Page 74 of And Still Her Voice
“I’m so sorry you have to go through all that. That would explain you being such a strange kid.”
“And what’s your excuse?” I asked, braiding my hair that had been whipping around with the windows rolled down.
“You look like a red-haired Pocahontas,” she said.
“And you look like a bleached blonde Dolores del Rio.”
She laughed. “With my new hair color, the cops leave us alone when we’re cruising Whittier Boulevard, except the one I ended up dating. You know what they say about a man in uniform. Anyway, it didn’t last. Are you dating anyone?”
“No.”
“Ah, come on. No one in the band?”
“Especially no one in the band.”
She side-eyed me. “So then maybe you’ll go cruising with me one of these nights, since I lost my partner in crime.”
“The cop?”
“No, Patty, who by the way is pregnant.”
“What! She’s only sixteen. Who’s the father?”
“It’s all just breaking news. She’s about four months along. His name is Alan Duncan. He’s a senior over at Glendale High, wants to be a professional surfer. We haven’t met him, yet. They were all set to get married and drive to Vegas when Dad suddenly interrupted their plans.”
As we headed north on Brand Avenue across Colorado Street, Maggie told me how Patty had recently moved in with Alan and his mother, a recent divorcee. I’m sure Mom was mortified, citing all the metaphors she could think of: putting the cart before the horse; why buy the milk when you can get the cow for free? Sin verguenza.
“Patty was her last hope of having one of her daughters take care of her in old age,” Maggie said.
“But there’s still Josie and Michael.”
“She says she’ll be dead by then.”
“Right, she’s going to outlive all of us. How’s Patty feeling anyway?”
“Pretty good. No morning sickness, really. She’s starting to show. If we had time we could stop by and see her, but we’ll see her tomorrow.”
North Verdugo Road split off onto Canada Boulevard. “Where are we going?”
“I want to stop by the house to pick something out for Dad to wear.”
“What!?” I panicked. “I thought it was going to be a closed casket.”
“It is. But he can’t go into the next world all naked.”
I laughed nervously. “No, just missing half his face. So, you think he’s been hanging around waiting for his clothes? He came into this world buck naked, for God’s sake.”
Both hands firmly positioned at ten and two, Maggie stared ahead. “Anyway, Mom wants him to wear a suit. The one they were married in.”
The two things Dad hated in this world, and probably the next, were suits and church, both things Mom had insisted he get on board with.
We pulled up to the place that looked so much smaller than what I remembered. Above the roof of a Tudor-style mini mansion, the sun melted like yellow butter onto the amber hills of Verdugo. Shades of pastel streaked the evening sky as the Santa Anas whistled through the canyon. Beyond the border of river rocks, a desert full of tumbleweeds took over what used to be the front lawn. A push mower off to the right side of the house looked like it didn’t have the strength to make it back to the garage. The place appeared to be even more dilapidated, the screens missing on the windows, the shutters hanging on like loose teeth.
Grandma Phoebe spoke up in her smoky voice. “For shame. We worked so hard to keep this home. I fought even harder to keep it nice for the generations to come.”
“Is that you or Grandma talking now?” Maggie asked.
I pursed my lips before speaking and raised an index finger. “You’d think she didn’t care about such things, but remember, there’s still a part of her consciousness that is stuck in this world. It’s like she’s got one foot in this place and one foot in the other.”
