Fallout

  “Is your dad, like, a serial killer?”

  Zilch.

  She shoots a dry-ice glare.

  “Okay, fine. I don’t care, anyway.”

  Empty.

  I wish I were rooming with las

  cubanitas. Even three to a room.

  Vacant.

  THANKFULLY

  Tanya calls from way down the hall,

  Girls! I need some help. Hurry!

  There is some sort of a muffled crash.

  The tension in the room, god-awful

  heavy just two seconds ago, falls

  away, like shedding a heavy robe.

  Eliana and Rosa rush out the door.

  I start to follow and suddenly Simone

  transmutes, phantom into flesh. Wait.

  I can’t tell you, she whispers. Ever.

  She is human after all. Real. As real

  as the fear alive in her eyes.

  I nod my head. “I know.” I know

  because I never told either. Her

  story is mine, only with a different “he.”

  I understand as only someone who

  has been there can understand. We

  have something in common after all.

  APPARENTLY I MADE TANYA FEEL GUILTY

  Because by the time

  Simone and I

  reach the living room,

  she and the girls are

  elbow deep in red and

  green and gold.

  Rosa’s eyes are wide.

  Ooh. Look. Can

  I hang this pretty one?

  Lights first, commands Walter,

  untangling a long

  strand. Then ornaments.

  It all looks so normal—any

  family anywhere—

  it’s almost enough to

  make you forget

  how abnormal this “family”

  really is. Two

  artificial parents; two

  orphans. One

  total mystery. And me.

  LIGHTS, GARLAND, AND ORNAMENTS HUNG

  The tree still looks sad to me.

  It’s not that the decorations

  are old (and they are). It’s that

  they were all arranged without love.

  This isn’t the first loveless Christmas

  I’ve spent. Foster homes, however

  solid, are all barren of that emotion.

  You don’t dare care about someone

  you probably won’t know in a year.

  But I’ve had beautiful holidays

  with both sets of grandparents—

  Carl and Jean. Scott and Marie.

  The ones with Grandma Marie

  were especially special because

  Hunter was there too. My brother.

  The one I hardly ever get to see.

  But when I do, he’s always pretty

  much amazing to me. Because

  he gets to be with his sister (me).

  The one he hardly ever gets to see.

  Those Christmases I understand

  the power of family. My three

  brothers will be there this year.

  I so wish I could be there too.

  THE ONLY PLACE

  I’d rather be is with Kyle. He’s all I can

  think about as I help make dinner,

  Tanya chattering away about how much

  you’ll love Roosevelt and church on Sunday.

  All I can think about at the table, Walter

  griping about the goddamn power bill.

  All I can think about as Simone and I

  load the dishwasher in total silence.

  Wonder what he’s doing, as I brush

  my teeth, get ready for bed. Wonder

  if he’s thinking about me, too, as Eliana

  borrows one of my well-loved books.

  Wonder if I’ll ever see him again as Rosa

  practices for her Sunday School pageant.

  Wonder if he’s written me off already

  as I crawl between the scratchy sheets.

  IT IS WALTER

  Who comes to handle the lights-out

  bed check. He knocks, but doesn’t

  wait for an invitation to enter.

  Simone, in a short, gauzy nightgown,

  barely covers her long legs, and Walter

  is all eyes. I swear, he starts to salivate.

  No. No way. Not her. And not me.

  Good night, ladies. He flips off the lights,

  closes the door. Did Simone notice

  the demon-wolf in his eyes? Her voice

  drifts toward me on dark wings of night.

  I hate him. He reminds me of my brother.

  Without telling me, she has shared

  her secret. A half-dozen questions

  pop into my head. Real brother? Step?

  When? How? Who told? Why did

  that mean she ended up here? But in

  the long run, the answers don’t matter.

  BEFORE TOO VERY LONG

  Simone’s breathing falls shallow.

  Rhythmic. She’s wandering deep

  within some sort of dream. A good

  dream, I guess. She laughs softly

  in her sleep. Do I ever find happiness

  in my dreams? I rarely remember

  them. Sleep will not come easily

  for me tonight. Not in an unfamiliar

  bed, in an unfamiliar room. The night

  itself is a different shade of dark.

  Loneliness strikes suddenly,

  a cobra sinking its fangs into my

  heart, venom pumping. My eyes

  spill into the strange, lumpy,

  bleach-perfumed pillow. Salt soak.

  I should be used to this by now.

  Should expect the slow opening,

  the hollow place inside. I am oddly

  not afraid, though I recognize

  the thirst in Walter. Who knows

  how he might try to quench it?

