Roll with the Punches by Amy Gettinger Read Free Book Online Page B

steamed on toward the door, the cane furiously clanking in his other hand. "Damn legs are slow. Damn shoes are too heavy."
    In the lobby, I turned back to Julie, embarrassed to my toenails. "Do you—um—ever refund deposits?"
    Arms folded, Julie shook her head. "There’ll be carpet cleaning, maybe replacement, and tenants' property damage. I'll send a bill."
    At the curb, Fire Plug Guy hefted Dad's bags into my trunk and cracked a grin. "Dude, these are heavy. Got a rhino in here?"
    I closed Dad's car door.
    Fire Plug Guy went on. "He really went agro tonight. When one dude—er—resident, wouldn't take him home, your dad knocked him down with his cane, ran inside the guy's place, grabbed the guy's car keys off his countertop, ran outside and tried them on all the parked cars. The guy's wife called, and I found Harold swearing and hitting the cars with his cane. I thought he was gonna blow out his squeaker. Made some killer dents, though. Sweet."
    "Uh." I slumped into the car. Dad's bad temper was legendary in our family. When I was little, I had run from it and hidden. Later, I had learned how to answer it with a giant door slam of my own.
    Fire Plug Guy grinned into my open window. "You're kind of cute, dude. You like hockey? I got tickets for Saturday.”
    "Sweet," I said. Then I slammed the door and drove away.
    *        *        *
    As we cruised down Chapman Avenue, Dad fiddled in his carryall and produced his blue handicapped parking card, which he hung on my mirror. This card was several years out of date. Mom had custody of the current card somewhere, and they'd finally gotten handicapped plates on his car. But Dad would go nowhere without his navy blue bag and this horrid old card, which had suffered greatly with time. It was covered in Lakers and Looney Tunes stickers and it felt gummy from being handled. Some desperate reader had once cut the bottom corner off it for a bookmark. Well, that was just a private guess on my part, of course. A long family investigation into the crime had never uncovered the true criminal, though many had ventured ideas about how the tiny sliver of plastic could have been used: A toothpick? A lock pick? A poison dart? Obviously not having done it myself, I'd never voiced my bookmark theory.
    I pulled the disgusting thing off my mirror. "I can't see around this, Dad."
    Music Man snatched it from me and hung it back up with a growl.
    I reached to pull it down again and found my hand intercepted with one made of iron. I gave up.
    When I turned left on Chapman, he said, "Wrong way. You take me to the hospital. I gotta see Ethel." The iron hand reached over and grabbed the steering wheel and yanked.
    "Ahhhh!" I screamed as the car made a 180-degree turn across two lanes and then hopped onto the island before I could even start to brake.
    "Jesus Christ!" I panicked, stomping the brake pedal and shoving Dad's hand away. The car had its right wheels up on the island and its left ones in an oncoming lane, and was now reaming out its undercarriage as it bounced and scraped along the curb to a stop. Sparks flew behind us and cars came at us, swerving and honking.
    "Rhonda, your language!" Dad said.
    "What the hell?" I screeched as oncoming drivers yelled at me. With shaking hands and a heart doing the samba, I found a gap in the early morning traffic and slowly maneuvered the car back on even ground and turned it the right way.
    "Jesus Christ, Dad!" We lumbered across three lanes to pull into a gas station, where I sat, gulping air.
    "I want to see Ethel. And you should be more polite."
    Sweaty hair clung to my forehead. "Damn it, Dad! Never do that again! I'm the driver here, and we're staying right here in this gas station until you promise to keep your hands to yourself."
    He looked the other way, arms crossed. "I want to see Ethel."
    I gritted my teeth. "Dad, it's four-frigging-thirty in the god-damn morning and your god-damn pants are all wet." I was afraid mine were, too.