over. Whoa now. Don’t you look

  kind of amazing? He ignores

  my intense blush, turns to Bryce.

  Don’t believe we’ve met. You

  must be a friend of the bride?

  But before Bryce can respond

  (and say what? Sort of? Not exactly?),

  Grandfather’s semi-feeble

  screech interrupts, Holy shit

  on a shingle. Look who’s here.

  Can’t believe they had the nerve.

  Conversation skids to a halt

  as everyone assesses the new

  arrivals—a stately older woman,

  dressed to the nines. Her face

  is familiar, but I would struggle

  to place it, if not for the younger

  man beside her. I haven’t seen

  him in years. But I know who he is.

  And if he is Trey, she must be

  his mom. I’ve seen Maureen in Aunt

  Cora’s photo album, her face

  less creased then, and her hair

  the color of mine. It’s gray now.

  They approach Grandfather warily.

  The three pull away into a corner.

  The room echoes angry drifts of

  accusation. Explanation. Denial.

  I should go mediate. I should go tell

  Aunt Cora trouble’s brewing.

  But what I really want to do is run.

  RUN, FLEE, FLY

  The attack is sudden.

  I am a rabbit, surrounded

  by starved coyotes.

  And like the hare,

  certain

  death is near, my pulse

  guns. Accelerates,

  hot flame in my veins.

  Nears the point

  of misfire.

  They say, when facing

  the onslaught of tooth

  and claw, a creature’s

  heart can simply quit.

  My heart

  issues a warning, and

  though I keep my feet,

  my brain disconnects.

  A black ghost swirls,

  threatens

  to suck me inside.

  Voices. All around me.

  Can’t see who they

  belong to, but I want them

  to stop.

  Stop. Slow. Silence.

  GENTLE SHAKING

  I am swimming up.

  Voices make me want

  to dive back down.

  … you all right? Bryce.

  … coming out of it. Micah.

  … be okay now. Grandfather.

  … freaking weird. Anonymous.

  I am making an awful

  scene at Aunt Cora’s

  wedding. Oh my God.

  … family resemblance. Maureen?

  Hell, yeah. Just like me. Trey.

  Leave her be. Grandfather.

  What’s going on here? Preacher.

  I am lifted. Supported.

  Directed to a chair.

  Someone hands me water.

  I am mortified.

  I AM ALSO CLAUSTROPHOBIC

  With all these people clustered

  around me. I feel like a grape,

  being squashed into juice.

  “Could I please have some air?”

  Everyone takes one step back.

  I can’t help but stare at Trey.

  His dark hair is shot through

  with silver. More salt than pepper.

  The skin on his face is deeply

  etched with a web of lines.

  His eyes—black walnut—

  are familiar. They are Grandfather’s.

  He takes my interest as an invitation

  to move closer again. Bryce stops

  him with a hand to the arm. Excuse

  me, but she asked for a little room.

  Trey shakes Bryce’s grip.

  Excuse me, boy, but I haven’t

  seen my daughter in a long time.

  I’m just taking a little inventory.

  Bryce looks at me with eyes

  brimming confusion. Daughter?

  Autumn, is he saying he’s your father?

  Because you told me …

  I told him my parents were dead.

  Why did I ever say that? Because

  I never believed I’d have to tell

  him the truth. “I—I’m sorry. It’s just …”

  Grandfather, who has no idea

  who Bryce is, or what I said to him,

  nevertheless attempts rescue.

  He’s never been a father to her.

  Trey steps toward Grandfather,

  on a collision course. And you,

  old man, were never a father to me.

  THINGS ARE MOVING

  Light-year speed toward implosion.

  Guests are turning around in their seats,

  wondering what the commotion is.

  The ushers push closer, suspecting trouble.

  The minister bobs this way and that,

  unsure of what to do next. Grandfather

  and Trey are close to blows, and

  Maureen is clucking like an old hen.

