Fallout (41 page)

I PURSUE SAID TROUBLE

Like a buzzard sniffing after

roadkill. “Okay, Leah. What do

you have for me?” It’s a loaded

question, and she’s quick to

react. She smiles, leans into me,

and I appreciate how beneath

her unzipped jacket, a low-cut

black sweater reveals truly

stunning cleavage.
Let’s walk.

We go five blocks, silent.

Cut across a hectic parking lot.

Turn down a sleepy street.

Finally she tugs me to a stop.

I scored some amazing smoke.

Thought you might like a taste.

Smoke? Argh. Tempting.

I’ve been out for a while.

Oh, what the hell? “Okay.”

Just keep walking
, she says,

lighting an already rolled J.

Pretend it’s a cigarette.

I do and she does and somehow

we get away with smoking weed

out in the open, on a city street.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t

lift my stomach, roller-coaster-

style. Definitely a thrill, getting

away with illicit behavior.

More of that is brewing, for sure.

Leah slips her hand into mine,

and my first thought is of Nikki.

I suspect where this is headed. So why

am I still going along with Leah’s

plan? Stunning cleavage or no,

Leah is not the right thing to do,

literally or figuratively, despite

how soft her hand is in mine,

or how the jasmine perfume of her

reminds me of a warm June evening.

Stop it, Hunter, stop it. You are

not just another guy, lusting after

an easy piece. You are not …

BUT APPARENTLY I AM

Leah turns her face up toward mine,

daring me to kiss her. God, she is

luscious, ripe fruit temptation,

serpent coiled in expectation.

I can hear Nik whisper,
You’d never

cheat on me, would you, Hunter?

The snake strikes, and I pull back.

“Leah, I have a girlfriend, you know.”

Her hand falls out of mine, and

relief escapes in a long-drawn sigh.

But she will not so easily be dismissed.

Her fingers settle gentle on my inner

thigh, move slowly higher.
Yeah. So?

I’m not asking for commitment, and

I don’t want to mess up your life. I just

want to give you a little piece of me.

She boosts up on tiptoes, looks

into my eyes as she kisses me.

I am pulled into the liquid emerald

of her eyes, the invitation—no, demand—

of her pillowed pout, her experienced

hands. And I’m helpless. Weak. Convinced.

She pulls me down a narrow alleyway,

backs me against a splintered garage door.

I pretend protest, but we both know

claiming I don’t want this would be a lie.

Shush
, she pleads.
Don’t say a word.

Just let me take care of you.
She kisses

me again, encourages my hands

along the hilly contours of her body.

And in one long, sinuous movement,

she is on her knees. In total control.

I CLOSE MY EYES

But what materializes

out of the darkness there

are shadowbox photos of Nikki.

Those, and the snap of December

against uncovered skin

might be enough to make

me stop, but when Leah senses

my wavering, her urgent
please

closes around me, pulls me

in. I look up at the froth

of clouds. Cappuccino sky.

The summer scent of jasmine

lifts from a tide of titian

hair, and there is no hesitation

now, no U-turn, no braking,

only relentless forward motion.

Propulsion. A kaleidoscope

of titian. Jasmine. Cappuccino

clouds. And every trace of Nikki

dissolves in Leah’s warm rain.

ONLY AFTER

We are finished,

clothes zipped up,

hair smoothed,

does the thought

cross my mind

that someone

might have seen.

Enjoyed watching.

Got off themselves,

maybe. My cheeks

burn. Can’t say why.

Only after we have

exited the alley,

started back along

the sleepy street,

toward the hectic

parking lot, does

it occur to me that

the fame that brought

me here belongs to

me, not to my mom.

I like how that feels.

WE WEAVE

Through the thinning crowd.

Some have taken their children

home, out of the crisp morning,

away from the threat of snow.

A stab of intuition makes me

survey the knot of people nearby.

Did Nik decide to come after

all? That could be very bad,

all things considered. But when

I assess faces, the one my eyes

grab hold of does not belong

to Nikki. I do not recognize

the man standing just there,

scanning the human sea. So why

do I think I know him? Someone

ducks in front of him, and I lose

momentary sight, but when his

eyes at last connect with mine,

they are green-dappled gray. Piebald.

He turns away suddenly, as if

whoever he was looking for

found him instead. He melts

into the tide of bodies. Faces.

One of them very much like mine.

ZAPPED

As if by a stun gun,

by the most unexpected

encounter, the entire

top of my head tingles.

I stand

trembling, unable to

totally comprehend

what seeing those eyes

might mean to me.

Awed.

Frozen in place. Heart

quickstepping. Breath,

a shallow draw.

I am pulverized

by

the weight of one fragile

moment. Denial descends,

a threadbare shroud. Maybe

I have it all wrong. But

simple

reasoning convinces me

otherwise. I don’t know why

I’ve never seen my father

before, but I reel in the

recognition

that I’ve seen him now.

I just want to know,

who is he?