  I swear I will never let him, or

  anyone, take a long swallow of me

  unless it is my choice. And I only

  choose to be water for Kyle.

  HOW LONG WILL IT BE

  Before living here

  becomes unbearable?

  How long before the

  Bear pays a call on me?

  How long before I have

  to find a way to flee?

  Sometime before dawn

  my eyes finally close.

  And though I’m not quite

  asleep, I feel myself drift.

  Float toward that hole

  behind the bridge of my nose.

  If I can just fall in,

  I think I might find Kyle.

  If I can just reach in,

  I know I’ll touch his face.

  If I can just take his hand,

  will we leave together?

  FOR THREE DAYS

  I try to settle in, try to feel

  like part of this not-family,

  to ignore my gut feeling.

  Three days of

  listening to Eliana and

  Rosa argue and laugh.

  Real sisters

  acting like

  all real sisters do,

  I suppose. Who knows?

  Maybe, just maybe,

  everything

  would be different

  between my real sister

  and me. The fact

  is,

  it could very well be

  hate at first sight.

  The fact is,

  just

  because you’re related

  doesn’t mean you

  want to be. So,

  fine.

  Forget that ridiculous

  fantasy. Who needs

  family, anyway?

  DAY FOUR

  Tanya has taken the girls Christmas

  shopping. We drew names to get gifts

  f
or. Stupid, if you think about it. None

  of us has any money. It’s all pretend.

  I drew Rosa. Figured a Barbie would do

  for her, but couldn’t stomach the idea

  of traipsing around Wal-Mart. So I faked

  sick. Asked Tanya to pick one up.

  Walter is puttering around the garage,

  playing with his tools (or something else).

  This is what I’ve been hoping for—a few

  private minutes to try and call Kyle.

  But when I dig out my cell, there’s

  a message waiting for me. From him.

  Summer. Call me. Please. Can’t stand …

  Can’t stand not having you with me.

  His voice trembles. Crying? My own

  tears start to fall as I think about

  his arms around me. The comfort

  of his kiss. All this love, wasting …

  I speed dial his number. He answers

  almost immediately, as if waiting

  for my call. Summer? How are you?

  Oh God, I’ve missed you so much.

  “I’ve missed you, too. I’m okay….”

  We spend a few minutes talking.

  I tell him about the blonde and the bear

  and my faux sisters. He tells me about

  coming to Fresno to visit his aunt

  for the holidays. I have to see you.

  Maybe we can get together

  while I’m there. What do you think?

  Get together? How? I’m pretty sure

  dating is a solid foster care taboo.

  “You know I want to, but I don’t

  know how to make it happen.”

  You can sneak out, right? His voice

  trembles. I have to see you, Summer.

  I’ll come early. Tomorrow. Give me

  the address there. I’ll MapQuest it.

  I hear a door close, bear-heavy

  footsteps. “I’ve got to go! Call me

  when you’re getting close.” I hang

  up, just as Walter clunks down

  the hall. His face pokes through

  the doorway, all feral eyes and licking

  lips. I pretend I’m waking up from

  a flu-induced nap. “Ugh. Gotta puke.”

  THE REST OF THE DAY

  Is filled with

  excited squeals

  peals of laughter

  sisterly whispers

  Bear growls and

  Tanya squeaks.

  I lie in bed

  trying not to listen

  trying not to get up

  trying not to obsess

  about seeing Kyle

  in just a few hours.

  My head spins

  dizzy with love

  dizzy with hope

  dizzy with strategy

  dizzy with dreams

  of tomorrow.

  ALBUQUERQUE JOURNAL

  Working with the FBI and the Bernalillo County sheriff’s department, Albuquerque police accomplished a major sting, arresting five members of a marijuana smuggling ring. Lieutenant Rocky Schneider said if not for an unrelated incident, the smuggling operation might have continued unimpeded indefinitely.

  “It started with a simple speeding ticket,” said Schneider. “The officer noticed a definite odor of marijuana and upon questioning the driver, discovered a quarter pound under the front seat. Rather than face a more severe charge, the driver decided to cooperate with authorities.”

  Albuquerque resident Wayne Allen Snow led police to a house in Rio Rancho. Upon entering, officers found almost ten pounds of highgrade marijuana, imported via runners for a major Mexican cartel. Arrested there were Adam “Buddy” Grimoir; his wife, Lince; and three Mexican nationals. All five were bound over to await trial.

  “This is only a small glimpse of a much larger picture,” Schneider said. “Nevertheless, it was a righteous bust, and perhaps the beginning of a positive trend.”

  Hunter

  BACK HOME

  Indefinitely.

  Nikki won’t

  even talk to

  me, let alone

  forgive me.

