Fallout

  I’d just go ahead over there,

  but she is somewhere else, and

  after my shift, I’m supposed

  to pick up Leigh and Kristina

  from the airport. They’re flying

  back together from Albuquerque.

  I guess I should feel bad about

  my grandfather being on his last

  legs and all. But it’s hard to care

  about someone (even if that

  someone is your grandfather)

  who never bothered to get to know

  you in the first place. A couple

  of visits when I was a baby,

  a couple of birthday cards since.

  His excuse? He couldn’t afford

  to send real presents or make

  the trip from New Mexico.

  Well, how about a phone

  call? Those don’t cost too

  much. How about an e-mail?

  Or even regular cards and

  letters. I would have answered

  them. We could have gotten

  to know each other, even if

  only virtually. Sorry, Grandpa.

  Excuses are a dime a dozen.

  And lame excuses are more

  like a nickel. No, sir. Establishing

  a relationship has nothing to do

  with money. Listen to me. Like

  I’m so good with relationships.

  Although establishing them

  doesn’t seem to be my problem.

  Keeping them? Nurturing them?

  Definitely not my best thing.

  AIR SHIFT COMPLETE

  As I get ready to leave, I notice

  the new part-time on-air girl

  coming toward me. Woot. Girl?

  Babe! I can’t help but check out

  her long, bronze-skinned legs,

  most of which are showing. Skirt.

  Is. Short. She smiles at the way

  I’m obviously drooling. Hi, Hunter.

  “Hey, um …” Name? I know

  her name. It’s, uh … “Shayna.”

  The hall is narrow and as we

  pass, her body whispers along

  mine. Excuse me, she says in

  a deep-water voice. Sorry.

  “No problem.” I watch her walk

  away, invitation in the exaggerated

  sway of her hips. I could follow.

  Set something up for later.

  I could. But I won’t. I’d rather

  stay mired in unrequited love.

  TWO THIRTY-FOUR

  I’ve got a half hour until

  the plane arrives. Hope it’s on

  time, or it might not arrive at all.

  Another big storm is speeding

  toward us. The roads just got

  cleared from the last one.

  Mom insisted I take the Jeep.

  Good thing. My truck is a four-

  by, but the tires lack tread.

  Anyway, the Jeep has more

  room for women and their

  luggage. The freeway is packed.

  Last-minute Santas rushing

  to buy those last-minute gifts.

  I finished shopping weeks ago.

  Mom is always easy. T-shirt with

  some pithy author-type saying.

  Ditto Dad and his Beatles.

  Jake, ski gloves. Leigh, perfume.

  Kristina, a self-help book, not that

  I expect it to do much good.

  For the boys, games. And all that

  barely left enough for what I got

  Nikki. Not lingerie. A promise ring.

  I’M NOT A JEWELRY EXPERT

  But the ring caught my eye.

  Small rubies (her) and sapphires (me),

  set to look like a chain—the two

  of us linked together. Forever.

  It’s beautiful (like her). Cleaned

  out my bank account, but I don’t

  care. I just want to see her wear

  it. How can I make that happen?

  I have to wait almost twenty

  minutes in the cell phone parking

  lot at the airport. What the hell.

  I give Nikki one more try.

  She answers on the second ring.

  “Nik? Don’t hang up, okay?

  I can’t believe you’re actually

  there.” That she actually picked up.

  What do you want, Hunter?

  Clipped. Guess she hasn’t quite

  forgiven me. Then, in the back-

  ground, I hear another voice. Male.

  And not on the television. The alien

  vine bursts to life, snakes its way

  through me. I start to blow. Think

  better of it. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t know

  you had company. I just … uh …

  wanted you to know how truly sorry

  I am. Thanks for taking my call.”

  I hang up, choking back a wad

  of emotions. Hurt. Surprise.

  Fury. Embarrassment. Now

  there’s a weird one. Why am I

  embarrassed? And not for her.

  For me. How could she replace

  me? Did she replace me? What

  is she doing with that guy? Who

  is he? Where did she hook up

  with him? And for what reason?

  Companionship? Sex? Love?

  No. Not that. I can deal with

  the other two, but no way could

  I handle her falling in love

  with someone else. My cell rings.

  The ladies’ flight has arrived.

  I put the Jeep into gear, and as

  I pull forward into the loading

  zone, it hits me suddenly that

  Nikki must have asked herself

  the very same questions about me.

  SUBDUED

  That’s the collective feeling

  as I give Leigh and Kristina

  tentative hugs, load their luggage

  into the Jeep. We all pretty much

  feel like shit. They, because

  they’re very close to losing

  their father. Me, because I’m

  really afraid I’ve lost my Nikki.

