There was a strange spinning feeling in her head. Jet lag? Cocktail? Having had no experience of either before this moment, it was impossible to tell.

Kathleen ordered another and Martha was about to point out that drinking so much on an empty stomach might not be such a good idea when the lobster risotto arrived.

Chicago was spread before them, glittering and bright.

“What did you say that persuaded them to give us this view?”

“I told them the truth.” Kathleen picked up her fork. “That I’m of somewhat advanced years and one never knows if this could be my last supper.”

Martha wasn’t used to people acknowledging their own mortality so openly. What should she say? Don’t be silly, you’re going to be fine. But what if she wasn’t fine? What if Kathleen died on this trip?

She took another slug of her drink. She’d never seen a dead body.

Was it selfish to hope that Kathleen at least didn’t die until the end of the trip? She didn’t want this adventure to end yet. Nor did she want to be blamed by scary Liza for leading her mother to her doom.

Maybe it was in her interests to be at least a little protective.

“Are you generally well? Anything I should know about?” She probably should have asked Kathleen to have a medical check, or produce a certificate of health, but given that Kathleen hadn’t asked her for proof of her driving experience that wouldn’t have been fair.

“I’m eighty. You could say I’m like a classic car. I need maintenance. My engine stutters and I have scratches on my paintwork, but still I endure.” Kathleen raised her glass. “To living in the moment.”

Martha raised her glass too. “Living in the moment.” Which was fine, as long as her moment didn’t include having to deal with Kathleen’s dead body. They were going to be driving through Death Valley, weren’t they? It didn’t sound auspicious. Maybe they should take a different route. Also the car analogy didn’t thrill her because she didn’t have a good track record with cars. She didn’t want to be responsible for putting another dent in Kathleen’s paintwork. “Shall I order you a juice? Water?”

“I’ll have one more cocktail to celebrate our first night. You?”

One more cocktail would ensure she woke with a headache, so Martha shook her head. She had a feeling she would have enough reasons for headaches on this trip without adding an excess of alcohol to the mix.

“Sparkling water, please.”

Kathleen beamed at the waiter and gestured to her glass. “That man is very dishy. You probably don’t even know what that word means, do you? Your generation would say cute, or so my granddaughters tell me.”

“Cute works.”