Fallout (19 page)

WHEN WE FINISH

We’re pretty much wrecked.

Nikki slips out from between

the ruined sheets, heads toward

the bathroom and a hot shower.

But not before confirming,

I love you, Hunter.

“You too,” I say, mesmerized

by the sway of her narrow hips.

She leaves the door cracked open.

I hear water splash against tile,

and soon ginger-scented mist drifts

into the room. Heaven must be

a whole lot like this. A sigh escapes

as I roll onto my side, notice my cell

phone flashing. Good thing I had

it on “silent.” I punch voice mail.

The message is from Jude, the

X program director.
Snagged

those David Cook tickets for you.

I’ll leave them in your mailbox.

MOM IS AN
AMERICAN IDOL
DEVOTEE

And a huge David Cook fan.

When he was on the show,

she bugged me every week

to call in and vote for him.

So when I heard the Brewery

Arts Center was bringing him

in for Halloween, I asked Jude

for tickets. The station gets them

for just about every concert.

I don’t ask for them often,

but Mom and Dad have been

totally stressed lately. Being

around them is like tiptoeing

on broken glass, razor-sharp

slivers aiming for the soles

of my feet. Sometimes

I wonder how their lives

would be if I had never

been born. It’s not like

they asked to start over.

Sometimes I wonder if I am

the reason they don’t hold

hands anymore, rarely kiss

in public. If I am to blame

for the emotional distance

between them, an expanding

rift that seems to grow wider

when I am home, near them.

Mom insists they’re still

best friends, and I guess

that’s true. She says it’s

normal for passion to cool.

Is all love so predictable

or is it, in fact, my fault?

I don’t mind so much when

Dad gets mad at me. I’m pretty

sure that’s a testosterone thing.

But I can’t stand it when Mom

goes all silent and frozen.

I hope David Cook can thaw her.

THIS MUST BE

How Santa feels on

Christmas Eve morning,

sleigh clean, reindeer

fed, presents wrapped,

loaded and ready to go.

It’s not like I’ve never

given Mom and Dad

gifts, and nice ones at

that. But this one feels

so special—practically

custom-made for Mom.

(Not to mention free!)

I punch the speed dial

on my phone, wait for

Mom to pick up at home.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

No one’s here to take

your call right now …

Hmmm. Mom said they

were staying home this

weekend. I try her cell.

No answer. Dad’s cell?

All he has to do is say

Hello
for me to know …

SOMETHING’S WRONG

“Hey, Dad. Where are you

guys?” Something nasty

seethes in my gut, acid.

I just dropped your mom

off at the airport.
His voice

trembles. Anger? Worry?

Kristina is in the hospital.

That bastard beat her up.

Like what else is new, huh?

“Who beat her up? Ron?”

An ex-boyfriend, in and out

of her life because he is (or

believes he is) the father

of her two youngest kids.

“I thought he was locked up.”

Those places don’t keep ’em

forever. Not cost effective.

Like it’s cheaper in the long

run to turn them loose and

deal with the mayhem later.

You’d think they’d learn.

Ron has caused more than

his fair share of mayhem, mostly

when he’s off his meds and

the voices only he can hear

whisper evil in his ear. “Uh …

is Kristina going to be okay?”

She has a couple of broken

ribs, and I guess he smashed

her face pretty good. They’re

taking her in for X-rays and

an MRI….
He pauses. Tsks.

She’ll never be okay.

Sadness peppers his voice.

Usually when he talks about

her, it’s with anger. It hits me

like an unexpected wind

that he cares about her. In

fact, he might even love her.