Borderland Read Free Page A

bust?"
    "Can't
bust a dead guy. He was one of these jerks who liked to inject it into his
pecker. His girlfriend bought it in the first blast."
    "Oh.
Look, about what Carrie said back there—"
    "Forget
it," Nolan said. "She's history."
    Vic's
mouth curved. "Just like that?"
    "Just
like that for about the last two months. She was a blast until I moved in, then
it was `no, let's stay home and save up for new furniture.' She sent me running
to the store for toilet paper and tampons, and she expected me to fix things
that have been broken since the hope chest opened."
    Vic was
smiling openly now. "Sounds like marriage."
    "I
know," Nolan said with a feigned shudder.
    "You're
what? Thirty-six?" Vic asked.
    "Thirty-five."
    "Okay.
In the last decade you've gone through five roommates and twice that many
girlfriends."
    "So?"
Nolan said.
    "So
when are you going to—"
    "Don't
even ask. I don't want to get married and I don't want to have kids."
    "Why?"
asked a small voice from the back.
    Nolan
glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Andy eyeing the back of his head with a
wary expression.
    "Just
because," he said, wondering how much she'd heard.
    "Is
it because your hair is dirty yellow?"
    Christa
sat up. "That's blond, Andy."
    "I
know what blond is," Andy said immediately. "But his hair is dirty
yellow."
    "No
it isn't. It's blond, just like my teacher, Mrs. Shellhammer. Only hers was
curly."
    "Why
isn't his curly?" Andy asked. "And how come it looks dirty yellow if
it's blond?"
    Nolan
looked at Vic with a pained expression. Vic turned to face the backseat.
"It's just the light in the car, Andy. Why don't you talk about something
else?"
    "He's
embarrassed," Christa whispered to Andy.
    Andy
eyed the back of his head again. "He doesn't want any kids, Christa."
    "Girls
…” Vic warned.
    "When
I grow up I want a boy and a girl," Christa said. "And two dogs and
three cats."
    "Ooh,
kitties," Andy said. "Daddy, will there be any kitties at Grandpa's
house?"
    "I'm
sure we can get one," Vic said absently.
    Andy
turned her attention to Nolan once more. "Do you like kitties, Mr.
Woof?"
    "Wulf,"
Nolan said automatically. Then he glanced at her in the rearview. "I used
to have a cat. A big tom."
    This
caused Andy to reconsider her earlier opinion. "What happened to
him?"
    "He
got sick and died."
    "Hmm,"
Andy said. "Just like Mommy. Mr. Woof, if you and my Daddy are friends,
how come you never came to visit us before?"
    "Andy,
please . . ." Vic said.
    "He
doesn't like kids, remember?" Christa murmured.
    Nolan
cleared his throat loudly. "Just call me Nolan, would you? And I didn't
visit because I worked third shift. When all of you were in bed asleep, I was
at work."
    "Nolan's
a fireman," Vic said.
    "We
know," Christa said in a bored voice. "We heard you talking about how
his hands got burned." She looked at the roof. "Can we take the top
down?"
    "Not
on the highway," Vic said. "It'll blow us away."
    "I'm
thirsty," Andy said. "And I have to go again."
    Nolan
rolled his eyes and started looking for a rest stop.
    They stopped
in Emporia and once again in El Dorado , where Andy lost the contents of her small stomach to the
floorboard of the Buick. Watching Andy throw up made Christa sick, but rather
than use the space in front of her she chose to hang out the window and splatter
the outside of the car. Nolan gritted his teeth and wiped up the mess in the
floorboard while a helpless-looking Vic took care of the outside.
    What
should've been at the most a three-hour drive took four and a half hours. They
reached Wichita around three-thirty and found themselves in a vacation weekend snarl on highway
54 west. In the tiny town of Kingman , Nolan pulled into a gas station and let Vic have the
wheel. His hands and his head were aching. Little girls were more trouble than
he'd ever have believed. They rebounded from nausea with incredible fortitude,
but their bladders were the size of acorns and their tongues worked harder than
the Buick's engine. The