Fallout (78 page)

I’VE HAD SOME TIME

To think up an answer, so it flows easily.

“We were on our way to my grandparents’

in Carson City. My mom’s already there….”

Which may or may not be true.

But I’m pretty sure Grandma Marie and

Grandpa Scott will cover for me.

I suppose I should get in touch

with Kyle’s dad, let him know what’s up.

You better give them a call and let

them know what happened
, says Officer

Strohmeyer.
I’ll take you to the hospital.

You should get checked out too.

The cop starts the car, turns carefully

around, and I rack my memory for the right

phone number. When Grandma Marie answers,

relief floods through me, and I rush to tell the story

she is so not expecting to hear. I hang up.

“My grandpa will come get me in the morning.”

Hunter
CHRISTMAS DAWNS SILVER

It’s the way crisp sunlight

plays on the new snow,

all sparkling. Clean. The sky

is clear. Brilliant blue.

And I am up way too early.

I wasn’t the first one up.

Scott was off at daybreak,

on his way to Bishop to collect

Summer. Surprise!

Guess who was coming

to Christmas dinner, only to

be waylaid by a Hummer.

Guess she and some guy

named Kyle were lucky

enough snow had fallen

to soften their rollover. Some

cop named Officer Strohmeyer

insisted on talking to Kristina.

Mom got on the phone, and

when the guy found out

who she was, he went all star-

struck and forgot about

Kristina. Mom sent a signed

book along. Hopefully, the roads

will be clear and they’ll make it

back in time for the big meal.

Mom’s already in the kitchen,

baking pies and kneading

the dough for her homemade

cinnamon rolls. A Christmas

morning staple around here.

That and butcher-shop bacon.

Been the same breakfast every

Christmas morning that I can

remember. And before that, too,

I’m told. The boys and Leigh

are still fast asleep. I’m sure

Kristina is too. I’ll pick her

up a little later. After I make

another stop in Reno.

HER CAR IS HERE

The house is dark. Silent

in the growing light. I let

myself in with the spare key

I had made and never told

her about. Shh. In stocking

feet along the hallway, listening.

Hoping she is alone. I hear

only her breathing as I steal

down the hall, into the familiarity

of a room filled with Nikki’s

presence, even as she sleeps.

About the time I get ready to

add my own presence to the bed

too long emptied of it, I realize

this could go wrong. But I am

determined to make it right.

Her right arm lies atop the thick

quilt, exposed. I kiss her fingertips

gently. Move my lips along her

cool skin to the crook of her elbow.

She sighs, opens her eyes.

She could jump up. Scream.

Run from me. Instead she says,

I was dreaming you had come.

I ease onto the bed beside her.

Kiss her. Easy. No demands.

Kiss her mouth. Her forehead.

Her eyes. Down her nose. Back

to her mouth, which she opens,

inviting me inside. “I’m sorry,”

I whisper, before accepting

her invitation. Diving in, as

into a warm spring. And before

we go any further, she says,

I forgive you. This time. But

this is the last time, I swear.

“I know.” The love we make

is remembered. And it is all new.

And there is no one else in the world.

WE DOZE FOR A WHILE

And then

somewhere, music. Loud.

Incubus? Oh, my cell. The first

thing I think, as I part the clouds

of semi-sleep, is: better not be Leah!

And then

as the mist dissipates, I remember

it’s Christmas Day, and I am on

a mission. Besides winning

Nikki back, that is.

And then

I pull Nikki tighter against me.

Have I won her back? Can it

really be so? I kiss her awake.

“I have something for you.”

And then

I reach over the side of the bed,

find my jeans. Extract the shiny

red box from one pocket, dismissing

the phone in the other pocket.

And then

I tell her, “Merry Christmas,”

all hot and wobbly inside, like

I’m the one getting the present.

She sits up into slanted sunlight.

And now

My angel smiles, lingers over

the shimmery gold bow. Slits

open the tape, carefully unfolds

the foil.
I love little presents.

And now

She lifts the lid from the cardboard

box, removes the smaller, velvet-

flocked box, slowly, too slowly,

opens it.
Oh Hunter, it’s beautiful.

And now

She pulls the ring from its holder,

starts to put it on her right finger.

“No,” I say, taking it gently and

moving it to her left ring finger.

And now

I explain, “It’s a promise ring.

It belongs on this finger. Maybe

someday we’ll exchange it for

an engagement ring.” Wow.

And now

She moves into my arms. Kisses

a long thank-you.
I love it
, she says.

And I love you.
And, despite my

cell going off again, she proves it.

WHEN SHE GOES TO SHOWER

I check my voice mail. No Leah,

thank God. But there are two

from Mom.
Your Grandpa Bill

is flying up from L.A. He gets in

at eleven. Can you pick him up?

Call me back to let me know.

I look at the clock. Ten fifteen.

I let Mom know it’s not a problem.

Then I call Kristina to give her an

ETA for her own pickup. Her phone

goes straight to voice mail. Wonder

who she’s talking to. I join Nikki

in the shower, admiring how pretty

her summer tan looks under white

soap foam. “Have plans, or can you

come out to the house for dinner?”

She thinks it over, some sort of back-

and-forth in her head, as if arguing

with herself. Finally she says,

I should spend the day with Mom.

Dad’s in Hawaii with his girlfriend
,

and I don’t want Mom to be alone.

“Bring her along,” I offer. As soon

as the words fall from my mouth,

I realize that could be a bad idea.

Kristina. David. Donald. Summer.

Throw in Grandpa Bill, who’s eighty-

five, and all the regulars—Leigh, Jake,

Misty, and me. It’s already a formula

for family disaster. But Nikki’s face

lights up.
Mom would love that.

Your parents won’t care?

I suppose I should have asked.

But hey, too late now. “The more

the merrier, Mom always says.

We usually eat around four.”

Initiation by fire, I guess. “I love you.”

Hope she still loves me after dinner.

THE AIRPORT

Is busy. Weird. You’d think everyone

would already be where they’re going

by Christmas morning. I guess blizzards

have a way of messing up travel plans.

I wait inside for Grandpa Bill, who

I haven’t seen in almost a year. He’s

Dad’s dad, and has always been really

good to me. Mom says the amused

look he generally wears has to do

with Dad getting back as good

as he gave Grandpa Bill once

upon a time. Meaning I haven’t

always been the perfect kid. But

hey, no such thing as “perfect,”

right? I’m watching a couple

of not exactly perfect kids right

now, in fact, running around,

screaming and laughing while

their poor mom looks about nuts

as she waits for someone too.

Maybe I don’t want kids. Wonder

if Dad will wear an amused look

someday because I’ll be getting

back as good as I used to give.