“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.”

“Never before the event, sadly. Only after and then it’s too late.”

“How well I understand that.”

Martha glanced at her. “You were the same? So did you burn Ruth’s letters? Cut them into pieces? If you’d rather not talk about it, that’s fine.”

“The letters currently reside in a drawer at home, along with the ring.”

Maybe she hadn’t opened the letters, Martha thought, but nor had she thrown them away. If she really didn’t want any contact ever, wouldn’t she have thrown them away?

“And you don’t know if she’s still in California? Or if they’re together?”