Fallout (72 page)

I’VE TOLD HER NO

At least a dozen times

in the last three weeks.

No.

I don’t want to see her,

even if I am single right now.

No.

I don’t want to smoke up

with her. Sort of trying to quit.

No.

I don’t want sex with her,

not even no-strings-attached sex.

Now

if I could just get Nikki

to hear me tell her no.

How

could I manage that? Strong-

arm her, maybe? My life is

full of

women who refuse to listen

to me! Is this how serial killers

are born? Whoa. Where did that

bullshit

come from? I’m not even close

to some crazed ax murderer.

Am I?

NO, I’M NOT

I admit anger is a regular visitor.

It reminds me of some alien

vine implanted through my belly

button. It seems to germinate

in the pit of my stomach,

grow at warp speed, shooting

out tendrils to snake through

my veins, into my brain, where

it blooms into all-out rage.

But that would never make

me pick up a weapon and use

it, especially never on a girl.

Not even one who refuses to

return my phone calls. Or my love.

SHE STILL LOVES ME

I know she does. Boy,

I never thought forgiveness

would come so hard to her.

I give the top-of-the-hour

station ID, say a few witty

words about shopping

procrastinators. Once the music

kicks back in, I call Nikki.

Who apparently isn’t home.

Whatever. Maybe it’s better

to leave her a message. She’d

probably hang up on me.

“Nik, I swear I’m not stalking

you. But please, please listen.

What I did was worse than

wrong. It was unconscionable.

I have never loved anyone

the way I love you. And I

don’t think I ever will. You

are the most important thing

in my life. Without you,

I’m empty. Please forgive

me. I swear, I’ll earn back

your trust. Can we just talk?”

I COULD GO ON

But that’s all the machine wants

to hear at one time, and if I call back,

I’ll definitely sound like a stalker.

I’d just go ahead over there,

but she is somewhere else, and

after my shift, I’m supposed

to pick up Leigh and Kristina

from the airport. They’re flying

back together from Albuquerque.

I guess I should feel bad about

my grandfather being on his last

legs and all. But it’s hard to care

about someone (even if that

someone
is
your grandfather)

who never bothered to get to know

you in the first place. A couple

of visits when I was a baby,

a couple of birthday cards since.

His excuse? He couldn’t afford

to send real presents or make

the trip from New Mexico.

Well, how about a phone

call? Those don’t cost too

much. How about an e-mail?

Or even regular cards and

letters. I would have answered

them. We could have gotten

to know each other, even if

only virtually. Sorry, Grandpa.

Excuses are a dime a dozen.

And lame excuses are more

like a nickel. No, sir. Establishing

a relationship has nothing to do

with money. Listen to me. Like

I’m so good with relationships.

Although establishing them

doesn’t seem to be my problem.

Keeping them? Nurturing them?

Definitely not my best thing.

AIR SHIFT COMPLETE

As I get ready to leave, I notice

the new part-time on-air girl

coming toward me. Woot. Girl?

Babe! I can’t help but check out

her long, bronze-skinned legs,

most of which are showing. Skirt.

Is. Short. She smiles at the way

I’m obviously drooling.
Hi, Hunter.

“Hey, um …” Name? I know

her name. It’s, uh … “Shayna.”

The hall is narrow and as we

pass, her body whispers along

mine.
Excuse me
, she says in

a deep-water voice.
Sorry.

“No problem.” I watch her walk

away, invitation in the exaggerated

sway of her hips. I could follow.

Set something up for later.

I could. But I won’t. I’d rather

stay mired in unrequited love.

TWO THIRTY-FOUR

I’ve got a half hour until

the plane arrives. Hope it’s on

time, or it might not arrive at all.

Another big storm is speeding

toward us. The roads just got

cleared from the last one.

Mom insisted I take the Jeep.

Good thing. My truck is a four-

by, but the tires lack tread.

Anyway, the Jeep has more

room for women and their

luggage. The freeway is packed.

Last-minute Santas rushing

to buy those last-minute gifts.

I finished shopping weeks ago.

Mom is always easy. T-shirt with

some pithy author-type saying.

Ditto Dad and his Beatles.

Jake, ski gloves. Leigh, perfume.

Kristina, a self-help book, not that

I expect it to do much good.

For the boys, games. And all that

barely left enough for what I got

Nikki. Not lingerie. A promise ring.

I’M NOT A JEWELRY EXPERT

But the ring caught my eye.

Small rubies (her) and sapphires (me),

set to look like a chain—the two

of us linked together. Forever.

It’s beautiful (like her). Cleaned

out my bank account, but I don’t

care. I just want to see her wear

it. How can I make that happen?

I have to wait almost twenty

minutes in the cell phone parking

lot at the airport. What the hell.

I give Nikki one more try.

She answers on the second ring.

“Nik? Don’t hang up, okay?

I can’t believe you’re actually

there.” That she actually picked up.

What do you want, Hunter?

Clipped. Guess she hasn’t quite

forgiven me. Then, in the back-

ground, I hear another voice. Male.

And not on the television. The alien

vine bursts to life, snakes its way

through me. I start to blow. Think

better of it. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t know

you had company. I just … uh …

wanted you to know how truly sorry

I am. Thanks for taking my call.”

I hang up, choking back a wad

of emotions. Hurt. Surprise.

Fury. Embarrassment. Now

there’s a weird one. Why am I

embarrassed? And not for her.

For me. How could she replace

me? Did she replace me? What

is she doing with that guy? Who

is he? Where did she hook up

with him? And for what reason?

Companionship? Sex? Love?

No. Not that. I can deal with

the other two, but no way could

I handle her falling in love

with someone else. My cell rings.

The ladies’ flight has arrived.

I put the Jeep into gear, and as

I pull forward into the loading

zone, it hits me suddenly that

Nikki must have asked herself

the very same questions about me.

SUBDUED

That’s the collective feeling

as I give Leigh and Kristina

tentative hugs, load their luggage

into the Jeep. We all pretty much

feel like shit. They, because

they’re very close to losing

their father. Me, because I’m

really afraid I’ve lost my Nikki.

Kristina commandeers shotgun.

Leigh doesn’t try to argue. We

drive along in silence for a while.

Finally I say, “Mom got you a hotel

room, Kristina. Do you want to

drop off your stuff before we go

on out to the house?” I do not

expect her answer. I’m not staying

at any hotel. I want to see my boys.

Mom can kiss my freaking ass.

Okay. This is going to be one

entertaining Christmas. “You might

want to rethink your attitude.”

Excuse me, but just who in the hell

do you think you are? You’re not

my father. You are my son.

The sky opens up. Wet snow splats

against the windshield. Very much

like how her words splatter me.

That vine again. And this time,

I let it go full bloom. “Fuck you.

I might have been your zygote.

Your fetus. Maybe even your off-

spring. But I have never been your

son. You have no idea what it means

to be a real mother. You think nine

months of discomfort and eight

hours of labor gives you the right

to call yourself ‘Mom’? Well, bitch,

you’re delusional.” I could go on,

but in the backseat, Leigh’s discomfort,

though silent, hangs heavily. “Here’s

the hotel. Why don’t you check in?

Someone will pick you up later.”