American Life
Beth and her parents met me at the Philadelphia airport on Saturday afternoon, the heat and humidity striking me the instant we stepped into the parking garage. “Ach, why is it always so hot over here?” I groaned. I had noticed it only vaguely on the jetway since I had flown commercial this time.
Onkel Jens gave a mirthless laugh, lugging my two bags that had no wheels toward his car, a Volkswagen Jetta. “It doesn’t start getting better until October,” he reminded me, and I groaned again.
Beth nudged the rolling suitcase that she pulled into mine. “Come on, you know you can just turn yourself into the Snow Queen whenever you want.”
I eyed her in muted annoyance and righted my suitcase. “This isn’t the time to play bumper cars. Some of us have been up since one a.m. your t
