Fallout (70 page)

KYLE EXITS THE FREEWAY

Swings in the correct direction.

“What about your dad?” I ask.

“What are you going to tell him?”

We are bumping along the dirt

by the time he answers.
He won’t

even know I’m gone for a week.

Any other week, maybe. But,

“Uh … Christmas. Remember?

Anyway, your sister would notice.”

He thinks for a while, and I see

his shoulders slump slightly.

Forgot about Christmas.

Sadie will miss me for sure.

Then he brightens.
At least

I’ll get to spend it with you.

Anyway, holidays bring out

the asshole in my dad. He starts

drinking at breakfast, goes

all day until after dessert or

until he passes out. And every

drink just makes him meaner.

AS WE PULL INTO THE DRIVEWAY

I think about my own dad’s drinking.

He starts early, finishes late. But

he doesn’t very often get mean.

Maybe that’s ’cause he mostly

drinks beer. But I don’t think

his mean streak is very big.

Maybe when he gets out of

jail we can figure out how to

grow closer. That would mean

coming back from … wherever

Kyle and I end up. It would also

mean forgiveness on both sides.

Forgiveness isn’t my best thing.

Easier staying pissed. But I’m

tired of being pissed all the time.

Tired of feeling hurt by stuff that

can never be fixed because it is

an indelible part of the past.

KYLE STAYS IN THE TRUCK

While I circle around back, where

I know a certain window has a broken

lock. I left my house key in Fresno

with the rest of my meager possessions.

I shimmy up the dilapidated vinyl siding,

squeeze through the smallish opening,

drop into my old bedroom. An odd pang

of homesickness presses, weight

enough to make my eyes water. Why

am I so sad? I hate this place. Hate

what it represents—the threadbare

remnants of my childhood, few enough

happy memories woven into that cloth.

A strange foreboding chills me, and

I creep into the hallway. “Is someone

here?” I call, though I know the place

is empty. Ghosts. That’s all. They smell

of old tobacco. Dribbled beer. Cheap

perfume. Detritus-caked dishes left

to molder in the kitchen sink. Trash.

I sneak into my dad’s bedroom, a thief

who has already cased the place. I know

where the spare change jar is kept beneath

the canvas liner in the clothes hamper.

Sometimes there’s more than change

in the jar, and this is one of those times.

Kortni’s tips have been good lately,

and without Dad’s bad habits to support,

she has squirreled away almost four

hundred dollars. I take a fistful, leave

the rest to help replace the clothes

I borrow. She’s a little bigger than me.

But baggy is better than nothing, and

nothing is what I have now. Two pairs

of jeans. A couple of sweatshirts.

A plaid flannel shirt. Underwear.

That’s the creepiest thing, but panties

are expensive. At least they’re clean.

I help myself to five pair, trying not to

think about what has worn them.

Finally I go to the kitchen, find paper

and a Sharpie, write a note:
I am okay.

Have not been kidnapped. I had to

leave Fresno because Walter scared

me. Tell Shreeveport to keep an eye

on him. I had to borrow a few bucks

and some of your clothes. Promise

to pay you back. Love, Summer.

I GATHER UP

The fragments

of my shattered

dignity. Exit through

the front door, paper

bag filled with

pilfered necessities

heavy in my hand.

I look at the horizon,

hung low with charcoal

clouds. Storm gestating.

Kyle waits, fingers

thrumming impatiently

against the steering

wheel. Can’t say

I blame him. We

really must go. Need to

run. One chapter closed.

Another almost begun.

THREE HUN IN HAND

We chance a quick stop at Wal-Mart.

I’ve been thinking about which way

to go
, Kyle says.
I think we should head

up Highway 395. No one will expect us

to take that route. Not this time of year.

There are lots of places we can camp
,

and I could probably find work at

Mammoth, once the ski resort opens.

But I think we’ll have to sleep in my truck
,

at least until I can make enough money

to get us a place. It’s going to be cold up

there. We’ll need two good sleeping bags.

A little food. Cereal. Jerky. Nuts.

Or maybe trail mix. Water. Flashlight

and spare batteries. Toilet paper.

Toilet paper? Seriously? Logistically,

this is terrifying. I’m not exactly

a mountain man (woman?). But I go

along, hoping we don’t blow our entire

money stash. We hurry the cart

through the store. As we pass

the feminine products section, it hits

me that maybe it’s the right time

of the month to consider tampons.

But how do I buy them with Kyle?

How do I manage a period camped

out in the bitter-cold wilderness?

My resolution to make this happen

falters. But then I look at Kyle,

who is totally determined to see it

through. I grab the tampons,

throw them into the cart. And,

knowing my body the way I do,

I add a small bottle of generic

ibuprofen. Last thing Kyle needs

is to hear me bitch about cramps.

I blush when he smiles at my

selections. But he only shrugs,

puts a box of condoms into the cart.