Fallout (54 page)

STUPID FANTASY, I KNOW

But at least Bryce is a real guy, not

a vampire or something. Fantasy

minus the fangs. Sounds good

to me, especially if there ever

is a baby involved in this story.

Meanwhile, we have arrived

at the hotel, and it is not

what you might call a dive.

“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.