Fallout (21 page)

WHAT, EXACTLY, DID I DO?

I mean, yeah, I told her, “Fuck you.”

But that was heat of the moment,

and I said I was sorry. I can’t

believe she has such a short fuse.

She’ll cool off and it will all be

fine, right? First things first.

I need a shower. The bathroom

is so Nikki—green and yellow

and messy and smelling of ginger.

The water heater is old and Nikki’s

shampoo-condition-and-shave

routine pretty well emptied it.

I am barely rinsed by the time

the H
₂
O fades from lukewarm

to frigid. Any other day, I’d be

mad. Today, all I can do is laugh.

I towel off giant goose bumps,

borrow a couple of swipes

of Nikki’s deodorant, use

her brush to spike my hair.

The face in the mirror is mine.

Yet somehow I feel disconnected

from the person wearing it. Nikki’s

words come back to me:
I don’t know

who you are.
So I ask Mirror

Man, “Who are you?” But he

just stares stupidly back at me.

Who am I? Don’t have a clue.

But I don’t have to figure

that out right now. I’m cold.

I have my own drawer in

Nikki’s dresser, where I keep

a few things for sleepovers.

I choose boxers. Wranglers.

A red long-sleeved tee.
Take

your shit.
No way. She’ll change

her mind. I leave the rest in

place, retrieve the fallen photo—

Nikki and me boarding at Mt. Rose.

Great day. There have to be more.

MIGHT AS WELL

Go home for a few hours,

I guess. It’s a twenty-five-

minute ride, so I twist one

up and by the time I pull

into the driveway, I feel

a whole helluva lot better.

At least until I go inside,

only to overhear Dad on

the phone.
You can’t be

serious, Marie. We’ve

discussed this a dozen

times.
…
Stop yelling at

me, please. Of course I

understand. I’m not stupid….

See? The minute I walk in

the door, they’re arguing.

There goes my nice little

buzz. I sneak past Dad’s

office into the kitchen. Sex

and stress—not to mention

weed—make a guy hungry.

And thirsty. I consider

snagging a beer, but Dad’s

already in a snit. Better stick

with a sandwich and root beer.

GOOD PLAN

Dad comes into the kitchen

while I’m still slopping

mayonnaise on the bread.

Hunter! Didn’t hear you

come in.
He reaches into

the fridge for one of the three

remaining Miller Lights.

“You were on the phone.

So what’s up in Vegas?”

He shakes his head.
A lot.

None of it good. In addition

to the ribs, Kristina’s jaw

is fractured. And the MRI

showed something unusual

in her brain. They have to do

more tests. Plus, the cops

went to her apartment, looking

for Ron. The manager

let them in. They didn’t find

Ron, but they did find

three grams of crystal meth
,

sitting right out in the open

on top of her dresser. Kristina

claims it must be Ron’s
,

but it was in her apartment

and he wasn’t. She could be

in some serious trouble.

Uh, yeah. A twice-convicted

felon in possession of

a substantial amount of ice?

Even if she’s telling the truth,

who’s going to believe her?

The question now arises,

“What about Donald and

David?” Kristina’s youngest

kids, ages eleven and seven.

Well, there is a major problem
,

isn’t there? If they catch Ron
,

he’s going away. This is felony

assault, on top of his record.

Kristina may be going away

too, and even if she isn’t, it will

be weeks before she’ll be

in a position to play mother

to those kids. So it basically

comes down to foster care
,

or …
His jaw clenches, and

every discernable muscle tenses.

“Or you and Mom take them

in.” No wonder they were

arguing. Impossible situation.

He nods.
Marie wants to bring

them home. It makes me so angry!

We both swore we’d never do it

again—not that we resent having

you, but we’re too old to be parents

of young children. The only alternative

I can think of is Jake and Misty.

But after what happened last time
,

it’s not really fair to ask them.