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“Yes. Why would you think otherwise?”
“I’m—not confident.”
“I would describe you as careful. And given that you’re driving on the wrong side of the road and sitting on the wrong side of the car in a country unfamiliar to you, I have reason to be grateful for that. The last thing I would want is some cavalier individual who harbors a secret desire to become a racing driver. Do you want to tell me why you took a job driving, when you hate driving?”
“I never said I hated driving.”
“Martha—” Kathleen was gentle “—we are spending the next few weeks in extraordinarily close quarters. It would be exhausting to keep up an act. It’s important that I understand you.”
She didn’t need, or want, Martha to understand her.
Martha tipped her head back against the seat. “You’re right. I hate driving. I find it terrifying. And I failed my test five times although in my defense I have to tell you that the last time was not my fault. And if you’d asked me outright I would have told you—I’m not a liar—but you didn’t ask so I decided not to tell you. Because I needed the job. And you seemed like a nice person. And also, you’re right—I was desperate.” The words tumbled out and left her slumped and miserable. “Are you going to fire me?”
“Why would I fire you? How would I then continue on Route 66? I can no longer drive, and my physical condition won’t allow me to push the car.”
“You could find someone else.”
“I want a driver exactly like you.”
Martha’s eyes were brimming with tears. “Rubbish, you mean?”
“There is no problem with your driving, my dear, only your confidence levels.”
Martha rummaged in her bag for a tissue. “Confidence comes from achieving something, and I’ve never achieved much. I’m a bit of a disaster.”
That emotional confession made Kathleen’s skin prickle.
If her hips weren’t so painful she might have run from the car. She’d never been one of those people who knew exactly what to say when someone was upset, so she took the bracing approach. “Nonsense. Confidence comes from knowing your own worth. From liking who you are. You’re kind, funny, smart, warm and obviously loyal. On top of that you clearly had the sense to remove yourself from the path of a scoundrel, which also makes you a woman of good judgment.”
Martha blew her nose hard. “I should have shown that judgment a lot sooner.”
“Had you known him long?”
“The scoundrel? Yes, we met at school. Dated on and off
. I should have paid more attention to the off parts instead of marrying him.” She mangled the tissue. “How could I have been so stupid?”
“You were hopeful. Optimistic. Both admirable traits.” She could have been describing herself. “It’s your husband who keeps calling?”
“Ex-husband.” Martha nibbled the side of her nail. “Shocking, right? I’m twenty-five and I have no college degree, no place to live of my own and no job but I do have an ex-husband. My mother says the only thing I’m good at is giving up.”
Kathleen’s opinion of her own parental performance was improving by the minute. “You do have a job. You have this job. For the foreseeable future you also have somewhere to live.” She might not be the best at emotional support, but she was excellent at delivering practical help. “I fail to see how a college degree or similar would aid you in your current situation. How long were you married?”
Martha reached into the back of the car for her bag, tugging it between the seats so violently that she almost removed the strap. “Not long.”
The girl was clearly raw and angry and Kathleen felt a rush of sympathy.
“Are we talking months or years?”
“I left him after four days, after I found him in bed with someone. I’m a terrible cliché.”
The pain was unexpected. It tore through her, ripping at wounds that had taken decades to heal, opening up a part of her life she’d tried to forget.
She had to remind herself that this was about poor Martha, not her.
Martha glanced at her. “The divorce came through a few weeks ago.”
Say something, Kathleen. Say something.
