Fallout (46 page)

WHY DID I CALL?

It wasn’t just the boredom.

It was the question that had

been burning inside me for

three days. Mom prompted,

Okay, then. Why did you call?

And out it came, slick as

a baby pig. “Why didn’t you

ever tell me how you and Dad

met, and that I have a sister?”

Very long pause.
Who told you?

Duh. “Who do you think, Mother?

Anyway, that doesn’t matter.

Don’t you think I have the right

to know something like that?”

Even longer pause.
I guess so.

Anger seethed. “You guess

so? I know we don’t talk much,

and when we do, it’s usually

all about you, but—”

No pause.
Now, wait a minute—

BUT I WAS ON A ROLL

“No, Mother. We usually
do

only talk about you, and obviously

not about stuff that matters….”

My eyes stung, and the words

I wanted to say tried to stick

in my throat. I coughed them out.

“I have a sister. Where the hell

is she? What’s her name?

I already know who her father

is, and how you hooked up with

Dad and all. Have you always

been that way? Don’t you ever

feel bad? I mean, for God’s sake,

how can you just keep sleeping

around, piling one guy on top

of the next? How can you just

keep making babies, then tossing

them away? How can you …?”

Right about then I noticed

she had hung up the phone.

KORTNI BAILED DAD OUT

The next morning.

They might have

just booked him

and let him go,

except for a couple

of pertinent things.

One: Not his first DUI.

He had one less

than two years ago.

Blood alcohol level:

point zero nine.

Two: Weed under

the seat. Less than

an ounce, but not

only fineable, also

contributable to his

condition that night.

He’s looking at

thirty days’ jail time,

license suspension,

and a big chunk of

change, and if he

can’t pay it, more

jail time. He goes

to court this week.

HE’S PRETTY MISERABLE

And I almost feel sorry for him.

Not that I didn’t try to warn him.

And I almost want to comfort him.

Not that he’s often been worthy of that.

And I almost want to give him a hug.

Not that I want anyone but Kyle to hug me.

And I almost want to say it will all work out.

Not that I really believe it will, for him. Or me.

And I almost want to tell him I love him.

Not that I have, since I was a little girl.

And I almost think I should fix that.

Who knows when I might have another chance?

HE’S ON THE PORCH

Smoking and, of course, sucking

up suds. Who knows when he might

have another chance at a good buzz?

Kortni went to town for groceries.

(She still has her driver’s license.)

So there’s an empty chair. I sit.

“Hey, Dad. I just want you to know …”

Say it. Say it. Say it. Can’t. Not yet.

“I’m sorry about what happened.”

He doesn’t look at me. Just stares

across the winter-bared fields.

Me too. Sometimes I’m plain stupid.

All the time. But I don’t tell him

I think so. Say it. Say it. Say it.

Ah, what the hell. “Love you, Dad.”

Now he looks at me, eyes drawing

slowly from the dirt, across dead

air, to my face.
What did you say?

He didn’t hear? Didn’t believe

it? And now I have to repeat it?

“I said, uh … that I love you.”

I EXPECT

A reciprocal declaration—an “I love

you, too.” Or maybe condemnation—

a “Why don’t you say it more often?”

Anything, really, but what he does say:

Why?

“What do you mean, why? You’re my

dad, right?” Sounds lame, even to me.

So?

His one-word responses are pissing

me off. “Shouldn’t I love my father?”

Not necessarily.

Two words. Communication.

I realize, however, that he’s right.

Loving your parents is not required.

He inhales the last drag of his cigarette.

Get me a beer?

WHEN I RETURN

He is ready to talk, as if words

suddenly materialized in his brain.

First, a long drink of brew.

Then his mouth opens.

I’m sorry I’m such a shit-

for-brains. I thought I’d

be a better dad. Wanted

to be. Really, I did. But

then I let my bad habits

get the better of me.

I watch him pull another long

swallow. Light another cancer

stick. “It’s called addiction, Dad.”

I know. Can’t stop. And

to tell you the truth, even

if I could, I don’t want to.

You’re the only good thing

in my fucked-up life. And I

couldn’t even be thankful

enough to look after you

right. They took you away….

I want to shout, “No, you

shoved me away!” Instead

I say, “You’re selfish, Dad.”

He shakes his head, smoke

escaping side to side from

the corners of his mouth.

Not always. Nope. At first

it was all about your mother.

I loved her. God. Never love

someone that much, because

you’re sure to end up hurt.

I would have married her.

Would have raised up your

sister like my own. Would

have raised you better….

This is the most he’s ever

spoken to me at one time.

Ever. “So what happened?”

When she got pregnant with

you, I told her all that, begged

her to give up the crystal.

To be fair, she tried to clean

up. For you. Tried and mostly

failed. Meth is a mean mother

monster. But even if she could

have given it up, the fact is

she loved Trey more than she

ever loved me. Or anyone.