Fallout (Crank 3)

which is to blame. Maybe all three.

You’re not serious, he says. You

can’t take her. I won’t let you.

I want to go over. Give him a hug.

I want to go over. Slap him. Hard.

That’s the indecisive part of me—

well-known. A strange, new take-

charge part jumps in, “Yes, he can.

If I don’t go now, it may never happen.”

Grandfather crumbles. You’re going

to leave me alone on Christmas?

I could thaw if I let myself. But no.

“Austin isn’t so far. Call Aunt Cora.”

My heart flip-flops in my chest. I might

meet my mother. It may very well turn

out all bad, but how else will I know

that? “I’ll go pack some clothes.”

BY THE TIME

My suitcase sits, barely half-full,

by the door, my anger has mostly

subsided. Grandfather slumps,

wounded, in his ratty recliner.

“Did you call Aunt Cora?” I ask

him. When he doesn’t reply,

Trey says, He wouldn’t, so I did.

She said she’s on her way.

Which means we’d better go

before she gets here and tries

to make me change my mind.

She could probably do it.