  She pisses

  me off. My

  fault? Maybe.

  But I deserve

  a chance to

  explain. I

  could say it

  isn’t so bad.

  But that’d

  be a lie. I’m

  home, yes,

  but with the

  boys still in

  my old room,

  I’m in the

  guest room.

  White

  on

  white

  with

  white

  trim.

  I HATE WHITE

  The sun through the south window

  makes it much too bright in here

  by day, and at night, artificial

  light glares, wall to wall to wall.

  If this move ends up permanent,

  I’ll have to talk to Mom about paint.

  My plan, though, is to give Nikki

  time. Then gently wear down

  her defenses. She’ll have to forgive

  me eventually, right? There must

  be some way to make that happen.

  I can’t believe how much I miss her.

  And not just the way she fills my bed

  with velvet skin and satin hair and

  warm spice scent. Without her,

  I am incomplete. The worst thing

  is, I have no excuse for what happened

  with Leah. The message that bitch

  left on my phone gave no room

  for misinterpretation. Nikki knew

  for sure I had betrayed her. And how.

  SO FOR NOW, IT’S WHITE

  And not just in here,

  but outside, too. It

  started to snow four

  days ago. And it just

  keeps on coming down.

  Semester break, no

  classes for three weeks,

  I only have to worry

  about driving for my

  air shifts. Holidays

  mean the “stars” go

  home too, so I’m

  pulling a few extra.

  But mostly, if for no

  other reason than to get

  out of the guest room,

  I’m helping Mom with

  her Christmas stuff.

  Decorating. Wrapping.

  Baking cookies, even.

  That’s what we’re doing

  now. She tried to get

  the boys to help. But

  Donald thinks it’s lame.

  And David prefers the pup.

  GOOD THING

  Someone wants to play with Sasha,

  I guess. She’s at that gangly stage—

  all floppy feet and squirrelly tail,

  wagging into the cupboards while

  Mom and I measure flour and sugar

  and butter. David, says Mom,

  would you please put on your coat

  and take Sasha outside to play in

  the snow? If you wear her out, maybe

  she’ll take a nice long winter’s nap.

  David is willing, so off they go.

  Donald and Scott are shoveling

  the decks. I’ve got Mom all to

  myself, a rare thing around here

  lately. We haven’t talked much

  since I came back. All she knows

  for sure about Nikki and me

  is that we had a little fight.

  I’ve got a lot more than that

  to tell her about, though.

  I watch her cross the kitchen

  floor. Graceful, like a dancer,

  and fit, especially for a woman

  her age. Still working out at sixty.

  Wonder if I’ll have her energy.

  SHE TURNS

  Finds me staring, gawking
in

  admiration like a regular fan boy.

  What? A booger or something?

  “Nope. Just wondering where

  you get all your energy from.”

  Can’t slow down. Too much to do.

  I have to smile. “You’ve been

  saying that since I was a little kid.”

  Yeah, and? Nothing has changed.

  Still dealing with the fallout of choices,

  not her own, made twenty years ago.

  Anyway, slow down, you grow mold.

  Another favorite saying. “But don’t

  you ever get mad about … stuff?”

  Hunter, I used to live “mad.” Didn’t help.

  I REACH WAY BACK

  Into memory, to another

  Christmas. I must have been ten.

  Kristina was here with Donald.

  He would have been three.

  Ron was supposed to come

  with them that year, so Mom got

  them a hotel room. That man

  will not stay under this roof.

  She didn’t give a reason, and

  I wondered why she was so angry.

  On their way out of Vegas,

  Ron was arrested. Kristina claimed

  it was an outstanding traffic

  ticket. We found out later it was

  for a domestic violence warrant.

  Kristina came alone, checked into

  her room on Christmas Eve,

  and when she didn’t show up for

  our usual family dinner, Mom

  was mad. You can’t ever rely on her.

  But she was also worried

  and sent Dad out to look for her.

  Turned out she was in the ER.

  She claimed it was food poisoning.

  Poor little Donald hadn’t had

  a bite to eat all day except for a candy

  cane a sympathetic nurse gave him.

  You’d think a nurse would know better.

  I didn’t understand until I watched

  him bounce off the walls all night.

  Kristina came over the next

  morning. Spent Christmas Day, and

  I mean all day, on her cell phone,

  talking to Ron, who was already out of jail.

  Mom stewed big-time. She’s using

  again. Six years clean for what?

  I overheard her tell Dad. I thought

  she was wrong. Turned out she was spot

  on. The ER visit was bad dope.

  And Kristina was pregnant with David.

  MOM WAS ANGRIER THEN