Fallout (22 page)

THERE’S AN UNDERSTATEMENT

Uncle Jake owns a bigger heart

than any man should, because

hearts are too easily broken.

He gave a big chunk of his heart

to me, playing babysitter while

most of his buddies were focused

on trying to score girls. The rest

of his heart (minus what belongs

to Mom and Dad) went to Misty

in high school. They married soon

after graduation, even though

everyone said they were too young.

So far, they’ve proved everyone

wrong. School. Work. Paying bills.

They’ve waded through, together.

Then, when Kristina got pregnant

with David and decided she

couldn’t put up with four-year-old

Donald’s hardcore behavior

problems, Jake volunteered to

take him in. He and Misty dealt

patiently with biting. Head

banging. Scream-punctuated

tantrums. Purposeful destruction.

Not his fault
, Jake claimed.

She never taught him better.

Truth is, he was wild as a bobcat.

With nurturing and love, Jake

and Misty tamed him. Taught

him the meaning of “no,” how

to say “please” and “thank you.”

Then, of course, Kristina wanted

him back.
Sort of like sending

your puppy out to be house-

broken
, was Dad’s comment.

Donald did return to Kristina,

better for the experience. But he

has regressed some over time.

Let’s just say there’s rarely

a dull moment when Kristina

and her brood come round

for holidays and family reunions.

AND NOW THE BROOD

Might be moving in? No

wonder Dad’s feeling

a little anxious.

A little pressured.

A little concerned

that his comfortable

retirement might become

decidedly uncomfortable.

Everything at home

has been relatively

stable for a long time.

The drama for the most

part has remained

housed in Las Vegas.

Kristina has kept semi-

steadily employed,

and maintained a couple

of semi-steady relationships.

Of course, Ron was always

lurking in the shadows,

ready to pounce,

ready to maim,

ready to bring her down.

And Kristina never

played smart, never

played the game like

it was for real.

Easier to play victim.

SPEAKING OF PLAYING

The last time Donald came

to visit, he fried my brand-new

Xbox. “Uh … So where are

the demon kids going to sleep?”

Apparently Dad hasn’t bothered

much with the minutiae.
I don’t

know. Haven’t really thought

about it. The guest room?

I snort. “Mom’s white on white

with white trim guest room?

You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

He thinks it over for a second,

has to laugh, too.
We could

give them permanent markers

to decorate the walls, I suppose.

Or there’s always …

I was afraid of that. Hmm.

Well, if I take everything of value

with me, “Maybe I could stay

with Nik.” Then I remember.

Take your shit, get out
,

and don’t come back.

Ah, no worries. Surely

she’s cooled off by now.

I STASH ANY RESIDUAL WORRY

In a dark closet inside my brain

while I do my air shift.

Can’t let my listeners know

I’ve just been kicked out

of my bedroom, not to mention

maybe out of my girlfriend’s bed.

Celebrities don’t get kicked

out of places, right? I slip into

Biggest Little City radio star mode.

“What’s up, Reno? If your

Nevada Day was anything like

mine, I know what was up

this morning. Hope your

evening rocks just as hard. Coming

up, White Tie Affair and

Sugarcult. But let’s get things

started with Three Days Grace.”

Cool as ice cream.

A LITTLE AFTER MIDNIGHT

One of my groupies calls and I offer

her the David Cook tickets, which, as

promised, were in my in-box.
For

real? What can I give you for them?

I get her meaning, but pretend

innocence. “Nothing but love,

honey, nothing but love. Track me

down at the parade tomorrow.”

The pimply overnight geek comes

in ten minutes late. I don’t say a word

as I vacate the booth. The night

squeezes me with icy fingers, chills

me all the way through. When I get

to Nikki’s, the house is dark.

Her car is gone. All the stuff I left

is in two paper bags on the porch.

I reach beneath the fake rock. But I

already know the key isn’t there.