“I’ll ride my bike,” I said, though I’d never actually ridden it out of sight of my dad.
“It’s twenty miles to Niobe,” Randy said.
“That’s all right,” I said.
“Your dad wouldn’t like that,” he said, tipping his head back so I could see his eyes.
“Dad’s dead.”
He lowered his head again. “You ever use that shotgun?”
“I know how to,” I said.
“Of course you do,” he said. “I mean, have you ever had to use it?”
“Only had to show it,” I said.
That dumb mustache twitched. “Your dad trained you good, didn’t he?”
I shrugged.
“Your dad asked me to see after you, and I aim to do it. I’m the one he told you to call, so you know you can trust me because your dad did. So I’m going to pick you up for the funeral at one tomorrow. And then after that, I’ll drive you to your dad’s will reading in town.”
Maybe I just wasn’t used to talking to other -people, but Randy seemed really pushy to me. He didn’t ask me, he told me what he was going to do, and it raised my hackles. But twenty miles was too far to bike, and how else would I get to the funeral? My desire to make my own decisions almost made me want to skip the funeral altogether, but I’d go. This would be the last time anyone told me what to do, because I was going to learn to drive. Thinking of that made me feel a little better. I nodded at Randy.
“Good girl. I’ll see you tomorrow at one.” He revved the Ram, backed up in an arc, then put it in first and drove off down the dirt road. Once he was out of sight, I put the zippered cash bag in the lockbox for my boss to pick up, locked the shack, and walked home.
I didn’t know why we had to have a funeral. Who would come? Dad didn’t have any friends. For the last two years he hadn’t gone anywhere or done anything but sit in front of the TV.
Another, more terrifying thought struck me. What if -people showed up? The funerals I’d seen on TV shows were always crowded and stuffy. The thought of being in a place with strangers surrounding me on all sides made my stomach flip. I didn’t know if I could do it, although I’d fantasized about leading a normal life since I was old enough to realize I didn’t have one.
On TV shows the bereaved always have to shake hands with visitors and even hug some of them. After everything my dad had taught me, how was I supposed to be in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers without wondering if they wanted to kill me or rape me? Women didn’t bother me too much; when I was little, Dad had said in the event of an emergency to find a woman with small children and ask her for help. But of course, he said, there were plenty of women who’d helped their men kidnap girls like Elizabeth Smart and Jaycee Dugard and the girl who was in a box under some psycho -couple’s bed for seven years.
Back at home, I had to coax the dogs inside again, but it didn’t take as long as it had the previous day. I switched on the TV and went upstairs to my bedroom. Mine was the master bedroom of the house since it had its own bathroom. Dad had given it to me so he wouldn’t have to get up in the middle the night to let me out to use the toilet. I reached under my mattress and pulled out a spiral notebook I hadn’t cracked open in quite a few years, but it had a list in it I wanted to read. I carried the notebook downstairs and sat at the kitchen table.
I paged to the list and read it out loud. Now that Dad was gone, I wasn’t afraid he’d find out. I could say things out loud that I never dared to when he was alive. The dogs sat next to my chair and listened, cocking their heads every now and then.
“What I would do if I had a normal life,” I said. “One. Move away from Saw Pole. Two. Learn to drive. Three. Go to college. Four. Eat in restaurants. Five. Have friends. Six. Go to a movie in a theater.”
I pictured these things, savored them in my mind, and for the first time almost believed they could happen. The thrill of this thought shot me through with adrenaline, which made me want to run down the road past our house—-my house, now—-but I wasn’t quite ready for that. I read on instead, anticipation and excitement making my voice sound higher.
The next item on my list made my face hot just seeing it, but I soldiered on. “Seven. Fall in love. Eight. Go to New York City.” Number eight also embarrassed me, because I knew Detective Deirdre Walsh and the 51st Precinct weren’t real. But I wanted to go to the place where I’d spent much of my life on TV.
“Nine. Eat junk food.” I took a big breath and let it out. “Ten. Learn to be normal.”
Chapter 5
Friday