“I’m nowhere near as kindly and unselfish as you seem to believe.” Kathleen secured her seat belt. Her hands were still elegant, even though the skin was wrinkled and darkened in places from overexposure to the sun. “I don’t fully understand why I shared my own experience. It was an impulse.”

Martha adjusted her mirror. “That’s what you said when you ordered the bacon.”

“Generally I find food impulses to have fewer immediate consequences than those of an emotional type. I do hope you’ll heed my advice and not let your lamentable experience with Scoundrel Steven influence the choices you make for the rest of your life.”

Martha hesitated. “Like you did?”

“We have done enough talking about me.” Kathleen slid her sunglasses onto her nose. “Shall we drive? That way we might stand a chance of arriving in California before I reach my hundredth decade.”

Martha snorted with laughter. “You’re so funny.”

“Your entertainment is high on my priority list, so I count that as excellent news. Drive, Martha!”

Martha discovered that the driver’s seat felt a more comfortable place than previously. She no longer felt as if it might eject her as an imposter at any moment. She was in charge, not the car. “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”

“I’ve already given an extensive account of my travels.”

“That, yes.” Martha checked the traffic and pulled onto the road. “But I mean emotional stuff. You don’t like talking about emotional stuff. I can tell. It’s hard for you.”

“You are perceptive.”

“I’m good at reading people. And everyone is different, aren’t they? And that’s okay. Nanna used to say that a person had to be allowed to be the way they wanted to be. Some people are chatty, some people are quiet. You can’t change that. Take me for example—” she increased her speed as they headed out of town, shifting the focus of the conversation to herself to give Kathleen some space “—my school reports were all Martha needs to concentrate more and talk less, but what no one gets is that it’s really hard for me to talk less.”

“As I am discovering.”

Martha laughed. “People never tell a quiet person to be noisier—have you ever noticed that? They never say talk more. Or why can’t you be more chatty. But for some reason people have always felt the right to tell me how I could improve myself. It’s annoying, actually.”

“I can imagine the frustration.”

“The weird thing is, I don’t chat that much at home. It’s mostly arguing about who is doing what chores.” She thought about her mother and sister. “I have a lot to say, and no one to say it to. All I get is shut up, Martha. That’s another reason I need to move out. I’m not allowed to be me.”