Page 54 of Ice Ice Maybe
“Well, we should get going,” Zena said. “I’m dying for some Nashville fried chicken.”
“Let’s make that happen!” I held the keys in the air toward Mr. Dalton. “You’re driving.”
He looked surprised. “Why?”
I grinned. “Because I want to sit in the back with Zena.”
Mrs. Dalton nodded. “Sounds good to me. I would love to ride shotgun, but are you sure you remember how to drive, dear? The accelerator is the large vertical pedal on the right.”
“Give me those,” Mr. Dalton grumbled, snatching the keys from my hand.
As we piled into the car and he took off driving, I felt like we’d turned a corner, in more ways than one. Still, there was one thing that was bugging me and I needed to say something.
“My grandma drives faster in reverse than you at this moment, Mr. Dalton,” I joked. “Come on, step on it and show us what this baby can do. As your wife says, live a little, but this time follow directions correctly and try not to kill us.”
“Challenge accepted. How’s this?” He punched the accelerator, pushing us all back against our seats.
The speedometer climbed quickly, 80, 90, 100 …
Zena’s hair whipped my face as I regretted my challenge.
Especially when the police siren suddenly wailed behind us.
Chapter Fourteen
Zena
I suspected this day would be full of surprises, but seeing my dad handcuffed and hauled away to jail by a Tennessee State Trooper for being a “super-speeder” was most definitely not on my bingo card. Now, here we were, perched on the edge of uncomfortable plastic chairs in the police station’s waiting area, the air thick with my anxiety and the faint smell of burnt coffee and donuts.
“What’s taking so long?” I asked, my leg bouncing nervously. “They should have released Dad by now.”
Nolan glanced at his watch. “It’s been forty-two minutes.”
“What if they send him to Rikers Island Prison and he becomes some murderer’s boy toy?” I blurted out, my imagination running wild.
Nolan raised an eyebrow. “For speeding?”
“Superspeeding, Nolan! And they might add on reckless driving!” I said. “And don’t forget the expired out-of-state driver’s license.”
“Let’s not start envisioning the worst,” Mom said. “One thing is for sure, he will not be happy when he gets out of there.” She sighed heavily, leaned closer, and whispered so Nolan couldn’t hear. “Just when we were making progress on our relationship, this happened. I have a feeling this will set us back.”
The double doors swung open, and out walked Dad, chortling. His arm was slung casually around the officer as if they were old college buddies. It made no sense whatsoever.
“So there I was,” the officer said, “face to face with this guy wearing nothing but a Batman cape and rubber duck floaties! Turns out he was sleepwalking!” He slapped Dad on his back and they howled like it was the funniest thing ever.
Mom and I exchanged bewildered glances.
Dad was laughing—actually laughing!
The sound was so foreign and unexpected that for a moment I wondered if an alien had inhabited his body. When was the last time I’d heard that rich, rumbling chuckle? My fingers twitched, half tempted to grab my phone and take a video. After all, who would believe me without photographic evidence of this rare phenomenon?
“There they are!” Dad announced, grinning from ear to ear. “I want to introduce you all to Officer Waterman. He’s a transplant from San Diego. He’s also a hockey fan and will be at the game tomorrow night! Anyway, he’s a real stand-up guy with some old-fashioned, honest-to-goodness Tennessee charm and hospitality.”
The officer beamed. “Please, call me Jim. We’re practically family now.”
Dad nudged Jim playfully. “Especially after that strip search! Do I need to tip you for that?”
The two burst into uproarious laughter while the rest of us sat there, jaws practically on the floor. Dad never made jokes. Ever. What the heck was going on here?
