Fallout (65 page)

AT LEAST HE USED THE WORD “LOVE”

The “built around lies” part,

however, has me worried. I wish

I would never have made up

that stupid story about my parents

being dead. But hey, for all I know,

my mother is dead. Not like I’ve

heard a single word from her.

And my dad isn’t a whole lot better

than dead to me. I never really

expected to see him again.

Certainly not then. Did he pick

Aunt Cora’s wedding for shock

value alone? He couldn’t have

timed it worse, with Bryce right

there as he made his grand entrance.

At least Bryce is willing to let me

explain. But even if I fess up about

the circumstances of my birth, what

about my deeper dishonesty?

How much truth do I want to tell him?

MY STOMACH STIRS

And I’m pretty sure it has nothing

to do with the thought of lies.

Hope I’m not coming down with

Grandfather’s bug. Wonder if it’s cat

flu or dog flu, or some other

new, improved, unidentified strain.

He’s actually a little better today,

and seeing as how he’s a member

of one of those “high-risk populations,”

I guess that’s a really good thing.

I wander down the hall to check

on him, but he’s in the bathroom.

God! The smell coming from

his bedroom is going to make me …

Quick. Run to the other bathroom,

reach the toilet just in time for

my stomach to jet a horrid stream

of oatmeal and yogurt. Breakfast.

I HEAVE

And heave,

sweat breaking

out on my forehead.

Gut clenching

and letting go.

Clenching. Great.

Who will take care

of Grandfather

if I get sick too?

Who will take

care of me?

No Aunt Cora to

tuck me in bed.

No Aunt Cora to

bring me soup,

steaming cups of

tea. Ugh. Soup.

Just the thought

makes me hurl

again. I hurl till

I’m food-empty and

there’s nothing

left in my stomach

but putrid air.

ALL HURLED OUT

Shaky. Drained. I poke my head

through Grandfather’s door, see

he is dozing. Sounds like a plan.

I wander into the living room, turn

on the TV. Lie down on the couch

to not watch the History Channel.

Some boring show about some boring

monarch in some boring century.

My eyes, weighted, close and I slip

toward some deep pocket of dark

space. Warm here. Comforting, with

a low buzz of canned boring voices.

Ringing now. Ringing? Bell. Doorbell?

Bell? I swim up into a bay of flat,

gray light. Doorbell. Who? Bryce!

He came? I jump up way too fast.

My head is so light. Did my brain

shrink? I steady myself. “Coming!”

The door is so far. Oh, God. Don’t

leave. Don’t go away. “Be right

there!” I reach for the knob, jerk

the door open. “Bryce!” But no,

he’s too tall. Too dark. Too old.

Trey. Perfect. The anti-Bryce.

Sorry. Not Bryce. Can I come in?

He doesn’t wait for an answer,

though. Just pushes on past me.

“W-wait. I’m not sure … uh …”

Not sure of what? Think, Autumn.

“Uh, Grandfather has been sick.”

That’s okay. I’m not here to see

him. I’m here to see you. We’ve

got a little catching up to do.

I follow him into the living room,

watch him flip off the TV. I start

to tell him I don’t feel so hot either,

notice I’m actually better. Strange.

I figured I’d be on my back for days,

like Grandfather, who I should tell

we’ve got a visitor. Then again,

he’s asleep and I’m a big girl.

I can handle this on my own.

AT LEAST I THINK I CAN

When it comes right down

to it, I don’t know very

much at all about

the man

sitting on Grandfather’s

recliner, claiming it as if

it were his own. I think he

is

probably dangerous.

Aren’t all armed robbers?

And yet, would he be

a

threat to me? For all I

really know, he could

be a serial killer, a

total

whacked-out pervert,

stalking his next victim.

He is nothing but a

stranger.

A black hole. Will he suck

me in? Burn me up? What

does he want with me?

HE STUDIES ME

For several minutes. Finally says,

You look a lot like her. Your

mother. Her hair is darker.

You got the red from my mom.

Straight for the jugular.

“I wouldn’t know. I never

met my mother. I don’t

even know her name.”

He looks at me like I’m crazy.

No one ever told you her name?

I shake my head. “For all

I know, the stork delivered me.”

His mouth twitches slightly.

No, you were born at Washoe

Med in Reno. Your mom’s name

is Kristina. She lives in Vegas.

“Why should I care? She never

cared enough to contact me.”

Not exactly true. I just talked

to her a little while ago….

He talked to her? About me?

“She doesn’t even care if I’m alive.”

That’s not so. She’s tried to find

you since she got out of prison.

What is he talking about? Anger

stings, hot in my cheeks. “No way.

No calls. No letters. Definitely

never came ringing the doorbell.”

Because she didn’t know where

you were. I didn’t either, not until

Mom got the news about Cora’s

wedding. Why do you think

everyone was so surprised when

we showed up?
He sets his jaw.

“I don’t understand. How could

you not know where I was?”