Fallout (Crank 3)

The driveway is choked with cars,

lined bumper-to-bumper against

the berms of piled snow. “Did you

do all that shoveling, Grandpa?”

He maneuvers the Lexus carefully.

With a little help from your brothers.

“Brothers? Plural? You actually got

the boys to work?” That’s a surprise.

Believe it or not, Donald has become

quite a good helper. David would still

rather play with the puppy, but he’s

getting better too. Consistency.

We could all use a little of that.

Grandpa noses the SUV against

the garage, and as we exit the car,

the office door opens. “Who’s that?”

The girl is a year or two older than me,

with thick copper hair tumbling loose

to her shoulders. She is not dressed

for snow. I have no idea, Grandpa says.

She stares up into the crackled

blue sky, lost in solitary reverie.

I am connected to her in some

unfathomable way. The door opens

again, and out comes my mom

with some guy I don’t know either.

They light cigarettes, and Grandpa

Scott says in a stiffened voice, Trey.

Everything clicks into place. Trey plus

Kristina equals, “Autumn.” My sister.