Fallout (79 page)

I COLLECT GRANDPA BILL

And his small suitcase, load them

into my truck. “We have to pick up

Kristina, too. It’s going to be a little

tight in here.” Sardine-can tight.

The amused look wavers just

a little.
I hope she can find a few

minutes to spend talking to me.

His voice crackles.
Last time

we had a Christmas together
,

she never bothered much with

small talk. That kind of hurt

my feelings, know what I mean?

“Grandpa, you ought to know

by now not to let anything Kristina

does or doesn’t do hurt your feelings.

Kristina is all about Kristina.”

SHE’S ALL ABOUT KRISTINA

When we get to the hotel and have

to wait more than twenty minutes for her.

All about Kristina when she opens

the door, sees Grandpa Bill,

and says,
Hey there, Grandpa
,

how you been? Scooch over.

He starts to sputter, doesn’t

want to complain, so I do it

for him. “You’re skinnier than

he is. You can ride in the middle.”

She throws up her hands, but

what can she say?
Whatever.

For the next fifteen minutes,

she goes on about how Ron wants

to ruin her life. Finally, disgusted,

I say, “Try picking better men.”

That elicits a reaction.
What would

you know about the men I pick?

I have debated saying a single

word about this, but my mouth

opens and out comes, “I know

about one. I just met Brendan.”

Autumn
AWAKE MOST OF THE NIGHT

Sleep elusive, chased

into the night

by fears of today.

Christmas.

My first far away

from the only

family I’ve ever

really known.

My first, promised

to spend with

the family I’ve only

dreamed about.

What if they won’t

let me in?

What if they don’t

want to see me?

What if they send

me away?

Why did I come

here, anyway?

AND ANOTHER NIGGLING QUESTION

Is

there some selfish reason

for Trey bringing me here?

“Out of the goodness of

his heart” doesn’t ring true.

There

has to be a bigger “why”

than just to make me happy.

He never cared before.

The need to know is

a worm

slithering through my brain.

I tried to bring it up last

night, when he was fighting

his own sleep demons,

working

up a tobacco-infused night

sweat. Both of us tossing

worry, I asked, “Did you make

this trip for me or for you?”

His

thrashing stilled, like he

thought about feigning

dreamland. But then a low

sort of growl exhaled from his

core.

HE SAT UP IN BED

A dark silhouette against

backlit blinds. And once

he started to talk, it all

came spilling out.
I’ve

spent the last fifteen

years hating your mother.

That hate came from love

left to rot in my gut like roadkill

in summer. You know why

I ended up back in a cage?

Because I didn’t give

a half damn about anyone.

Rob ’em? Why not?

Rough ’em up? Hell, yeah.

Because it made me feel

in control. Never was
,

though. What I couldn’t see

was that hate controlled me.

HE PAUSED THERE

And I thought he would stop

without telling me what I still

wanted to know. “You haven’t

answered my question.”

Because I’m not really sure.

I think it’s wrong that Dad

and Cora kept you from

knowing your roots. Just

wrong. I want to fix that if

I can. But I also want to see

Kristina again. Maybe I can

quit hating her then. At least

I’ll have a chance to tell her

what the last fifteen years

have done to me. I was dead

inside. And then I saw you.

A piece of me, so full of life.

I came a little alive too.