  Kristina commandeers shotgun.

  Leigh doesn’t try to argue. We

  drive along in silence for a while.

  Finally I say, “Mom got you a hotel

  room, Kristina. Do you want to

  drop off your stuff before we go

  on out to the house?” I do not

  expect her answer. I’m not staying

  at any hotel. I want to see my boys.

  Mom can kiss my freaking ass.

  Okay. This is going to be one

  entertaining Christmas. “You might

  want to rethink your attitude.”

  Excuse me, but just who in the hell

  do you think you are? You’re not

  my father. You are my son.

  The sky opens up. Wet snow splats

  against the windshield. Very much

  like how her words splatter me.

  That vine again. And this time,

  I let it go full bloom. “Fuck you.

  I might have been your zygote.

  Your fetus. Maybe even your off-

  spring. But I have never been your

  son. You have no idea what it means

  to be a real mother. You think nine

  months of discomfort and eight

  hours of labor gives you the right

  to call yourself ‘Mom’? Well, bitch,

  you’re delusional.” I could go on,

  but in the backseat, Leigh’s discomfort,

  though silent, hangs heavily. “Here’s

  the hotel. Why don’t you check in?

  Someone will pick you up later.”

  I PUT HER SUITCASE

  On the sidewalk, come around

  to open her door
, expecting

  a major argument. She climbs

  out meekly, eyes on the ground,

  and I almost think about saying

  I’m sorry. Almost. Instead

  I open the backseat door, invite

  Leigh to move to the front seat.

  “So we can talk,” is my reason.

  It takes a few minutes before she

  says, You may not believe it, but in

  her own way, Kristina loves you.

  The vine wraps itself around my

  throat. Chokes. “Kristina doesn’t

  love anyone, except ‘in her own

  way.’ That isn’t good enough.

  Love isn’t supposed to be …”

  I hate revelations. “Selfish.”

  A SUBJECT CHANGE

  Seems in order. “So how’s …”

  I don’t even know what to call him.

  Leigh rescues me. Dad? Not good.

  Linda Sue is beside herself. Scared.

  “Of what?” Stupid question. I know

  the answer before she says it.

  Losing him. She really loves him.

  I feel sorry for her, you know?

  “But what about him? How do

  you feel about him maybe dying?”

  She’s already thought it through.

  I hated him for so long. For the way

  he left us. For the part he played in

  Kristina’s drama. I don’t know, Hunter.

  I guess what I feel is guilty because

  I don’t have a need to mourn him.

  Bam. “What about Kristina?

  How does she feel about it?”

  This answer takes longer. I’m not sure

  Kristina can feel much anymore.

  I’VE THOUGHT THE SAME THING

  Seems like, no matter what goes

  down in Kristina’s life, the only

  thing she ever feels is paranoia.

  Everyone hates her. (Not true.)

  Everyone distrusts her. (True.)

  Everyone is out to get her. (Uh … why?)

  Whatever bad happens in her life,

  it’s someone else’s fault. Wrong

  turns? Forced to take them. Fall

  flat on her face? She was pushed.

  Personal responsibility for the choices

  she has made? What the hell

  is “personal responsibility”? And

  what about other feelings? Love?

  Happiness? Anticipation? Hate, even?

  All those emotions seem unavailable

  to her. Like no matter how deep

  she drills for them, the well is dry.

  Was she born that way? Were

  those things taken from her?

  What I want to know is, “Why?”

  Leigh takes her time answering.

  Kristina never really was the “warm

  and fuzzy” type. But when we were

  younger, she was so much more alive

  inside. The meth stole that life force,

  of course. You know how they say

  it eats holes in your brain? Well,

  it does. And it eats them in the part

  of the brain that controls emotions.

  But even beyond that. I think the more

  she has failed at things like relationships

  and parenting, the more she has cut

  herself off from feeling bad about those

  things. And if you don’t let yourself feel

  bad, sooner or later you stop feeling

  good, too. You insulate yourself. Build

  up layers, like stacking paper, everything

  growing heavier. And when the weight

  becomes too much, those layers compress.

  Become hard. Sad, really, to think that

  Kristina has turned herself into cardboard.

  Autumn

  PRETTY MUCH MISERABLE

  That’s how this trip has been,

  not that I expected better.

  Long, boring stretches of asphalt.

  Landscape, mostly scrubbed of life,

  at least until around thirty miles

  ago. Then low desert gave way

  to squat evergreens, hints of real

  forest to the west, along the spine

  of the Sierra Nevada. So far,

  the weather has done nothing

  more than loom, threatening.

  But we keep heading north,

  toward crazy-looking storm clouds.

