We approach the tunnel; Ruth idles the Jeep, waiting for the light to turn. We’ve made it in time, before the tunnel shifts direction to allow cars from the Bear Valley side to travel through to Whittier. Ruth gives a happy thump on the steering wheel. She loves it when things are well timed. Her hat is pulled to just above her gray eyebrows, mouth set in a firm line as she eyes the camera mounted on the light post. “Unnecessary,” she mumbles. “Intrusive.”

I try to hide my smile. Ruth’s a private person who believes that it’s best to leave folks to their own business. For the most part, that’s how she’s lived her life. Except when it comes to me. Ruth’s always made sure I was taken care of, made sure I never felt alone, and thinking about all she’s done for me warms me more than the Jeep’s unfailing heat. “Do you remember that time you told Mom off?”

“Sure do.”

It was a few weeks before Mom abandoned us and a particularly low moment, when Dad had been on the road for a while and Mom hadn’t left the apartment in nearly a month. When I came home from school that day, I gagged at the stagnant air in the apartment infused by the sour smell of liquor oozing through her pores. I found her on the couch, passed out and splayed across the faded flower-patterned cushions. She had been beautiful once. But there wasn’t much of that left anymore except for her hair, which flowed down her shoulders, shiny and brown and perfect. I stood there staring at her, listening to her ragged breathing, an empty hole gnawing at my chest and my fingernails digging into the soft skin of my palms until I felt pricks of pain run up my arms. I turned and sprinted from the apartment, found myself banging on Ruth’s door.

Why can’t I be enough for her? I didn’t know I was crying, but Ruth’s face softened and she reached out a hand, touched my wet cheek. Can I stay here tonight?

Of course. She stepped to the side to allow me to pass first, then slipped out into the hallway. Be right back. She walked to my apartment, arms stiff by her sides, her chin lifted in a determined way.

No, Ruth, please.

She turned, pinned me with her gray stare. Some people are worth fighting for, Claire. You’ll always be worth it.

I didn’t follow but I heard her well enough. Ruth wasn’t a loud person, but when she spoke to my mom, her voice carried a fierce admonition. Alice? Wake up. Wake up!

What the hell, Ruth? My mom’s voice sounded groggy and slurred.