rude way. No problem, L.
They knew we were coming,
right gang? He moves toward
Leigh, who retreats slightly.
Well, I’m happy to see you.
Leigh’s face has gone
from ivory linen to scarlet
fleece, especially the tips
of her ears. What took you
so long, Father? Too
busy to pick up the phone?
I…I…I…, he stutters, his
inability to respond fueled
by the monster. [The monster,
on a crash diet of guilt.]
I don’t know what to say
except I’m sorry. Forgive me?
This could be fun to watch,
as long as the sniping doesn’t
turn into sniper fire—the battle
of the Snows. “No hello for
me, Dad?” I complain, adding,
“Nice to meet you, Linda Sue.”
Everyone turns startled eyes
in my direction, as if they
can’t believe I had the guts
to interfere. But a broad sense
of relief floods the room. No one
wants a battle between the Snows.
Scott takes the reins, offers,
Let’s go out on the patio.
Can I get you something
to drink? Iced tea? Lemonade?
We have some soda, too, I
think. Coke. Root beer…
Dad just can’t not be Dad.
How ’bout real beer? Any
kind will do. We’re not
picky, are we, Linda Sue?
He gives her a kiss unsuitable
for mixed company.
[Not picky? Ha! Major
understatement!] I stuff Bree
back inside as Scott guides Dad
and Linda Sue outside. Mom
goes to hustle up a couple of
beers. Heather follows Leigh
upstairs. Jake and I stand here,
exchanging looks of disbelief.
Then we both break down
into a fit of uncontrollable
laughter. Your dad is really
weird, Jake can finally say.
Another major understatement.
Dad and Pal
Overstay their welcome.
[Huge surprise!]
We have planned a birthday
dinner at our favorite
Italian restaurant in Reno
and as the hour of our
reservation approaches,
Mom and Scott grow a bit
antsy; Leigh and Heather
still have not reappeared;
and Hunter wakes from an overlong
nap hungry, wet, and otherwise
irritated. When I go to mitigate
that, Dad decides to tag along.
As I discard a soggy diaper
in favor of a nice dry one, Dad
says, That boy is going to make
some woman very happy one
day! Takes after his grandpa,
in more ways than one.
Okay, that’s much more than
I want to know. “Well, I guess
he has your eyes. And not a lot
of hair. So yes, I guess he takes
after you a little bit, Dad.”
We laugh as I dress Hunter
in cute overalls and a plaid shirt.
Can I hold him? asks Dad,
and my look is all the reply
he needs. Hey, I’m no worse
off than you right now! Relax.
I remember how to hold a baby.
I promise I won’t drop
the little guy on his head.
He takes Hunter gently
from my arms, and though
the smell of Dad’s crank
sweat makes me cringe,
Hunter doesn’t seem
to notice one little bit.
Despite my trepidation,
Dad looks completely
comfortable, holding
a baby. See? he says.
It ain’t rocket science.
Hunter also looks comfy
as Dad carries him back
to the living room. Check
him out, L. Looks just like me.
Linda Sue agrees, but everyone
else just stares at me like I’ve
totally lost my mind.
I’ll admit I’m slipping into
the crash zone. Only one
way I know to fix that.
Okay, Two Ways
And, all things considered,
I probably shouldn’t try
to sneak off for a walk
with the monster.
So I’ll make it through
dinner somehow (might
even manage a nibble
or three) and crash like a dead
jet plane tonight. Of course,
first we have to get to dinner.
So where are you staying?
Scott asks Dad. [Hint!]
Some little dive in downtown
Reno, answers Dad.
Figures, Leigh whispers
to Heather, who laughs out loud.
It’s not so bad, offers Linda
Sue. Small rooms, but clean.
Mom bustles onto the scene
with her purse. Let’s go!
Go? says Dad. Do you have
plans? Don’t let us interfere.
We weren’t planning on letting
you interfere, Leigh chimes in.
Scott moves between Leigh and
Dad. We have dinner reservations.
Linda Sue starts toward
the door. Time to go, Wayne.
