I was walking a little ahead of Dad and Uncle Charlie, mostly because I didn't want to be seen with a grown man mumbling about his face being numb.
"I can't feel my face, Charwie," Dad said, voice slurred.
"You just had two wisdom teeth pulled," Charlie said, holding him steady. "What'd you expect, champagne and karaoke?"
The sound of glass shattering. Loud and close.
I turned around just in time to see a woman—wild curls, denim jacket, boots—standing on the hood of a car with a baseball bat in hand. She smashed the windshield like she was born for it.
"Well... that's something," I muttered.
Dad pointed. "Look at that."
Charlie tilted his head. "That is a very sexy woman."
"Reawly?" Dad said, blinking. "That arouses you?"
Charlie stepped forward, grinning. "How you doing?" he called out.
The woman looked over and smiled like she was at a garden party. "Hey!" she said brightly.
Then she turned and shattered the passenger window.
"Charwie. Walk away," Dad said, dead serious.
I squinted at the scene. "This time... I might actually agree with Dad."
Charlie waved us off. "Relax. This could be interesting."
I watched as she casually hopped down from the hood, strolled over, and started smashing side mirrors. Then she spun around and took out the taillights like she was in a demolition ballet.
"Is that your car?" Charlie asked.
The woman looked at him like he was the crazy one. "Do I look like a crazy person to you?"
I crossed my arms. "Nooo, why would we ever think that?"
Then shattered the rear window.
"So whose car is it?" Charlie asked. "Cheating boyfriend?"
"No. Psychiatrist." She slammed the bat into the trunk for punctuation.
"Ah. Now it all checks out," I deadpanned.
Then she casually handed the bat to Charlie. "Hold this for a sec, will you?"
And like the gentleman he is, he did.
She crouched, pulled a key out of her pocket, and started deflating one of the tires.
Dad, still wobbly, walked over and lightly kicked the front tire. "Don't these cars have alarms?"
The moment he said it—WEEE-OOO-WEEE-OOO! The car lit up like a Christmas tree.
I looked at him. "Congrats, Dad."
His eyes widened. "Okay, we need to go. Now."
Charlie glanced down at the bat in his hands. "Do I look like an accomplice right now?"
"Legally? Definitely," I said.
We were already backing away when the woman called out, "Hey! You're not just going to leave me here, are you?"
Cut to: all four of us crammed in Charlie's car.
I was rolling my eyes in the back seat, arms crossed.
The woman—Frankie, she'd told us—was in the back seat with me, completely unbothered.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle rattling with pills. "Antidepressants, tranquilizers, sleeping pills," she said casually. "You want any of these?"
"Hey, tranquilizers and sleeping pills might actually help with these two sometimes," I said, nodding toward the opposite seats.
Without missing a beat, Frankie rolled down the window and chucked the whole bottle out.
Dad gasped. "You can't just throw medication into the street!"
She shrugged. "I gotta say, I really appreciate this, guys."
Charlie, still driving like none of this was weird: "No problem."
Dad, grumbling: "Big problem."
Me: "Not my problem."
A quiet beat passed. Then Dad asked, "So, where exactly should we drop you off?"
The woman glanced out the window, then leaned her head back. "Honestly? I don't really have anywhere to stay right now."
She turned to Charlie with a half-smile. "You don't happen to know a place, do you?"
Ten minutes later, we pulled into Uncle Charlie's beach house.
Frankie hopped out, looked around, and said, "Great house. Oh wow, you're right on the beach."
Then she started taking off her jacket. And her boots. Then her jeans.
Dad grabbed Charlie by the sleeve. "She's taking off her clothes."
Charlie, smiling like a kid on Christmas: "Is this a great country or what?"
I smirked. "Okay... now it was kind of worth it."
Just then, Judith's car pulled up.
She stepped out, sunglasses on, looking like she already regretted her decision to come.
"Right on time, Mom," I said.
I was about to head out, but paused. "I just need to grab something real quick."
While I ran inside, Judith took a cautious step in—just in time to spot a woman's high heel in the hallway.
She held it up like it was evidence. "What is this doing here?"
Dad panicked. "It's not what it looks like—well, okay, yes it is, but—"
"Tell Charlie he's a pig," she said flatly, and handed the shoe to Dad.
I came back a few seconds later.
"All good?" she asked as we headed to her car.
"Yeah," I said. "Just locked the bedroom door."
Judith raised an eyebrow but didn't question it.
The next day, Mom was driving me back to Charlie's house. The car ride was mostly silent—one of those "I'm not mad, just processing" silences.
We pulled into the driveway, and she came up to the door with me.
I heard raised voices inside. Mostly one voice.
The door flew open. Frankie stood there, phone to her ear, voice raised.
"You can take your damn money, and stick it up your white bread, country club, Tournament of Roses, liposuctioned ass!"
She lowered the phone a little, flashed a sweet smile at my mom, and said, "Hi."
Judith blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Hi," she said, giving me a quick hug.
Frankie raised a finger—hold on a second—and snapped back into the phone. "Really? I'm garbage?"
"Is Alan here?" Mom asked, still unsure what universe she'd just walked into.
"Yeah," Frankie said, pointing toward the kitchen without missing a beat. "Well, I got news for you, lady—the term is white trash!"
Mom turned to me, eyebrows raised. "Do you know her?"
"Noope, that's a new one," I lied smoothly. Better not to mention the whole baseball bat incident.
"Hi, Dad," I said as we stepped inside the kitchen
A little girl slid off the edge of one of the chairs. She had blown eyes and a bob haircut, and before stepping forward, she did this little hair flip with her fingers. Then she walked straight toward me, stuck out her hand, and said with a big smile, "Hi, I'm Joanie."
I turned slowly toward Charlie and Dad with a deadpan glare. "They're getting younger."