“A few hundred million years.” She studied the rocks in the photographs Martha was showing her, because that seemed safer than studying her feelings. “I feel young by comparison. The colors are striking. Like an artist’s palette.” She thought how much Liza would love it and felt herself wobble. “You must send those to Liza. She’s been painting again. She uses a lot of blue. She likes blue. She’s always loved to paint the ocean.” She was engulfed by a smothering cloud of homesickness. Oh how she wished she was back in Oakwood Cottage, feeling the afternoon sun on her face and smelling the sea in the air. Everything here was arid, baked dry by the scorching sun. At home the garden would be lush and green, and her favorite rose would be flowering in scented profusion. Popeye would be lying on the patio, basking in a pool of sunshine. “You will send them to Liza?”

“I’ll do it as soon as I have a strong signal.” Martha was no longer smiling. “Is everything all right, Kathleen? Are you drinking plenty?”

“If only she said that when I had a gin in my hand.” But Kathleen took the water Martha handed her and took a sip as she glanced at the view. “Are you going to upload the photos to our social media?”

“Listen to you—upload—” Martha nudged her “—we’ll make a technology lover of you, yet.”

Kathleen shuddered, but more because it was expected of her than because she felt a particular aversion. It was technology that was allowing her to talk to Liza.

“I thought maybe I’d call Liza when we stop for lunch.”

“You can call her anytime. Josh and I can go for a walk to give you some privacy if that would help.”

Kathleen pulled herself together. “Lunchtime will be fine. She’ll probably be at the beach with Sean at the moment and the signal isn’t good there.”

“Sean is at the cottage? I thought Liza was there on her own?”

“He joined her, so they’re spending a few days together.”

“That’s good.”

It was good. Was Liza happy? All Kathleen wanted was for her daughter to be happy. She’d always wanted that, of course, but now that the barriers between them had been removed it was as if their happiness was somehow connected.

“Shall we record a piece to camera?”

It would be an excuse to send something to Liza without appearing needy.

With Martha’s assistance, Kathleen maneuvered her aching, uncooperative limbs out of the car and shaded her eyes.

“It’s already hot.”

“We’ll do this quickly.” Martha found the right angle, gave Kathleen a cue to start talking, and recorded a piece. “Such a pro. You never fumble or stumble.”

“Where next?”

“We’re heading to Winslow, Arizona.” Martha started to sing and Kathleen lifted a hand.

“We had an agreement—I suffer your excruciating playlist, providing you don’t sing along with it.”