Page 8 of Strangely Normal

I tossed my duffle into the back seat and climbed in to the front. “Is that a new noise? I’ve never heard it before.”

“Nah, she’s just cold.” Dad patted the dashboard that was split open in four places and hardly resembled a dash anymore. “She’ll be fine.” He looked at me. “Are you ready?”

“As ever.”

Early June in California meant a morning of fog that would eventually dissolve into hazy sunshine. The mist was just beginning to lift, and the blue sky was breaking through. Even though it was Saturday, the freeway was packed tightly like a can of car sardines.

“Ahh, L.A., the traffic capital of the world,” Dad sighed. The van chugged along the freeway as if we were dragging a load of bricks behind us. The CD player hadn’t worked when we’d first bought the van from the weasley-faced car salesman, but Dad had managed to get it working with the help of a paper clip. Naturally, we listened to Black Thunder. They were a bit too heavy metal and rock and roll for me but then Black Thunder was before my time.

As usual, Dad drummed his fingers on the steering wheel keeping beat with the song. Occasionally, he used his knee to steer so that he could use both hands on his imaginary drum set. After a few minutes of his drum solo, he reached forward and turned down the volume. “You know, Edie, if you get any bad feeling about this once you get there—”

“I know, Dad. Mom already gave me the call right away talk.”

“Good. Just remember.”

“Dad, I plan to send the money home for you—”

“Oh no you don’t, kiddo. That is your money. You can deposit it right into that savings account Grandma left you.” As desperate as my parents always were for money, they’d never touched the two hundred dollars my grandmother had left me before she died.

“I want you to use it for Sophie and Janie. You can’t say no when it’s for them.”

“Janie and Sophie will be fine. Save it for college. Besides, I’ve got a few good prospects coming my way.” My dad always had a few good prospects but a dismal few good offers.

He grew silent. The only sound was the occasional cough from the engine and Nicky King belting out the words to his hit song,Angel Tears.

“You know, Edie, I haven’t been the world’s best dad.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“No, seriously. I know I’ve made some mistakes, and I haven’t provided very well for you.”

“Dad, remember that time we found that old bike in the dumpster and you spent the whole afternoon teaching me to ride two wheels? And I took off but I didn’t know how to break.”

“How could I forget it? I got my first gray hairs that day. And I was only twenty- three.”

“After I crashed into the side of the parked car, I was stunned and sore, but I didn’t cry until I saw your face. You looked so freaked out when you picked me up that it scared the hell out of me.”

“Nearly dropped dead from a heart attack right then and there.”

“Exactly. That’s because you are a good dad. A good dad would be scared shitless watching his kid ride full speed into the side of a car. It didn’t matter that we’d pulled the bike out of the trash, what mattered was that you were worried that I’d hurt myself.”

Silence surrounded us again and then he spoke. “You know I’m damn proud of you, don’t you, Eden?”

“Yeah, I do. And that’s another reason you’re a great dad.”

The freeway opened up eventually and our crummy van rolled into Beverly Hills looking ridiculously out of place amongst the Corvettes and Porsches. The houses, or more appropriately, the mansions, looked like small cities with dark green lawns and manicured shrubs and trees.

Dad smiled over at me. “We’re almost there. Are you nervous?”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t. I just hope they like me.”

Dad held the piece of paper with directions in one hand as he steered the van down a long, shady street. He turned right up another long street lined with purple jacaranda trees.

I took hold of the directions. “What street is this?”

“This is the driveway.”

“Oh.” My mouth went dry and my stomach fluttered as if butterflies were doing an Irish river dance inside of it. We pulled up to massive black gates. In the distance, I could see an imposing mansion that looked more like a series of well-matched buildings rather than a home. The fountain out front looked larger than our entire apartment. “It looks like an English Castle.”

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