Sure, says Dad. Good seeing
you all. Kristina? Walk me out?
Dad Carries Hunter out the Door
Okay, that’s really creepy. “Uh, Dad?”
I hurry after him, Linda Sue, and my
baby, but have to fight my way past
Mom. Wayne? she calls, wrinkling
her nose at the stench he’s left
in his wake. I’ll take the baby.
Dad turns, grinning. You didn’t think
I was kidnapping him, did you?
Sheesh. I’ve got enough problems!
[No shit!] Still, both Bree and I
are relieved when he hands off Hunter
to Mom. He gestures for me to follow
him to his car. I want to take you
out tomorrow night for your birthday.
As you can probably tell, I brought
a little go-fast along, but it’s mostly
gone. I’m thinking you’ve got stash
of your own. Can you spare some?
[Whose birthday is this, anyway?]
“I have a little I can share,” I admit.
“But only about half a gram.”
If I give you some cash, can you
score some more? He extracts two
wadded hundreds from a pocket.
“I’ll try. But just so you know,
this was the first time I’ve done
any since Hunter was born.”
Okay. He slides behind his steering
wheel. Oh. I ran into Buddy before
I left. He said to send you his love.
Dad Drives Off
Leaves me coughing
on his exhaust fumes and shaking
at his parting remark.
I haven’t stopped
to think about Buddy, aka Adam,
in a very long time.
Adam, who started me
on the highway to nowhere. And guess
where I’m standing now.
[Pretty damn close to nowhere.]
Still, remembering our
time together brings more happiness
than anything else.
They say you’ll always
love your very fir
st
love. I’ll always love Adam a little.
But he’s married, with
a baby just about Hunter’s age. Why
would he send his love?
[Because he’s a fucking player.]
Of course he’s a player.
But he was my player once, at least
for a few great weeks.
Everyone piles out the
door. We’ll have to take two cars,
says Mom. Jake, you ride
with Dad. Ladies, we can
squeeze into mine. But I volunteer to go
with Scott. “More room.”
[Less nervous conversation.]
Jake sits up front. I take
the backseat for me, Bree, and
memories best forgotten.
Dad stirs them up too,
and something else—a big ol’
cauldron of guilt.
Two weeks and I’m most
of the way through a ball. What have I
done? Can I undo it now?
[Fat chance, now you’ve set me free.]
Saturday Morning
I wake to voices in the hallway.
[Don’t move. Pretend you’re still asleep.]
Mom: I’m going to wake her up.
Leigh: Let her sleep. I’ll take care of Hunter.
Heather: She did look exhausted last night.
Exhausted barely covers it.
[And now you’ll be swamp-headed.]
Mom: I don’t know what’s up with her lately.
Leigh: Having a baby so young can’t be easy.
Heather: Her dieting must take a toll too.
Okay, she definitely knows.
[But is she going to tell?]
Mom: Dieting? What do you mean?
Heather: She barely touched dinner last night.
Leigh: And you know how she loves Italian.
Heather barely touched dinner either.
[Yeah, but she’s a better bullshitter.]
Mom: She has lost a few pounds recently.
Leigh: Rapid weight loss isn’t good, though.
Heather: I’d love to know how she’s managed it.
I’m going to kill her.
[You don’t, I definitely will.]
The Hallway Conversation
Recedes and I tug myself out of bed.
I thought I did a good con job at dinner
last night. Now I’ll probably catch
an earful about rapid weight loss from Mom.
Heather is definitely on my shit list.
But apparently the loosening
of my jeans has not escaped notice.
Now if I can just run into Trey.
I’d call him about scoring for Dad,
but Stockton is too far away. So
last night, when everyone wandered
off to their bedrooms, I called Grade E.
I kept the request cryptic, of course,
and asked to meet away from the Sev.
Wouldn’t do to get busted there, where
I’m supposed to start work on Monday.
Speaking of Grady, what time is it,
anyway? The clock says ten thirty.
Crap! I was supposed to meet him
at ten. I jump into clothes and dash
for my phone. Great. A message.
It’s Grady, and he isn’t happy.
