“I have no objection to personal calls. If you want to pull over and call him back—”
“I don’t.” But Martha swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. Breathing deeply, she grabbed her phone and switched it off. “There. No more calls. At least he can’t turn up at the motel where we’re staying so I suppose I should be grateful for small things.”
It had been a long time since Kathleen had witnessed the fallout of a bad romance, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten how it looked. “Was he a scoundrel?”
“A sc—” Martha gave a choked laugh. “Yes. He was a real scoundrel, Kathleen. A megascoundrel. A superscoundrel.”
“Scoundrel is an adequate descriptor. Hyperbole is unnecessary. I gather he broke your heart.”
“Along with a few other things, including a teapot my grandma gave me which is something I’ll never forgive him for.”
As a tea lover, Kathleen could understand the outrage. “Describe the teapot.”
“It was white and covered in red cherries. It made me think of summer and smiling.” Martha sucked in another breath and steered the car back onto the road. “I refuse to let him intrude on my life, or this special trip.”
“Was it serious?”
“For me? Yes. For him—it turned out the answer was no. My mother took it as yet more evidence of my inability to make good choices.”
“She clearly didn’t understand scoundrels. They’re charming and convincing and they seem like a good choice at the time.” She should know. “Is he the reason you took this job?”
“What?” Martha braked sharply and Kathleen lurched forward, her seat belt locking.
She should have waited until they’d arrived at the motel before asking the question.
“I assumed you were running away from something. Or someone.”
“You—what made you think that?”
“That day you came to visit, you seemed a little—desperate. Keep your eyes on the road, dear.”
Martha was gripping the wheel. “You noticed? And you gave me the job anyway?”
“You were exactly what I needed. Someone young with enough energy to compensate for my occasional lack of it, and someone who had absolutely no reason to change their minds and go home in the middle of our trip.”
“Kathleen—”
“It was only a suspicion at first, but I’m sure now that nothing less than desperation would have persuaded you to take a job that involved driving when you clearly hate driving.”
Martha wiped sweat off her forehead and mouthed an apology to the car behind who was now leaning on his horn. Fortunately, the sign for the motel flashed up ahead and she pulled in with visible relief and parked.
“How do you know I hate driving?” She turned to Kathleen, stricken. “Am I scaring you? Am I doing something wrong?”
Kathleen was beginning to wish she hadn’t said anything. Liza had wanted her to check Martha’s license, but what she really should have done was utilize some kind of psychological test that would have revealed that her prospective driver was a seething mass of emotions. “You’re not doing anything wrong, but you don’t seem comfortable. Every time a car approaches your jaw is clenched, you lean forward in your seat and you grip the wheel until you almost cut off the blood supply to your fingers. And I don’t understand why because you are an excellent driver.”
Martha stared at her. “Excellent? You really think I’m excellent?”
“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.”