Free Pretending Normal by Mary Campisi Page A

minutes while he read every word of fine print on those bi-fold flyers you’re supposed to hand out to all donors. Like anyone other than Mr. O’Grady ever read them. And, Nina said his feet were stuffed in lamb’s wool and smelled like rotten cabbage. Gross.
    “When does she want me to start?” As if I have a choice.
    “I told her you’d be over tomorrow morning, around nine.”
    “Fine.”
    “She said come see her when you turn sixteen and she’ll teach you to drive.” When I don’t answer, he adds, “Unless you’re not interested.”
    “Oh, no,” I say. “I’m… that’s great.” I just don’t want to smell cabbage feet.
    He salutes me with his glass , and I hear the clink of ice, watch his adam’s apple move as he swallows, a long steady pull, draining the Cutty Sark to less than one third.
    “Thank you,” I manage.  
    His mouth lifts at the corners and he holds out his arm. “Come here, kiddo.”
    It is odd and uncomfortable as he pulls me against his chest, his voice scratchy. “That’s my girl. Your old man will take care of you.” He smells of car paste and Cutty Sark laced with Camel’s. “You know that, don’t you?”
    I nod. “Sure.”
    “Good.” He squeezes my right arm, releases me, his hand dropping to his side. For one insane half-second, I want him to hug me to him again, tell me he loves me, like a real father would do, and that he is going to try very hard to stop screwing up. Instead, he clears his throat and I inch back farther, and farther still, until the distance between us is safe. He doesn’t seem to notice the awkwardness that brushes over us, past us, as we settle our faces back into place. “You know I’d teach you myself if I wasn’t working all day.”
    “I know.”
    “By the time I got home, it would be four o’clock. That’s just too damn late.”
    “It’s okay.”
    He looks up at me then, his silver eyes bright. “It’s not like I’m not going to pay Peck to teach you. She charges three fifty a shot.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Ten times on the road, that’s thirty-five dollars.”
    “I appreciate it.”
    He scratches his head. “That’s not even counting car insurance.” His fingers move down to the stubble on the side of his cheek. “I’d sure as hell save a lot of money if I made you wait until you’re twenty.”
    He is going to change his mind . I look away. Why can’t just one thing go right for me?
    “Sara?”
    “Yes?” I drag my gaze to his, narrowing my eyes so he won’t see the tears.
    “What the hell. Peck will be a good teacher.”
    “Thank you,” I say. And mean it.
    He smiles then, and his voice is rough. “You get that license and we’ll take this baby out.” He pats the hood of the Chevy. “I’ll let you drive, too.”
    “That would be great.”
    “Peck can show you the road and teach you the basics, but I’ll give you the lessons people forget, the simple ones that can cost your life.” He waits for me to nod, then goes on, “Take something as simple as a car in a garage. No big deal, right? Right. Unless, the car is on and the garage door is closed.” He picks up his glass, takes a quick swig. “Then what happens?”
    “You get carbon monoxide poisoning.”
    “You die,” he corrects. “When you say it the way you do, it sounds like all you have to do is take a pill or get to an emergency room and you’ll be fine.” He waves a beefy finger at me. “The truth is, you die. Too late for the hospital. By the time somebody finds you, you’re dead.”
    “That’s horrible.”
    He shrugs. “If you don’t mean to do it, it is. But some people want to die that way. They go to sleep and then they’re dead.”
    How can he talk about people killing themselves as though it were acceptable, even natural? “I’m sorry, I still think it’s horrible,” I say.
    “It’s only horrible if you don’t mean to do it and it happens by mistake. But for the ones who want to be done, it’s peaceful, like falling