Fallout (20 page)

THE REVELATION

Throws me, but I’m not

sure why. Dad came into

Kristina’s life when she

was only five. It was he

who picked her up,

put her on his shoulders

to “see the world from way

up high,” just like he later

did for me. It was he who

put her on her feet

when she took a spill

off her bicycle, not

Grandpa Who’s-it in

Albuquerque. The story

goes it was Mom who

told her to leave home,

because she had turned

all our lives inside out

and we wanted them right

again. It was Mom who

said a sad but firm good-bye.

So why has it always

seemed to me that it

was Dad who so firmly

and irrevocably

closed the door behind her?

I REALIZE SUDDENLY

That Dad is waiting for me

to say something. Why did

I call again? Oh, yeah. Tickets.

“How long will Mom be in Vegas?”

Not sure
, he says.
The kids

need someone to take care

of them. That’s why she had to

drop everything and go. Why?

“Uh …” Santa’s sleigh just

crashed. “Nothing. I thought

I might see you guys at the parade

tomorrow is all. I’ve got a remote.”

Not this year. Sorry. You know

how Nevada Day traffic is
,

and I want to be available

in case your mom needs me.

“No prob, Dad. I understand.

Tell Mom I love her, okay?”

And, not quite an afterthought,

“Hey, Dad? Love you, too.”

A WARM GINGER FOG

Spills across the floor. Nikki

trails it into the blind-darkened

room, drying her long golden hair.

Backlit by the bathroom glow,

her silhouette belongs to an angel.

A Victoria’s Secret angel, but still …

Her voice holds a hint of incredulity.

Did you just tell your dad you love him?

My eyes burn, but I force a laugh.

“Why? Does that surprise you?”

Not the loving him part. The telling him

part.
She sits on the bed.
What’s wrong?

I don’t like to discuss the Kristina

crumbs of my life. Not even with Nikki.

“I scored some David Cook tickets for

tomorrow night. Mom is a fan. But she had

to go to Vegas, spur of the moment.”

Segue to … “So, you wanna go with me?”

To Vegas or David Cook?
Okay, bad

segue.
Either way, I can’t. I have to

work. Nevada Day weekend is Big Tip

Weekend at Bully’s, you know?

Especially for a cocktail waitress

with Nikki’s attributes. “Gotcha.”

She’s not done with me yet, though.

Why did your mom have to go to Vegas?

I could lie. Omit. Make a joke. Too

much work. “Why else? Kristina.”

She knows enough to know that’s not

good.
Your mother’s in trouble again.

“Previous mother,” I correct. “Or

the uterus I once spent nine months in.”

Nikki smiles, but asks with concern,

Is your previous mother okay?

I shake my head, echo Dad’s earlier

words. “Kristina will never be okay.”

I’M SORT OF AMBIVALENT

About that. I should feel

bad, right? I mean, some

jerk beat her bloody. No

one deserves that, right?

So why, when Nikki asks,

What happened to her?

do I shrug and say, “Guess

she walked into her ex’s

fist,” with pretty much

zero emotion attached?

And why, when she says,

Oh, no! That’s terrible!

do I respond, “Her fault, really.

The only guys she ever invites

into her life are felons, failed

AAers, and other assorted losers”?

And why, when she says,
But

no woman deserves to be hit
,

do I dare voice my opinion

that, “Not true. Some women

damn well beg for it”? I bite

down on the copper taste of anger.

Nikki takes a step back,

as if I might think she had

damn well begged for it.

But I could never hurt her.

So why, oh why, when she

asks,
How can you be so cold?

do I walk toward Nikki, flexing

my fingers? “Look. If Kristina

doesn’t kill herself, some guy

will probably do it for her.”

And why, when she says,

You are just plain mean
,

do I let loose a tsunami? “And

you know what? If something

bad did happen to Kristina,

I’m not sure I would care.”

Disbelief floods her eyes.

You can’t feel that way.

Rage-fueled words froth

from my mouth. “That’s

exactly how I feel, and if

you don’t like it, fuck you.”

NIKKI’S EYES

Go wide, and I realize what

I just said. “I’m sorry,” I try.

I reach for her, but she slaps

my hand away. She stands,

goes to the closet for clothes.

Her voice is dead calm

when she says,
You never tell

me how you feel about anything
,

Hunter. You never communicate

at all. In fact, you might want

to rethink your major. And while

you’re doing that, you’d better rethink

you and me. If we can’t talk about

things like your “previous mother,”

we don’t have much of a future together.

I don’t know what to say.

All this because of Kristina?

I watch Nikki slip into jeans,

a curve-hugging jade green

sweater. For the millionth time,

I think how beautiful she is.

But what is it with women

and talking? Some things were

meant to stay private, right?

She comes over to me, touches

my cheek.
Still nothing to say?

Goddamn it, I hate when you just

stare at me like that.
Her hand

jerks away and her eyes harden,

morgue-cold with anger.
Fine.

Fuck you too, then. Take your shit
,

get out, and don’t come back.

I can’t deal with this anymore.

She storms from the room, slams

the door so hard a picture rocks

off the dresser, falls to the floor.