  Clouds like I’ve never seen before.

  In Texas, stormers are huge, black

  beasts. These are big, all right.

  But they’re white, with giant silver

  underbellies. Bellies, I hear,

  that will open and bleed snow.

  The threat of an approaching blizzard

  is frightening. Exhilarating.

  FRIGHTENING AND EXHILARATING

  The words sum up a lot of what

  I’m thinking about right now. A

  blizzard

  seems the least of my worries.

  Let’s see. Closer and closer

  to Reno, the thought of home-

  coming

  looms like a monster, spreading

  its arms in some kind of welcome.

  The idea of meeting long-lost

  family seemed a whole lot

  better

  in Texas. Especially waltzing

  in on Christmas Eve. I can hear

  it now. “Would y’all just

  look

  what Santa brought this year!”

  Except they don’t say “y’all”

  in Nevada, do they? OMG.

  I so don’t belong here. But,

  for

  what it’s worth, I so want to belong

  here. So want connection with

  something severed. So want to find

  shelter

  in the hearts

  of a family of strangers.

  THAT SEEMS EVEN MORE UNLIKELY

  Knowing I’m probably pregnant.

  Oh yeah, even better. “Here

  I am. You don’t know me. But

  accept me, anyway. And just

  in case you’re wondering, I think

  I’m going to have a baby.”

  Husband? No. No husband.

  (Not yet?)

  Boyfriend? I think so.

  (What will he say?)

  Birth control? Well, yes,

  they have it in Texas. I just sort

  of decided not to use it.

  (How do I tell him?)

  Of course, I don’t have to tell

  them. At least not right now.

  Bryce should probably be

  the first to know. God, he’s

  going to be so mad at me.

  But he’ll stand by my side.

  (Won’t he?)

  TREY TOTALLY SUSPECTS

  The truth. But so far he has respected

  my wish not to discuss the possibility.

  He has, in fact, been pretty darn quiet

  for most of this very long ride. When

  the radio dissolves into a static dead

  sea, though, there isn’t much to do but talk.

  And since he isn’t about to initiate

  conversation, I ask, “What’s prison like?”

  He thinks a minute, says, Pretty much like

  you see on TV, I guess. Except until you

  experience it, you can’t really understand

  what it’s like to live in an oversize crypt.

  For ten years? I’d die of claustrophobia

  poisoning. “What’s the worst thing?”

  He thinks again. Toss-up. The smell—people

  stink, let me tell you. That, or the boredom.

  Wow. I thought he’d have some racy

  stories to tell me. But yeah, I get boredom.

  BOREDOM IS AN OVERSIZE CRYPT

  Or twenty
straight hours

  in a car (sort of a crypt on

  wheels, if you think about it)

  with someone you don’t know.

  Even if that someone might

  be your father. I still can’t

  think of him that way. (So why

  are you here? Stupid?)

  I really must stop thinking

  parenthetically. Carrying on

  a silent conversation with

  myself. Splitting the whole

  of me into halves. Pushing

  myself beyond OCD and panic

  attacks, all the way to the realm

  of probable schizophrenia.

  I’m not two people. Only one,

  uncertain. One, scared of the gray

  space of tomorrow. But a lot more

  scared of being stuck in yesterday.

  WE ROLL INTO BISHOP

  A small California town also reaching

  desperately for the future. Maybe

  this is where I should move.

  Trey decides to stop at Schat’s

  Bakkerÿ. This place is famous. Can’t go

  through Bishop and not stop here.

  Famous? Never heard of it. But,

  “I guess I could eat.” And I could

  definitely pee. Not a lot of places

  to stop along 395. If nothing else,

  almost six hours since leaving our

  overnight layover in Indio, it feels

  great to stretch my legs. We go inside,

  order sandwiches, and by the time

  I get back from the bathroom,

  Trey has collected them and stands

  talking to a couple of locals. He sees

  me, excuses himself to join me.

  Those guys just got in from Reno.

  Guess it’s snowing pretty good up

  there. We’d better buy some chains.

  ALL GASSED UP

  Horribly overpriced chains

  purchased and “how to install ’em”

  tutorial complete, we hit the highway.

  Normally, the yeasty scent

  of the Schat’s Bakkerÿ bread

  on my sandwich would strike me

  as pretty much heavenly.

  Today it’s making me slightly

  nauseous, a fact that Trey, who

  is inhaling his own sandwich,

  can’t help but notice. Have you

  decided what to do about that?

  I want to sound defiant, but

  the best I can accomplish

  is a miserable, “Do about what?”

  Trey shrugs. I can’t pretend to

  be your friend, let alone your

  dad. We barely know each other.