Fallout (73 page)

I PUT HER SUITCASE

On the sidewalk, come around

to open her door, expecting

a major argument. She climbs

out meekly, eyes on the ground,

and I almost think about saying

I’m sorry. Almost. Instead

I open the backseat door, invite

Leigh to move to the front seat.

“So we can talk,” is my reason.

It takes a few minutes before she

says,
You may not believe it, but in

her own way, Kristina loves you.

The vine wraps itself around my

throat. Chokes. “Kristina doesn’t

love anyone,
except
‘in her own

way.’ That isn’t good enough.

Love isn’t supposed to be …”

I hate revelations. “Selfish.”

A SUBJECT CHANGE

Seems in order. “So how’s …”

I don’t even know what to call him.

Leigh rescues me.
Dad? Not good.

Linda Sue is beside herself. Scared.

“Of what?” Stupid question. I know

the answer before she says it.

Losing him. She really loves him.

I feel sorry for her, you know?

“But what about him? How do

you feel about him maybe dying?”

She’s already thought it through.

I hated him for so long. For the way

he left us. For the part he played in

Kristina’s drama. I don’t know, Hunter.

I guess what I feel is guilty because

I don’t have a need to mourn him.

Bam. “What about Kristina?

How does she feel about it?”

This answer takes longer.
I’m not sure

Kristina can feel much anymore.

I’VE THOUGHT THE SAME THING

Seems like, no matter what goes

down in Kristina’s life, the only

thing she ever feels is paranoia.

Everyone hates her. (Not true.)

Everyone distrusts her. (True.)

Everyone is out to get her. (Uh … why?)

Whatever bad happens in her life,

it’s someone else’s fault. Wrong

turns? Forced to take them. Fall

flat on her face? She was pushed.

Personal responsibility for the choices

she has made? What the hell

is “personal responsibility”? And

what about other feelings? Love?

Happiness? Anticipation? Hate, even?

All those emotions seem unavailable

to her. Like no matter how deep

she drills for them, the well is dry.

Was she born that way? Were

those things taken from her?

What I want to know is, “Why?”

Leigh takes her time answering.

Kristina never really was the “warm

and fuzzy” type. But when we were

younger, she was so much more alive

inside. The meth stole that life force
,

of course. You know how they say

it eats holes in your brain? Well
,

it does. And it eats them in the part

of the brain that controls emotions.

But even beyond that. I think the more

she has failed at things like relationships

and parenting, the more she has cut

herself off from feeling bad about those

things. And if you don’t let yourself feel

bad, sooner or later you stop feeling

good, too. You insulate yourself. Build

up layers, like stacking paper, everything

growing heavier. And when the weight

becomes too much, those layers compress.

Become hard. Sad, really, to think that

Kristina has turned herself into cardboard.

Autumn
PRETTY MUCH MISERABLE

That’s how this trip has been,

not that I expected better.

Long, boring stretches of asphalt.

Landscape, mostly scrubbed of life,

at least until around thirty miles

ago. Then low desert gave way

to squat evergreens, hints of real

forest to the west, along the spine

of the Sierra Nevada. So far,

the weather has done nothing

more than loom, threatening.

But we keep heading north,

toward crazy-looking storm clouds.

Clouds like I’ve never seen before.

In Texas, stormers are huge, black

beasts. These are big, all right.

But they’re white, with giant silver

underbellies. Bellies, I hear,

that will open and bleed snow.

The threat of an approaching blizzard

is frightening. Exhilarating.

FRIGHTENING AND EXHILARATING

The words sum up a lot of what

I’m thinking about right now. A

blizzard

seems the least of my worries.

Let’s see. Closer and closer

to Reno, the thought of home-

coming

looms like a monster, spreading

its arms in some kind of welcome.

The idea of meeting long-lost

family seemed a whole lot

better

in Texas. Especially waltzing

in on Christmas Eve. I can hear

it now. “Would y’all just

look

what Santa brought this year!”

Except they don’t say “y’all”

in Nevada, do they? OMG.

I so don’t belong here. But,

for

what it’s worth, I so want to belong

here. So want connection with

something severed. So want to find

shelter

in the hearts

of a family of strangers.

THAT SEEMS EVEN MORE UNLIKELY

Knowing I’m probably pregnant.

Oh yeah, even better. “Here

I am. You don’t know me. But

accept me, anyway. And just

in case you’re wondering, I think

I’m going to have a baby.”

Husband? No. No husband.

(Not yet?)

Boyfriend? I think so.

(What will he say?)

Birth control? Well, yes,

they have it in Texas. I just sort

of decided not to use it.

(How do I tell him?)

Of course, I don’t have to tell

them. At least not right now.

Bryce should probably be

the first to know. God, he’s

going to be so mad at me.

But he’ll stand by my side.

(Won’t he?)

TREY TOTALLY SUSPECTS

The truth. But so far he has respected

my wish not to discuss the possibility.

He has, in fact, been pretty darn quiet

for most of this very long ride. When

the radio dissolves into a static dead

sea, though, there isn’t much to do but talk.

And since he isn’t about to initiate

conversation, I ask, “What’s prison like?”

He thinks a minute, says,
Pretty much like

you see on TV, I guess. Except until you

experience it, you can’t really understand

what it’s like to live in an oversize crypt.

For ten years? I’d die of claustrophobia

poisoning. “What’s the worst thing?”

He thinks again.
Toss-up. The smell—people

stink, let me tell you. That, or the boredom.

Wow. I thought he’d have some racy

stories to tell me. But yeah, I get boredom.

BOREDOM IS AN OVERSIZE CRYPT

Or twenty straight hours

in a car (sort of a crypt on

wheels, if you think about it)

with someone you don’t know.

Even if that someone might

be your father. I still can’t

think of him that way. (So why

are you here? Stupid?)

I really must stop thinking

parenthetically. Carrying on

a silent conversation with

myself. Splitting the whole

of me into halves. Pushing

myself beyond OCD and panic

attacks, all the way to the realm

of probable schizophrenia.

I’m not two people. Only one,

uncertain. One, scared of the gray

space of tomorrow. But a lot more

scared of being stuck in yesterday.

WE ROLL INTO BISHOP

A small California town also reaching

desperately for the future. Maybe

this is where I should move.

Trey decides to stop at Schat’s

Bakkerÿ.
This place is famous. Can’t go

through Bishop and not stop here.

Famous? Never heard of it. But,

“I guess I could eat.” And I could

definitely pee. Not a lot of places

to stop along 395. If nothing else,

almost six hours since leaving our

overnight layover in Indio, it feels

great to stretch my legs. We go inside,

order sandwiches, and by the time

I get back from the bathroom,

Trey has collected them and stands

talking to a couple of locals. He sees

me, excuses himself to join me.

Those guys just got in from Reno.

Guess it’s snowing pretty good up

there. We’d better buy some chains.