Fallout (59 page)

ZERO RESPONSE

So I prod just a bit. “Come on.

I told you my sordid little tale.”

Nothing.

I look over at Eliana and Rosa.

Both are wide-eyed, silent.

Nada.

Hmm. This one must be good.

“Is your dad, like, a serial killer?”

Zilch.

She shoots a dry-ice glare.

“Okay, fine. I don’t care, anyway.”

Empty.

I wish I were rooming with
las

cubanitas
. Even three to a room.

Vacant.

THANKFULLY

Tanya calls from way down the hall,

Girls! I need some help. Hurry!

There is some sort of a muffled crash.

The tension in the room, god-awful

heavy just two seconds ago, falls

away, like shedding a heavy robe.

Eliana and Rosa rush out the door.

I start to follow and suddenly Simone

transmutes, phantom into flesh.
Wait.

I can’t tell you
, she whispers.
Ever.

She is human after all. Real. As real

as the fear alive in her eyes.

I nod my head. “I know.” I know

because I never told either. Her

story is mine, only with a different “he.”

I understand as only someone who

has been there can understand. We

have something in common after all.

APPARENTLY I MADE TANYA FEEL GUILTY

Because by the time

Simone and I

reach the living room,

she and the girls are

elbow deep in red and

green and gold.

Rosa’s eyes are wide.

Ooh. Look. Can

I hang this pretty one?

Lights first
, commands Walter,

untangling a long

strand.
Then ornaments.

It all looks so normal—any

family anywhere—

it’s almost enough to

make you forget

how abnormal this “family”

really is. Two

artificial parents; two

orphans. One

total mystery. And me.

LIGHTS, GARLAND, AND ORNAMENTS HUNG

The tree still looks sad to me.

It’s not that the decorations

are old (and they are). It’s that

they were all arranged without love.

This isn’t the first loveless Christmas

I’ve spent. Foster homes, however

solid, are all barren of that emotion.

You don’t dare care about someone

you probably won’t know in a year.

But I’ve had beautiful holidays

with both sets of grandparents—

Carl and Jean. Scott and Marie.

The ones with Grandma Marie

were especially special because

Hunter was there too. My brother.

The one I hardly ever get to see.

But when I do, he’s always pretty

much amazing to me. Because

he gets to be with his sister (me).

The one he hardly ever gets to see.

Those Christmases I understand

the power of family. My three

brothers will be there this year.

I so wish I could be there too.

THE ONLY PLACE

I’d rather be is with Kyle. He’s all I can

think about as I help make dinner,

Tanya chattering away about how much

you’ll love Roosevelt
and
church on Sunday.

All I can think about at the table, Walter

griping about the
goddamn power bill.

All I can think about as Simone and I

load the dishwasher in total silence.

Wonder what he’s doing, as I brush

my teeth, get ready for bed. Wonder

if he’s thinking about me, too, as Eliana

borrows one of my well-loved books.

Wonder if I’ll ever see him again as Rosa

practices for her Sunday School pageant.

Wonder if he’s written me off already

as I crawl between the scratchy sheets.

IT IS WALTER

Who comes to handle the lights-out

bed check. He knocks, but doesn’t

wait for an invitation to enter.

Simone, in a short, gauzy nightgown,

barely covers her long legs, and Walter

is all eyes. I swear, he starts to salivate.

No. No way. Not her. And not me.

Good night, ladies.
He flips off the lights,

closes the door. Did Simone notice

the demon-wolf in his eyes? Her voice

drifts toward me on dark wings of night.

I hate him. He reminds me of my brother.

Without telling me, she has shared

her secret. A half-dozen questions

pop into my head. Real brother? Step?

When? How? Who told? Why did

that mean she ended up here? But in

the long run, the answers don’t matter.

BEFORE TOO VERY LONG

Simone’s breathing falls shallow.

Rhythmic. She’s wandering deep

within some sort of dream. A good

dream, I guess. She laughs softly

in her sleep. Do I ever find happiness

in my dreams? I rarely remember

them. Sleep will not come easily

for me tonight. Not in an unfamiliar

bed, in an unfamiliar room. The night

itself is a different shade of dark.

Loneliness strikes suddenly,

a cobra sinking its fangs into my

heart, venom pumping. My eyes

spill into the strange, lumpy,

bleach-perfumed pillow. Salt soak.

I should be used to this by now.

Should expect the slow opening,

the hollow place inside. I am oddly

not afraid, though I recognize

the thirst in Walter. Who knows

how he might try to quench it?

I swear I will never let him, or

anyone, take a long swallow of me

unless it is my choice. And I only

choose to be water for Kyle.

HOW LONG WILL IT BE

Before living here

becomes unbearable?

How long before the

Bear pays a call on me?

How long before I have

to find a way to flee?

Sometime before dawn

my eyes finally close.

And though I’m not quite

asleep, I feel myself drift.

Float toward that hole

behind the bridge of my nose.

If I can just fall in,

I think I might find Kyle.

If I can just reach in,

I know I’ll touch his face.

If I can just take his hand,

will we leave together?