Reba was in charge of the map, directing me to the 395, which cut straight south to Los Angeles. Somehow I knew the detour would be a pain in the ass, but I was so relieved to have her with me, I decided not to make a fuss. Maybe she'd experienced a change of heart and she was ready to take responsibility for herself. Skittish as she was, I figured the best thing I could do was to keep my observations and opinions to myself.

Conversation was in short supply. The problem in dealing with people who are out of control is that the choices are so few – two being the actual number if you want to know the truth: (1) You can play counselor, thinking that perhaps no one (save yourself) has ever offered the rare tidbit of wisdom that will finally cause the light to dawn. Or (2) You can play persecutor, thinking that a strong dose of reality (also delivered by you) will shame or cajole the person into turning her life around. In both instances, you'll be wrong, but the temptation is so strong to take one role or the other that you'll have to bite your tongue bloody to keep from jumping in with all the lectures and the finger wagging. I kept my mouth shut, though it required an effort on my part. She was mercifully quiet, perhaps sensing my struggle to mind my own business.

Chapter 28

Chapter 28

On the road, Reba fiddled with the radio until she found a station that didn't sound like it was broadcasting from Mars. We listened to country-western tunes while I played bumper tag with the same three cars: a pickup with a camper shell, an RV, and a couple of college students in a U-Haul truck. One would pass me and then the next and then I'd pass one of them, a form of vehicular leapfrog that had us hopping over one another at irregular intervals. At the back of my mind, I wondered if we were being followed, but I couldn't imagine how Beck or Salustio could manage to get a bead on us.

Where the 395 and Highway 14 intersected, the kids in the U-Haul went straight while we stayed on Highway 14, angling south and west. Eventually we connected to the San Diego Freeway and drove south. By then the RV had disappeared and I saw no sign of the pickup with the camper shell. Nervous-making nonetheless.