The Secret Life of a Funny Girl Read Free

checkout line.”
    I’m watching him while he’s saying all this and for some strange reason the only thing I can focus on is the colour of Dad’s face. I never really noticed it before, but it’s really red, almost as red as a tomato. His dark hair combed back in a wave, I can see right through it now, it’s gotten so thin. My God, Dad’s starting to look old. I shake my head, appalled at myself. Gran is dead and this is all I can think about? I blink my eyes, try to refocus, try to comprehend.
    â€œBut Dad, this makes no sense. How can someone just collapse and die when they’re not even sick?”
    â€œI don’t know, Maureen. I guess she must have been sick and nobody knew about it, probably not even her. Your mother is very upset, as you can imagine; she was with her. It was quite a shock and then a load of confusion. They paged inside the store for a doctor or nurse and called the ambulance, but it was too late.”
    A little something triggers in my brain. “Mom’s upset?” I ask, studying Dad’s expression. “How upset?”
    He turns and looks at me, eyes weary and dull. “Remember last year when the dog died? Well, she’s like that again, only worse.”
    I nod woodenly. It feels like a big, heavy brick has thudded to the bottom of my stomach. When Trixie died last June—she was chasing cars up Kerry Street and got caught beneath a wheel—everyone felt terrible. Even me, and I never had much to do with Trixie. But Mom, she was beside herself. She couldn’t stop crying and ended up in bed for two days. I know it was sad, but it wasn’t the end of the world and we could always get another dog. But Mom wouldn’t hear a word about another pet, and even now I wouldn’t dare mention Trixie’s name in front of her. I’d be afraid she might start crying again.
    â€œI remember Trixie. I remember she died.”
    The sweet little voice from the back seat makes me jump. Beth-Ann. I’d almost forgotten she was even there. I turn around and just the look of her makes me smile. I know she’s my sister, but is Beth-Ann ever cute. Big blue eyes, as round as two coins. Blonde corkscrews curling around her face—all she needs is a pure white dress and a set of wings. Now, she doesn’t always act angelically, but that’s another story.
    â€œI remember Trixie too,” I say.
    â€œYou know who else died, Bethie?” Dad’s tone is even and gentle and I watch Beth-Ann’s face closely. “Gran did. Gran died this morning and now she’s in heaven with Grandad.”
    Her eyes get even bigger. “Gran died too?” She sounds so surprised. “Why did Gran die too?”
    â€œShe was sick, sweetie. She was sick and she’s gone to heaven. Oh look, Aunt Kay’s at the house.” We’re heading down Kerry Street now and I can see Aunt Kay’s red Volkswagen parked at a crazy angle to the curb. “You like Aunt Kay, don’t you, Bethie?” says Dad, as he pulls the big old Pontiac into the driveway.
    â€œAunt Kay is nice.” Beth-Ann nods, her mind already moving on. “I like Aunt Kay.”
    I sigh deeply. I wish I was six too. I wish I was six and everyone would take care of me and I wouldn’t have to think about Gran dying and Mom being even more upset than when the dog was killed. I kick at the messy slush on the walkway. Why is everything so grey? The shingles on the house, the fog, the dreary low sky.
    I drop my bookbag on the big armchair in the living room. The house feels strange, too dim and quiet. Then I hear low voices coming from the kitchen and I push through the swinging door. Aunt Kay is standing by the stove, the kettle just starting to boil. Aunt Grace is here too, sitting at the kitchen table, thin smoke rising up from the cigarette between her fingers. The room feels very yellow and full of light and too warm. It’s weird, but