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going,” my dad likes to say, but I don’t think he means it).
    It’s weird to think that someone I just saw could just…not be there all of a sudden.
    Sure, I’ve had kids in class be absent from school and everyone will talk about how they lost a grandparent or an aunt or something, but it’s always been someone else.
    This time it’s me who is sitting in a car, in an uncomfortable suit and tie, going to some lawyer’s office for the reading of the will. The will of the one grown-up who actually seemed to think that the games I play (and am so freaking good at, if I do say so myself) are something more than just a waste of time.
    At least there isn’t going to be any funeral. Great-Uncle Ted specified that he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes sent back to Hawaii.
    It seemed that for most of his life he didn’t want to have anything to do with his family here or there. Except for Mom. Of course.
    Whenever I would ask about him, all Mom would say was “He’s had quite a life and deserves to be left alone in peace.”
    With Mom and Dad talking business up front, I take the time to phone Caleb real quick. Things have been so hectic I haven’t even had a minute to call.
    “Yeah?” He sounds bummed, like he always does at his dad’s over the weekends.
    “How’s it going?”
    “You know…the usual. Dad’s acting all weird, and Gina wants to be my best friend. I hate it here.”
    Gina is Caleb’s father’s second wife.
    “I don’t blame you.”
    “How’s all the stuff with your uncle?”
    “On our way to meet with a lawyer about it now.”
    “Oh, man, good luck.”
    “Thanks, dude, you too. See you Monday?”
    “If I survive the weekend.”
    It’s been so unreal the last few days, any chance to talk with Caleb makes things a little more normal.
    My parents are talking softly in the front seat. I hear my dad say something about how Great-Uncle Ted’s ashes will be buried “in the punch bowl.” This piques my interest.
    Some weird Hawaiian tradition? “Umm…you’re burying Great-Uncle Ted in a punch bowl?”
    My mom laughs. “That’s what they call the national cemetery in Honolulu.”
    “You know your Great-Uncle Ted was a hero, right?” my dad asks.
    Even from the backseat, I can see my mom’s ears turn an interesting shade of red.
    “Uncle Ted fought in the big war. He got a medal and everything,” continues Dad.
    So that’s what he was talking about when he said he killed a lot of men. At least, I hope it was.
    I poke my mom in the arm. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
    “He never liked to talk about it. He used to say it was a long time ago and he wasn’t really a hero and he just wanted to forget it.”
    A silence falls over the car. I look out the window and stare at what could charitably be called “the scenery.” We live in the San Fernando Valley, just over the canyon from what most people think of when they think of “glamorous Los Angeles.”
    On
that
side of the canyon is Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Rodeo Drive.
    On our side are dozens of dinky little suburban places, like La Purisma. Not much different from anywhere else, with people going about their boring lives. The only difference is that we have palm trees. Big whoop.
    It’s kind of like the lunch tables at our middle school. The other side of the canyon is like the cool table, and we’re the kids at the other tables, near enough to see them, but we know we’ll never be invited to join, if you get my drift.
    So La Purisma was named after some famous mission that was here in the early days. It would be cool if it was still here, but it’s long gone. Nowadays people joke that “La Purisma” is Spanish for “strip mall.”
    But we’ve left La Purisma miles back.
    My dad turns the wheel sharply, and all of a sudden we’re turning off into a nasty part of the Valley I’ve never been in before.
    It seems to be made up mostly of manicure salons and gas stations.
    My dad steers the car into a small,