Page 31 of The Dysfunctional Family's Guide to Murder
“Andy.”
“Too far, I know.”
Dad and Aunty Vinka trudge inside, and Dylan and I sit back from the window.
“Was that worth waking you up for?”
It was, but why would I let him know that when his ego is already so very robust? Instead I ask the question he dodged earlier. “Why did you come up here anyway? You never said.”
Dylan shakes his head, uncrossing and crossing his long legs awkwardly, an adolescent Bambi. “I went for a walk and called Lisa.”
“About Paul What’s-his-face?” Why am I pretending I can’t remember his name? On my deathbed I’ll remember the name Paul Rainbow.
“She said we should talk when I’m home. I think you were right.”
“Oh,” I say. Then: “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I guess things have been a bit crap for a—” Dylan stops talking.
“What?” But then I hear it too: tires on the driveway. I look out the window. Then, without waiting to see if Dylan is behind me, I run out of the room and down the stairs.
Everyone else is outside when I skid to a stop behind Dad to stare at the same thing they are: the car pulling in beside the house. Our car. The engine cuts off. The driver’s door opens and Shippy, a little red in the face and chapped on the lips, getsout.
“Hey, guys,” he says. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.”
Then the passenger-side door opens.
11
Shippy’s back, but he’s notalone. I guess I gave that away already. The guy climbing out of the car is tall, skinny, and maybe around the same age as Shippy. I don’t know, once grown-ups hit thirty, they all start to look the same to me until they make it to fifty.
“Hi, I’m Rob.”
Social conditioning coaxes ahiorheyback from each of us, all too polite to say what we’re really thinking, which is some combination of (a)Who are you? (b)Why are you here? (c)Where has Shippy been this whole time? and (d)Do you know you’ve got a bit of something green in your teeth?
Aunty Bec is first with the hugs, arms snaking around Shippy despite several pretty suspect stains on his T-shirt. She’s last with the hugs too, because nobody else goes in forone.
“Where have you been?”
“This is Rob,” Shippy says unnecessarily. Then, when nobody says anything, he adds: “What are you all doing outhere?”
Dad does an actual facepalm, something I thought was reserved for emojis.
“Why don’t we all go in for some tea,” Aunty Bec says in a voice that would make me want to change my name and move to Bali if I was Shippy.
“Lovely place,” Rob says politely as we’re herded into the living room. “Do you all live here? How many acres is this? Do you run cattle?” Nobody answers this slightly frenetic and frankly pretty weird jumble of questions. Rob and Shippy take a seat on the most comfortable couch, flanked by Aunty Bec, who keeps looking at Shippy like she thinks he might disappear again and she’s not sure whether to hope for it.
It’s a nice novelty to witness Dad’s anger without being the target of it. I’m not a teenager who gets into serious trouble—I’ve never had detention and I’d have to have sex before teen pregnancy became an issue—but I’m still pretty much constantly getting told off for some minor infraction, from failing to stack my bowl correctly in the dishwasher (I know what you’re thinking and the answer isI have no idea) to reading too late in bed. (Aren’t parents supposed to be catatonic with joy if their kid puts down their phone long enough to read an actual book?) Dylan perches on the arm of my chair and tilts in.
“Who’s Rob?” he whispers, as though I’ve been privy to a briefing session he blinked and missed.
“I don’t know him,” I whisper, but too loudly, because the room goes silent just as I say it. Nobody says anything, but Dad covers a laugh with his hand, Rob’s ears go sunset pink, and I die of embarrassment (so you should know that the rest of this is being narrated by my ghost).
“So,” Aunty Bec says, coaxing a sentence from that one word. “What the hell?”
“I know,” Shippy says, grinning like he doesn’t realize everyone in this room was within touching distance of ratting him out to the cops as a possible murderer half an hour ago. “Crazy day, right?”
“Where. Have. You. Been.” Aunty Bec articulates each word like a series of slaps, and only now does Shippy realize how seriously the vibe is off.
