“Good to know.” Cade’s gaze skittered to Martha and she saw pity there. “Speed limits and general information on driving here in the US is right here in our book—” He thrust it at her. “In the trunk you’ve got your flashlight, a blanket, jumper cables, flares and a first aid kit. We advise you to always carry water, particularly when you reach the desert, and keep your phone charged although you might not have a signal of course. Everything you need is right there. And if you get into trouble—” the look on his face suggested he thought that to be highly likely “—you can call the number on the back.”

“Thank you.” Kathleen took the book and beamed. “It’s all most exciting.”

Martha wasn’t finding it exciting. Flares? Why would they need flares?

Cade cleared his throat. “So—any more questions or are we done here?”

I have a question, Martha thought.

Why, oh why, did I take this job?

8

LIZA

Liza glanced at the picture of her mother raising a glass with the spectacular Chicago skyline shimmering behind her. Martha had added a quick caption: Living the dream.

It had been a thoughtful gesture on Martha’s part to send the photo, but it was making Liza take a long, hard look at her life.

Envy stabbed her in the chest and she sat down at the kitchen counter she’d been cleaning moments before.

Her world seemed gray and mundane by comparison. Her mother was surrounded by flickering candles and cocktails. Liza was confronting an empty cereal bowl.

Today was her wedding anniversary. Not that she had high expectations, but a small celebration would have been nice. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have an excuse.

Her mother didn’t need an excuse. She celebrated every moment.

How had Liza ever thought that was irresponsible? It was a good way to live life.

What had she done the night before while her mother had been drinking, laughing and watching the sun go down over Lake Michigan? She’d been catching up on ironing and doing some last-minute planning for France.

Her mother stayed in hotels. She wouldn’t even have to make her own bed. If she was engrossed in a book, she could pick up a menu and order room service. All she had to do was decide when she wanted to eat, and someone else would do all the work.

Liza stood up and threw the cleaning equipment back in the cupboard.

Enough feeling sorry for herself.