Fallout (51 page)

THE WASP BUZZ INTENSIFIES

Only Nikki seems to notice.

She shoots me a warning

glance. But it’s too late.

I stop Brendan midsentence.

“So … do y-you ’member

a girl name Kr-Kristina?” Damn

booze. Damn mud daubing.

I want to be coherent.

Brendan’s forehead wrinkles.

He thinks a minute, finally replies,

Kristina? Sounds familiar.

Why? Should I know her?

Nikki’s hand lights gently

on my arm. I swat it away,

one of those bees. “You might

have known her as Bree.”

Bam! Recognition floods

his eyes.
Bree. Yes. I knew her.

Clearly, he doesn’t want to say

more.
That was a long time ago.

Nikki is close to panic.

Uh, hon, would you get me

another glass of wine? Please?

She looks at me helplessly.

Buzz. Buzz.
“Just a minute,

okay?”
Buzzzzz.
The entire

table is staring now. Good.

This deserves an audience.

“I don’t suppose you remember

a certain night, up on Mount Rose.

Just you and her and a little

crank …” Loud. Too loud.

But he definitely remembers.

Now, look. That was a long
,

long time ago and—wait.

What do you know about it?

“Dude, the whole world—well,

a lot of it, anyway—knows

what you did to her that night.

I know because …” The rest

sticks like tar in my throat.

My face is hot and my eyes

sting and oh my God, I will

not cry. Nikki is on her feet.

Montana is too. Brendan just

stares stupidly, waiting for me

to finish. So here goes, “I know

because I’m her son and …”

CAN’T CONFESS EVERYTHING

I just can’t. But I can still

accuse. “She said you raped

her, you son of a bitch.”

My hands clench, but I’m not

going to hit him. Not now.

Not here. Instead I start across

the wide expanse of floor.

I expect Nikki to come, but it

is not her butterfly hand that lights

on my shoulder just as I exit

the big ballroom doors.
Hold

on. I think we should talk.

I whip around, dislodging

myself from his grip.
Buzz.

“What the fuck do you want?”

People stare. But Brendan

doesn’t care.
Come on.

Let’s sit over there, okay?

He knows better than to

touch me again. For some

insane reason, I follow him.

The casino carpet is purple

with wavy green lines, and

it’s making me seasick.

I will myself not to puke,

and we sit in some eggplant-

colored chairs at the far end

of the foyer. I can’t look at him

as he launches his story.
Yes
,

I knew Bree … Kristina. We went

out a few times, and we did

a lot of crank together. All true.

That night—the one you mentioned—

we were messed up. Wasted, in

fact. Now, I don’t know …

Have you ever done meth?

I have no choice but to

look him straight in the eye.

I shake my head. “Never.”

Well, here’s the deal with meth.

You’re not always in control
,

and that night everything got out

of hand. I’m not proud of what

happened, but the truth is
,

she kind of asked for it….

Bzzzzzzz.
My face flames.

“Is that what you wanted

to tell me? Because it’s not

good enough. You forced

yourself on her when she

said no and that’s rape.”

His turn to shake his head.

Like I said, I don’t take pride

in it, or in much of my life

at that time. I did drugs.

Did girls. Stole. Cheated.

Lied. The reason I joined

the army? A judge gave me

the choice—military or a long

time in jail. I’m glad now.

I got clean. Disciplined. Did

my time and went back, hoping

to maybe make up for before.

I WANT TO KEEP HATING HIM

But he sounds

reasonable

honest

apologetic.

I want to keep blaming him.

But somehow I

believe him

relate to him

almost forgive him.

I want to keep berating him.

But words don’t

make sense

seem wise

matter anyway.

I want to keep thinking he’s the enemy.

But suddenly he’s

just a man

not a monster

no longer a stranger.

My father.