Where the fuck are you? It’s ten
fifteen. You’ve got five minutes!
I hit call return, fingers crossed.
“Hey, Grady, it’s me. Sorry I’m late.
I…uh…got hung up with my mom.
I can be there in a couple of minutes.”
He agrees to meet me at the state
park. But I’ll want a taste.
I hope he means a taste of crystal,
not a taste of Kristina.
First I’ve Got To
Get out the front door without
someone stopping me. One excuse
comes easily to mind. I locate
my keys and the money Dad gave
me and don’t even stop to brush
my teeth or hair. [Ugly picture!]
I hear everyone in the kitchen.
Perfect. “I’ll be right back,” I call,
stowing the excuse for later.
I go straight for my car, jam
the key into the ignition, and as
I back out, I notice Mom at
the door, hands on hips. Her lips
are moving, but I wave and keep
going. Within a quarter mile
my cell rings. Caller ID says it’s
Mom, and I consider letting
it go to voice mail. Better not.
“Hi, Mom. Yes, I know I was rude.
Yes, I’m grateful Leigh volunteered
to get up with Hunter. Yes, I know
we’ve got lots to do today. Yes, I
understand how important tomorrow
is. Where am I going?” [Thought
she’d never ask!] “I woke up
majorly on the rag and out of
tampons. Had to get some ASAP.”
She mentions the obvious—
that she has a box in her
bathroom. Couldn’t I have
asked instead of taking
off like a bandit in the night?
“Heh-heh, yeah, I suppose
I could have, huh? Sorry for
my breath and, lucky me,
she goes for it, hook, line, and
bobber. (I hate sinkers. My
bait always gets stuck in
the muck when I use them.)
Anyway, I shouldn’t waste
a lot of time doing blow
with Grade E. He’s parked
at the far end of the parking
lot. And guess what.
He’s not alone. From
a distance I can see
two guys, bobbing heads.
They’re doing toot, and it
looks to me like they’re
doing it the old-fashioned
way—with a straw and mirror.
Wonder whose crank
they’re snorting. Wonder
how short the ball will
be. [The two-hundred-dollar
price tag makes sense now.
We’re getting street crank,
not ice.] Wonder how cut
it will be. I pull into a near
parking spot, and when I do,
the face that jumps into view
makes me forget about every
question I had only seconds
before. He’s dark
and cute and he looks like Hunter.
It’s Brendan, and I want to puke.
But I Can’t Puke
I can’t
turn and run and
I can’t
look weak and
I can’t
even get nasty until the
deal
is done.
Brendan flashes a smile laced
with
evil. I can’t stand him. I despise
him.
And now I have to look
him in the eye?
I won’t
give him the satisfaction of turning away.
I won’t
get in his face, or out of his face.
I won’t
give up my secret.
No, I will never,
ever,
not in a billion years,
confess
the unimaginable result
of his despicable act,
that
it created beauty.
Will never confess that
my son
[can evil be genetic?]
is his son.
I Had Hoped
Never to see Brendan again,
but I guess it just goes to show
that
as much as Reno has grown,
it’s still a compact city. And just
my luck, Brendan still lives in it.
I’ll take the high road and if
the low road seems necessary,
I’ll let Bree get behind the wheel.
One thing for certain, though,
I’m not getting into Grady’s car.
I roll down my window; Brendan
does likewise and I speak past him.
“Hey, Grady. Thanks for waiting.
Come over here, will you please?
I’d rather handle this in private.”
Aren’t you going to say hi?
Each of Brendan’s words is
a stab. I heard you had a baby.
Deep stabs, severing arteries.
You look good, anyway.
Ever chivalrous, that would be
Brendan. “Hi, Brendan. Yes,
I had a baby. And you look
exactly the same. Grady,
will you please come here?”
Grade E obliges. I shut my
window, turn my back on
Brendan. [Why didn’t you do
that before?] Bree? Lecturing
me? Am I totally schizo or what?
The Worst Thing Is
Brendan knows I’m back in the monster’s snare.
And what a coincidence. [Coin cide is two