  Bryce and Micah are measuring each

  other, and the situation. Liam sputters,

  then runs off to tell Aunt Cora that things

  are going to hell. “Stop it!” I plead.

  “You’re ruining Aunt Cora’s day. Can’t

  all this wait? Can’t we at least pretend

  to be a family, for her sake?” Silence

  swells. Fists unclench. People return

  to their places. Still, as the organ

  begins to play, anger looms louder.

  Aunt Cora appears, beautiful despite

  the worry stamped into her face.

  Maureen and Trey give her hugs,

  then allow Micah to usher them forward.

  Grandfather takes Aunt Cora on his arm.

  Liam follows his best man to the altar.

  That is my cue. I turn to tell Bryce

  I’ll see him after the ceremony, but

  he is nowhere in sight. The wedding

  march begins. No time to look for him

  now. I play my maid of honor role

  exactly as rehearsed. As the ceremony

  progresses, I steal sideways glances

  toward the guests, but cannot spy Bryce.

  What did I expect? That he’d never

  discover the truth? That the shadows

  of my messed-up life would never

  appear in the face of his sunshine?

  Through the pounding surf in my ears,

  a watery, You may now kiss the bride.

  My eyes overflow. Tears of joy for Aunt

  Cora. The usual kind of tears for me.

  WEDDING RECEPTIONS

  Are good for one thing specifically.

  Liquor. Mostly champagne, usually,

  but Liam’s parents kindly paid for

  a hosted bar. Now I’m definitely not

  old enough to fool the bartender.

  But I’ve got the sympathy thing

  going on. Micah has talked his older

  siblings into providing us both

  with stiff drinks. Just think if your

  father showed up after eight years.

  Wouldn’t you want a nip of stress

  reliever too? Anyway, we’re celebrating.

  Aunt Cora issued strict orders:

  No matter what, there will be no

  fights. No
arguments. No name-

  calling. Plenty of time to sort

  this out tomorrow. Right? Yeah.

  When she’s on her honeymoon.

  Trey tried to make conversation.

  So did Maureen. I asked for some

  time to think things over. So far,

  they’ve respected that. Makes me

  happy. Or maybe it’s the mojitos.

  Micah and I are sloshing them down.

  THE MORE I THINK ABOUT BRYCE

  And how he left without giving me

  a chance to explain … how he left

  without even saying good-bye …

  the faster I slosh. By the time

  Aunt Cora and Liam shove cake

  in each other’s faces, I am completely,

  amazingly, dizzyingly drunk. You

  might even say I’m smashed.

  I want to laugh. I want to cry.

  Neither appropriate for where

  I am right now. “I think I better

  get some fresh air,” I tell Micah.

  He is sitting very close to me,

  leg hooked in front of mine.

  Why didn’t I notice that before?

  Good idea. I’ll come with you.

  I’m a little unsteady on my feet.

  Micah slips his hand under one

  elbow, steers me toward the door.

  No one notices our exit. Good.

  The cool December air clears

  my head a little. Also makes me

  shiver. Micah slides an arm

  around my shoulder, pulls me

  against his warmth. Better?

  Weird day, huh? Sorry ’bout

  your boyfriend. What was up

  with him, anyway? He stops walking,

  waits for me to answer. Not

  ready to talk about it. “He just …

  was overwhelmed, I guess.”

  He. Bryce. I should pull away.

  But he isn’t here. He left me

  behind. And I like how I feel

  under Micah’s arm. This is messed

  up. Oh God. I am going to cry.

  Here, now, don’t do that. He kisses

  the tears from the corners of

  my eyes. His lips are soft as they

  move over my cheeks. And suddenly …

  WE ARE KISSING

  And this is not like any first kiss.

  There is no love here. Only want.

  He wants me, but that’s not what

  I want. Not now. Not with him.

  And my head is spinning. And his

  hands are all over me. “No. Wait …”

  Ah, come on. You want this as much

  as I do. And he pushes me against