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“You are perceptive.”
“I’m good at reading people. And everyone is different, aren’t they? And that’s okay. Nanna used to say that a person had to be allowed to be the way they wanted to be. Some people are chatty, some people are quiet. You can’t change that. Take me for example—” she increased her speed as they headed out of town, shifting the focus of the conversation to herself to give Kathleen some space “—my school reports were all Martha needs to concentrate more and talk less, but what no one gets is that it’s really hard for me to talk less.”
“As I am discovering.”
Martha laughed. “People never tell a quiet person to be noisier—have you ever noticed that? They never say talk more. Or why can’t you be more chatty. But for some reason people have always felt the right to tell me how I could improve myself. It’s annoying, actually.”
“I can imagine the frustration.”
“The weird thing is, I don’t chat that much at home. It’s mostly arguing about who is doing what chores.” She thought about her mother and sister. “I have a lot to say, and no one to say it to. All I get is shut up, Martha. That’s another reason I need to move out. I’m not allowed to be me.”
“You not being you would indeed be a loss to the world.”
Martha felt herself blush and glanced at her companion. “Do you mean that?”
“I may, on occasion, withhold information, but I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean. The point of speech is to communicate clearly.”
Martha focused on the road. “Well, I know I communicate more frequently than the average person, so if you want me to be quiet, say so. Say, Martha, enough! I won’t be offended.”
“Your good nature is a remarkable quality, and it is my good fortune to be traveling with you.”
An expert on identifying sarcasm thanks to long experience with her family, Martha decided that Kathleen meant what she said. A feeling of contentment settled around her. She was used to spending her time around people who constantly tore her down and this was a refreshing change. “Well, I feel lucky to be traveling with you. Go me, I say! Most of my friends are busy this summer—holidays, jobs and stuff—so I was bracing myself for a lonely, miserable summer until I saw your ad for this job.” And her friends had been impressed when she’d told them about it. Less so her family, who seemed incapable of being impressed by anything she did.
“I cannot imagine you being miserable, Martha. And I’m sure someone like you has more friends than there are hours in the day to connect with them.”
Was that true? “Well, I know a lot of people—but friendship is a weird thing, isn’t it? There are friends who would drop everything to help you in a crisis—they’re like gold dust. And then friends who you meet in the pub and you chat about your week but they don’t really have a clue what’s going on in your head, or in your life. I’m not saying that’s not friendship, but it’s a different type of friendship, isn’t it? A good friend can feel like family.” In her case, better than family, but admittedly it was a pretty low bar.
“Yes. A true friend can indeed be like family.” The wistful note in Kathleen’s voice made Martha wonder.
She had a feeling that for all her reticence, Kathleen did want to talk about it. Just because you didn’t find talking easy, didn’t mean you didn’t want to do it. Like everything, it took practice.
She tried a little encouragement, promising herself she’d back off at the first sign of retreat on Kathleen’s part. “After the affair—you and Ruth lost touch?”
Kathleen shifted in her seat. “She wrote to me, but I never opened her letters.”
“I get that. You wanted to keep it in the past. Move on. Not look back. I mean, that’s human. I wish Steven was in the past.” Martha frowned. “But Ruth was your friend, so that had to be tough.”
“It was indeed a trial.” Kathleen’s voice was faint.
“I bet you missed her. But at the same time wanted to kill her. It’s hard when emotions get all mixed up like that. You don’t know what you’re supposed to feel. It’s all wrong, like—like—someone pouring chocolate sauce onto spaghetti Bolognaise. I mean, what even is that? Or like when Nanna dropped her knitting—hard to unravel the mess.”
“I prefer the knitting analogy. I don’t love having my food tampered with.”
“And you were brokenhearted, so that made it even tougher.”
“Indeed. I loved him deeply.”
Martha’s chest ached and she reached out and squeezed Kathleen’s arm. “But you moved on. I can’t tell you how much that inspires me. I was feeling all flimsy and pathetic when I came to your house that day, like a silk shirt that’s been through a hot cycle in the laundry instead of being hand washed—”
“Your analogies are continually intriguing.”
“—but hearing your story makes me feel a lot more confident. And I don’t blame you for wanting to leave it all in the past. I was the same. That was one of the reasons I called you when I saw the ad.” And she was relieved she had. If she hadn’t been desperate, there was no way she would have considered a job that involved driving, and yet here she was having the time of her life.
Kathleen clutched the bag on her lap. “I am the fortunate beneficiary of that decision.”
“I know our situation isn’t the same, though. If I’m honest, I don’t feel that brokenhearted about Steven. I was at the beginning, but mostly I felt stupid. Stupid for thinking he was the right one. Stupid for making the decision to marry him. I don’t think I would have done that if Nanna hadn’t died, but I’d known him forever and I was clinging to something familiar.”
“You have remarkable self-insight.”
