Fallout

  know me? Would she try

  harder to break down the wall

  if I radiate more gold flecks?

  Will I ever find

  the courage to storm

  the wall myself? What do

  I mean to my mother? Why

  can’t I open my mouth and ask?

  Summer

  BEEN THINKING

  So much about where I might

  be going, I’ve kind of neglected

  thinking about where I came from.

  Wonder how Christmas was for Ashante.

  Did Santa visit? Does she still believe,

  despite having her innocence stolen?

  What about Simone? Did Bear and Blonde

  deliver? How about Eliana and Rosa,

  sisters who I never really got to know.

  Sisters missing their mother. At least

  they have each other. And now that I have

  a sister, will we have each other too?

  We will not, I predict, ever have a mom,

  not the kind who we’ll sit down at dinner

  with. Except for on holidays, that is.

  I wish Kyle were here to share this

  holiday dinner. Wonder what hospital

  turkey is like. Wonder if he is lonely.

  NOT MUCH ROOM

  For loneliness here.

  The table is heaped

  with food, surrounded

  by four generations

  of family. It’s sensory

  detail, maxed. Perfume

  of Christmas feast.

  Assorted flavors, blended

  with conversation.

  Swelling. Fading. Swelling.

  Loud. Soft. Loud. Silent.

  In those scant moments

  of silence, reflection.

  Live-wire tension. You

  can feel it building.

  Something wants to blow.

  You can see it, anxious,

  in the lift of shoulders.

  You can hear it whine.

  Implosion imminent.

  WHAT LIGHTS THE FUSE

  Is an innocent question.

  When are we going home?

  asks David. Conversation brakes.

  Everyone looks at Kristina,

  who doesn’t answer right away.

  Finally she says, I don’t know.

  Donald stands, clenching

  his fists. Fine by me. Who

  wants to live with you, anyway?

  He slams his chair back

  into the wall, rattling dishes.

  Then he stalks off into the other

  room. Grandpa Scott says,

  Excuse me, and follows,

  leaving all eyes on Kristina.

  I can’t go back to our old place,

  she says. Ron knows where it is.

  Why is everyone so mad at me?

  I think about chiming in, and

  so does Grandma Marie. But

  it is Hunter who opens his mouth.

  Hunter

  MAYBE IT’S THE EGGNOG

  I had a couple, heavily spiked,

  before we sat down to dinner.

  Maybe it’s just Kristina’s wide-

  eyed pretense of innocence.

  Whatever it is, I’ve had enough

  of her acting like she gives a shit

  about anyone but herself. “Look

  at us, Kristina. I mean, take a few

  minutes of your precious time

  and really look at what you’ve done.”

  My voice amplifies with each word.

  “Every one of us at this table has

  been hurt by you. Some of us have

  been crushed—no, annihilated,

  and all because of you loving yourself

  best of all….” Nikki rests her hand

  on mine. I stop, not for Kristina’s sake,

  but because Nikki wants me to.

  Autumn

  HUNTER’S OUTBURST

  Is completely unexpected.

  The sound of yelling, so close

  to me, jump-starts the race

  of my heart. My fingers go numb.

  I close my eyes. Concentrate

  on my breathing. Deep in. Hold.

  Trickle out. Deep in. Hold …

  Nobody notices. Good.

  Eyes still clamped shut, I hear

  Kristina respond. You’re wrong.

  I don’t love myself at all. In fact,

  I can hardly look at myself

  in the mirror some days. Don’t

  you think I know what I’ve done?

  It’s not that I don’t care. But

  I can’t change anything now.

  Heart still too quick, but slowing,

  I open my eyes just in time

  to see Kristina’s tough facade

  crumble and fall away with the words …

  Summer

  I’M SORRY

  That’s what Kristina says.

  We all look at her as if we haven’t

  quite heard her correctly.

  But she repeats, I’m so sorry.

  I never wanted to be a bad mother.

  Maybe that’s why I kept on

  trying, kept on begging for another

  chance to finally do it right. But I

  don’t have the skills, don’t have—

  “Don’t you dare say it!” I yell.

  “Don’t say you don’t have

  the resources. You do, or

  you could have. All you had

  to do was ask for help.” Anger

  oozes like blood from my pores.

  Her anger is greater. No! she

  shouts. You don’t understand.

  I can’t ask for help from people

  I turned my back on. People

  I stole from. Lied to. Hurt.

  People whose love I threw away.

  Hunter

  KRISTINA IS OUT OF WORDS

  Good thing, because

  that’s all they are. Words

  without conviction

  have no meaning.

