Fallout (67 page)

MAUREEN IS AT A HOTEL

A nice enough Best Western.

Not the Ritz, but not a dump,

either. I’d forgotten she was

part of this equation. A big part,

as it turns out, the Cadillac

being hers and all. I trail Trey

down a long hallway. “Should you

have talked this over with her?”

He doesn’t slow.
No doubt.

And she can always say no.

I don’t think she will, but maybe

you should wait out here.

I lean back against a gold

flocked wall, sink down it,

sit on the yellow/brown swirled

carpet. Wait. Listen, as beyond

the far door, conversation

becomes animated. Not loud,

not really, so if they’re arguing,

it isn’t with much conviction.

It takes quite a while before

the door opens and Trey

gestures for me to come on

inside. Once again, I get an urge

to turn and run. But I don’t.

The room is neat, except for

a collage of empty bottles—wine,

beer, gin, Coke, and mineral water.

It’s enough to make my mouth

start to water. I could use

a gulp or two of liquid courage.

I look at Maureen. “Hello.”

She stares back curiously.

Are you crazy?
The question

is so matter-of-fact, it catches

me completely off guard.

“Wha-what do you mean?” Panic

attacks? OCD? She doesn’t

know about those things, right?

Or is she just talking genetics?

SHE SITS QUIETLY

For a couple of seconds. Finally

says,
Why do you want to stir up

a mess of trouble for yourself?

Is your life so god-awful now?

How to answer? Not bad. Not

great. But headed steadily toward

god-awful, mostly because of

the sudden appearance of the very

people in this room? TMI. “It’s okay,

I guess. No real complaints. But I have

a right to know who my parents are.

Even if I end up disappointed.”

We both look at Trey, who throws

his hands in the air.
This is your idea.

Maureen shrugs.
I guess you do.

And you very well may end up

disappointed. It’s against my better

judgment, but I’ll loan Trey my car.

On one condition. When you come

back through California, you stop

in Sacramento and visit me for a few

days. Don’t forget, I’m your family too.

And so it’s decided. Maureen will

fly home. We’ll take the Cadillac

on a long, boring drive to northern

Nevada. Reno. Where I was born.

Will it feel like home? Does the city

or town where you’re born imbed

itself in your psyche? I only lived

there three years. Will the altitude-

influenced temperature better suit

me? Will I breathe the air easier?

Will the scent of high desert

Nevada trump Texas prairie?

Will I come running back to Grandfather

or find solace in rediscovered family?

IT IS LATE AFTERNOON

By the time we actually hit the highway.

First, long, straight stretches of Interstate 10.

Through Arizona, New Mexico, into California.

North on I-15, to 395, north to Carson City.

More than seventeen hundred miles. Alone with

a stranger. Straight through, more than twenty-

four hours. The longest ride of my life, through

mostly unremarkable country. Flat grassland.

Dry desert as yet unkissed by winter’s

soft wet lips. At least it’s not ungodly hot

in December. When we get out to stretch,

it’s rather comfortably warm. At least it will be for

the first part of the trip. We hear there’s

a blizzard warning from Bishop, north.

Blizzard? I’ve never even seen snow, not

that I can remember at least. I’m excited.

Scared. Chilled through to the bone, and

we’re only two hundred miles toward cold.

IT TAKES THAT TWO HUNDRED MILES

And more of tedious small talk—school,

extracurricular crap or lack of it, friends

or lack of them—interwoven with long bouts

of silence, before I finally get up the nerve

to redirect the conversation away from me.

“What’s she like?” I ask, then add, “My mother.”

Trey thinks for a minute, reaches over,

turns down the radio.
I wish I could tell

you. But I’m not sure I ever knew Kristina.

The real Kristina, that is. I saw traces

of her once in a while. That girl had

a heart. The Kristina I met was still

pretty, but not nearly as beautiful

as the pictures I saw of her when she

was younger, before she started …

“Started using meth? With you?

Grandfather told me about that.

He said you were different before too.”

His jaw clenches.
Dad doesn’t know

everything. Kristina didn’t start using

with me. She already had a history.

He tells me about Albuquerque.

How she met a guy there who first

turned her on. Tells me about

partying with her father. Hiding it

from her mother and stepfather.

How she probably would have

kept right on smoking it up then

except,
But then she got pregnant

and mostly quit until Hunter was—

“Wait. Hunter? I have a brother?”

I’ve always believed I was an only

child. Not sure why, in retrospect.

I’m sorry. I forgot you didn’t know.

You have three brothers and a sister.

But you’re the only one who’s mine. I—

“Stop. I have to think.” I turn up

the radio. Close my eyes. Dive into

the music as best I can. Ride the metal

current. None of this makes sense.

The only thing about myself I know

for sure is that I don’t know anything.

OFF-KILTER

Canted. Listing

to one side,

a rotting hull.

Nothing will ever

be the same in

my world—careful

order

twisted.

Tossed

into chaos.

I don’t even

know how to

feel about that.

Relieved?

Terrified?

Hopeful?

Suicidal?

How does

this define

(or redefine)

me?