Fallout (80 page)

ALL THAT TALKING

Seemed to wear him right

out. He settled back down

in bed. Boulder dropped

into sleep. Guess clearing

his conscience tuckered

him out. I, on the other hand,

had no such reaction to

all that confession. Strange

voices bypassed my ears,

whispering straight into

my brain.
Dead inside …

hating her … a little alive.

I remembered something.

It seemed a memory buried

deep in toddlerhood.

Mommy? Daddy? Glimpses

of slat-shadowed faces,

screwed up in rage. Screaming.

I hate you.
Door slamming.

Pillow over my head against

the noise. Scrambling for breath.

MY HEART STUTTERED

With sudden clarity.

I’m not crazy.

The relentless feeling

of panic started there.

In my parents’

love-fueled hatred

for each other. And

me. I bet they

hated me because

I kept them together.

Drove them

apart. Reminded them

of what they should be,

and how incapable

they were of being it.

THE REST OF THE NIGHT

Was lost to the voice

of the wind calling

down over the Sierra.

Something familiar

about that keening,

too. Some part of me

longing to hear it again

after all these years.

I listened for hours,

until finally it calmed.

And in the lull, doubt

lifted, a ghost shrugging

off flesh. Nothing stays

the same. So how can

you trust anything?

How can you believe?

I got up, went into

the bathroom. Arranged

the toiletries by color.

Rearranged them by height.

But there weren’t enough

of them to make the job

important and in that

way, make me matter.

IN THE BOLD LIGHT

Of morning I wonder if I count

for anything at all. Christmas.

It’s early here, but Texas time

is two hours later. I find my cell,

buried in the oversize bag

holding my clothes. Later I’ll call

Bryce to wish him a merry Christmas

and maybe share some special

news. But he’s probably sleeping.

Instead I call a familiar San Antonio

number. No answer. Worry punches

at my gut. But then I remember.

Aunt Cora doesn’t live there

anymore. Grandfather? Probably

with her in Austin. I have to

scratch deep in my brain to

find the right combination

to make the phone ring there.

Liam answers, too cheerful.

Well, hello there, world traveler.

Merry Christmas to you.

Nevada is hardly the world.

But I don’t say so. “Can I

speak to Aunt Cora, please?”

Liam puts down the phone

to go get her, exposing

the handset to background

noise. Off-key singing. A chorus

of laughter. Voices I know,

and some unfamiliar, a strange

blend of old and new, all

around Aunt Cora and

Grandfather. Homesickness

swells. And not a small amount

of jealousy. They are there.

I am here. Where I swore

I wanted to be. When Aunt

Cora picks up, all I can say

through the tears is, “Just

wanted you to know I miss

you. Give Grandfather a kiss

for me. Gotta go now.”

I COULD LET TREY SLEEP

But the desire to escape

this room is driving me crazy.

“Wake up,” I urge. “The day’s

a-wasting.” It’s one of Grandfather’s

favorite sayings, and that wave

of homesickness crests.

Trey shakes off sleep reluctantly.

But when he sees my face, etched

with expectancy, he goes into

the bathroom to shower. I get

dressed again in my one nice

outfit. Brush out my hair. Put

on my shoes, and within one very

long hour, we are ready to go.

We are barely out the door before

I decide my cute Texas-friendly

ballerina-style flats aren’t exactly

suitable for snow. Especially not

snow like this. “Oh!” The word

disappears in a puff of steam.

“It’s just so … beautiful.” Everything

is carpeted white. Morning sun glints

off the clean, mostly undisturbed

drifts. Traffic beyond the parking

lot is light. Slow between the giant

piles of plow-pushed powder.

Definitely a whopper of a storm.

Looks like it’s moved on for now.

My clothes are Texas weight,

and I shiver beneath them. But

a strange feeling floats down

over me. It’s a flurry of calm

I’ve never felt before, and worry

dissipates. Whatever happens,

I know somewhere in all this snow

I’ve found a missing piece of me.

Summer
ADVENTURE OVER

Kyle’s truck is totaled. And with

it, our dream of playing house.

I guess somewhere deep inside

I knew it would come to an end.

Just didn’t know how quickly.

At least we’re alive. Relatively

unscathed. It could have ended

a whole lot worse. Kyle will have

to stay in the hospital a couple

of days. Long enough for his dad

to collect him. Oh my God.

He was pissed. But not nearly

as pissed as he would have been

had Kyle’s blood work shown

him to be under the influence.

And, despite what Kyle believes,

beneath his dad’s overt anger,

a large dose of relief was obvious.

I may not be in a position to judge,

but I think he cares about Kyle.

As for me, bruises. Contusions.

But no broken bones. Nothing

punctured or torn.
You were

exceptionally lucky
, the ER nurse

said.
Good thing you buckled up.

Damn good thing, actually. Also

good they let me stay here overnight.

Waiting room chairs aren’t the most

comfortable things to snooze in,

but they’re better than the kind

that come with too many questions.

Like those in police stations.

I get up from the one I’ve been

in for too many hours, wander

down to Kyle’s room, peek through

the door. Kyle snorts in his sleep.

God, he’s cute, tangled in dreams,

a thick drift of hair across his face.

Whatever happens to me, I hope

he doesn’t get into too much trouble.

TWO NURSES HUSTLE PAST

Laughing about something.

The noise rousts Kyle from

wherever sleep has led him.

He yawns as his eyes open, try

to make sense of the surroundings.

Finally they focus on me.
Hey.

He smiles. Tries to sit up in bed.

And then reality crashes around him.

Come over here. What time is it?

I point to the large clock on the wall.

“Little hand on the seven, big hand

on the five.” I draw alongside the bed.

He reaches for me, winces.
Okay.

That hurt a little.
Pain or no pain,

he takes hold of my hand. Squeezes.

And it hits me that we may not be

holding hands again for some time

to come. My throat knots up

and my eyes burn. Kyle notices.

Hey, now. Everything’s okay. Well
,

except for a couple of broken bones.

Tears begin to fall in earnest.

“But your truck is history. So

is Mammoth. And what about us?”

I don’t care about my truck.

Don’t care about Mammoth.

All I care about is you. If any-

thing bad would have happened

to you, I would never have forgiven

myself. This is all my fault.

“No it’s not. Anyway, nothing bad

happened to me. You’re the one

with the broken bones, remember?”

He smiles.
Hard to forget. Except

when they want to hold you.

Kind of like now, for instance.

My entire body heats with a warm

flood of love. But the truth of things

tempers it. “What will happen to us?”

He quiets me with a kiss.
I don’t

know. But whatever happens, I swear

we’ll still be together. Somehow.