  I look

  down the long table,

  past turkey carcass and half-

  eaten pie, and ignoring

  the shock-iced eyes that stare

  at her,

  I measure her lowered

  gaze, the foreign

  language of her body.

  And I

  find

  in the cold iron set

  of her shoulders,

  the boulders of her fists,

  defiance.

  Apology without regret.

  The desire to challenge,

  still. And, obvious through

  a red haze of my own,

  anger.

  Autumn

  KRISTINA IS OUT OF STEAM

  I can’t help but feel sorry

  for her. She is a bird,

  too broken to fly.

  I look

  across the granite width

  of table, beyond crystal

  glassware and cloth napkins.

  Notice the way Trey smiles

  at her,

  as if telling her she has said

  exactly the right thing. But

  Hunter is not swayed. Summer,

  too, seems unconvinced.

  And I

  find

  in Kristina’s refusal to meet

  anyone’s eyes, in her knuckles

  that tap without rhythm,

  fear.

  And in the way she hugs

  her secrets close, like I must

  continue to hold on to mine

  for a while longer yet,

  deception.

  Summer

  KRISTINA IS OUT OF EXCUSES

  I know that’s what Grandpa

  Scott would say, and the rest

  of us would no doubt agree.

  My mom has said enough.

  I look

  to my rig
ht, where Leigh

  sits, drop-jawed, gawking

  at her

  sister, as if she’s never seen

  her before. On my left, Autumn

  seems lost in some obscure

  distraction. Wonder where

  her thoughts have wandered.

  And I

  find

  in the tears that drop from

  my mother’s eyes into puddles

  on her dinner plate,

  doubt.

  A growing desire to escape

  the confines of this house,

  no longer her home, by

  her own design. And in that,

  loneliness.

  Hunter, Autumn, Summer

  I HOPE FOR

  Trust. Joy.

  Courage. Honesty.

  Belief. Belonging.

  Attaining these

  things may not

  come easily.

  Because, look

  very long at

  Kristina, I see

  me

  me

  me.

  PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

  The release of Marie Haskins’s and Kristina Shepherd’s highly anticipated mother/daughter memoir, Monster, was yesterday put on indefinite hold.

  “We felt it was appropriate to wait until Kristina’s current round of chemotherapy has been completed,” said Haskins, whose novels Crank, Glass, and Fallout offer a fictionalized account of Shepherd’s twenty-year battle with methamphetamine addiction.

  Shepherd said in June of the memoir project, “We want to fill in the blanks, not only for my mother’s readers, but also for my children, who still might not have all the answers they need.”

  All five of Shepherd’s children currently reside with Haskins.

  Shepherd, who reunited with her husband, Trey, after a fifteen-year separation, has recently undergone radical treatment for lung cancer. “The prognosis is about as good as you could hope for,” Shepherd said. “I throw it out there to the universe, pray God is listening and that he hasn’t given up on me.”

  Author’s Note

  This is the third and final part of the saga begun in my first novel, Crank. When that book released in October 2004, I could not have predicted its phenomenal success. The story in Crank, and in its sequel, Glass, is shared by many. But even those whose lives have never been touched by this particular monster are drawn to Kristina. Despite her many flaws, they come to care about her and her family. Especially her children.

  Originally, I never planned a sequel to Crank. But readers demanded more of Kristina’s story. I could probably write ten books about her fall from grace, but series often degrade over time, and I don’t want to give my readers progressively weaker books. Rather, I wanted the final Kristina book to be the most powerful of the three. And I believe I’ve done that with Fallout.

  The book is written from the points of view of her three oldest children, now teens in the book, and dealing with their own lives, which have been shaped by the choices she made when she was their age. At the time I pen this description, the real “Hunter” is thirteen, but I write him at nineteen in Fallout. Which means I’ve written the future. Please remember it’s only one possible future, created from how I see these children’s lives now. And also please remember that, while these books are rooted in our real life, they are to a large degree fiction.

  I chose to pull out of Kristina’s point of view, into her children’s to give them a voice, and to give voice to my readers who struggle with their own parents’ addictions. There are many. I also believe the ultimate hope of these stories lies here, with the generation that can choose to break this cycle. You will get “the rest of Kristina’s story,” through different lenses because “the monster” doesn’t only destroy the addict. It tries to destroy everyone who loves him or her. Parents. Children. Partners. Spouses. Friends. If this describes you, take care of yourself first. Get help if you need it. You might find a sense of peace and community in an organization like Al-Anon. Above all, please know, without a doubt, that you are not alone.