Chapter 20
IT WAS OFFICIAL. ZONA HAD HER security clearance and was a HopIn driver.
Gilda had agreed to hang out with Louise on weekend nights when Bree or Louise’s friends couldn’t be around.
“Honestly, I don’t need babysitting. I can manage an evening alone,” Louise had protested.
“I just don’t like the idea of you home alone, trying to get around with that big cast,” Zona had said.
“I’ve been doing fine,” Louise had reminded her.
It was true, she was. Louise had gotten creative and started slinging a canvas grocery bag around her neck where she carried a small thermos, her phone, and whatever book she happened to be reading, along with her barely used writing supplies.
(After the great bloody bone incident, Louise’s interest in becoming a mystery writer had dwindled.) Still, Zona felt better knowing someone was with her mother.
Gilda had been agreeable to putting in extra hours as long as she wasn’t expected to spend the night. “And don’t stay out all night,” she’d added, making Zona think of the curfews of her youth.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be home by one,” Zona had promised.
“Make it midnight,” Gilda had commanded, and Zona had decided that was fine with her. After midnight she was more likely to end up chauffeuring drunks and that didn’t appeal to her.
Her first Friday night was turning out to be a busy one.
So far, she’d picked up one exhausted woman at the Ontario airport who was returning from a business conference, then returned to the same airport with a retired couple who were off to New York, their jumping-off place for a cross-Atlantic cruise.
Then it was two women going to a bachelorette party followed by another pickup at the airport, a retired couple returning from visiting family.
The couple had been chatty and friendly to the point of nosiness.
She was happy to see that they weren’t the norm.
The last thing she wanted was people asking her why she’d decided to turn herself into a chauffeur.
By eleven she’d had enough of weaving in and out of traffic and was ready to call it a night when one last request came in from a club in Los Angeles, wanting a ride to Azusa. Her last drop-off had been Irwindale and this rider wanted to go to Azusa, so perfect. She took it.
She pulled up in front of the club to find two women her daughter’s age, both dressed in stylish jeans, shirts, and jackets. Zona recognized that one indigo jacket, and the girl in it. Oh, no. There was her daughter. An angry, make-a-scene version. She blinked in shock as she pulled her car up.
The other woman opened the door and practically shoved Bree in with the concerned parting words of a bestie, “You owe me a monster apology when you sober up.”
This was accompanied by a few other choice words, many of which were the notorious F bomb, and to Zona’s horror, her daughter dropped a few bombs of her own.
Zona had been raised to never “speak like a trash mouth,” and she’d raised her daughter the same way.
Who was this angry, drunken woman in her car?
“Get me out of here,” Bree muttered.
“Gladly,” said Zona as she pulled away. “Good heavens, Bree, what is wrong with you?”
There was a long moment of silence in the back seat. It was followed by an incredulous, “Mom? What the—?”
Zona cut her off. “Don’t you dare say it. You were raised better.”
“I wasn’t raised. I was tortured!”
And to think Zona could have passed on picking up this last passenger.
“I hate my life,” Bree wailed.
“You’re one to talk. You’re out getting trashed while I’m driving all night to make money,” Zona shot back.
But life never remained static and it didn’t have to stay bad. Zona was determined hers wouldn’t. If her daughter was sober and sensible, she’d share that insight, but since Bree was neither, there was no point.
They were almost to the freeway entrance when Bree said, “Stop. I’m gonna puke.”
All over Zona’s freshly cleaned car. No, no, no!
She almost got the car pulled over and turned off in time, but round one hit the floor.
“This is all your fault,” Bree said between heaves on the street as Zona held her hair out of the way.
“Yes, the minute I learned I was pregnant I started thinking about ways I could ruin your life.”
Once they were back in the car, her daughter got quiet. Finally, she said in a small voice, “I don’t want to go home and be all alone.”
With her bitterness and fear, that was where her life was heading. “You can stay at Gram’s.”
“I don’t want to wear Gram’s jammies.”
“Well, you’re not wearing mine,” said Zona, and turned the key in the ignition.
The car refused to start. Great. Just great.
She had a barfy, angry daughter in the back seat and her car was rebelling.
How she wished she had a new car with a push start.
Of course, if she’d been able to afford a new car, Zona wouldn’t have been driving people—including her angry daughter—all over Southern California. With a growl, she tried again. Nothing.
“We’re gonna be stuck here all night,” Bree predicted miserably.
“One of us is going to be stuck in the trunk if she doesn’t shut up,” Zona snapped.
“I hate my life,” Bree wailed again. In case her mother hadn’t heard her the first time. “And I hate Fen for dumping me.”
Zona ignored her. “Please start,” she begged her car.
It took pity on her and came back to life.
“Thank God,” she breathed and got them on the freeway.
Half an hour later she was hauling her daughter from a very smelly car and escorting her up the walk to Louise’s house.
Thankfully, her mother had gone to bed and didn’t have to witness her granddaughter’s less than shining moment.
She’d have to explain in the morning why Bree was sleeping over, but hearing about this after the fact would be better than Louise having to be stuck in the moment along with Zona.
Gilda had been in her favorite chair, crocheting. She stood at the sight of Zona and Bree. “I guess I’ll be going.”
“Thanks, I’ll pay you tomorrow night,” Zona promised.
She left Gilda to let herself out, ignored Darling, who was having a relapse and wanted to jump on her, and moved Bree upstairs to the bathroom.
She made her daughter drink a glass of water, then stripped her down and stuck her in the shower.
She found an old sleep tee, then took away Bree’s messed-up shirt and pants and left her to find her way to bed.
Back downstairs, she started the laundry, then got Darling’s leash on him and took him out for a final walk, trying to shake off her motherly cocktail of anger and guilt as she went. She couldn’t. It had sewn itself deep into the fabric of her being.
Next, she had to deal with cleaning her car.
She wanted nothing more than to fall into bed, but no way was she going to let the mess sit overnight.
A quick online search on her phone assured her that white vinegar and baking soda would work wonders.
She could only hope. After she’d finished, she left a bowl of white vinegar on the car floor and hoped for the best.
The next morning, she filled Louise in on her miserable first night of work over coffee and English muffins. Going light on some of the details of her daughter’s misbehavior.
“And my car barely started,” she finished. “I thought we were going to be stuck.”
“Oh, no.”
“The last thing I need is for that to die on me when I’m driving someone. It’s all I can afford, and I have to keep it going.”
“I bet Martin could tell you what’s wrong with it. I think he’s handy with cars,” said Louise.
“I hate to bother Martin,” said Zona.
“He doesn’t mind being bothered,” Louise said easily. “He likes feeling useful.”
“He is useful,” Zona said. “And he’s a nice man.”
Louise nodded. “He’s a dear friend.”
“You ought to give him a chance,” Zona said. It was a waste of breath, but she couldn’t help herself. “You could whip him into shape, get him a gym membership. I bet if he got more fit you’d get more excited about him.”
“Honestly, Zona. How superficial do you think I am?” Louise demanded.
“What else is keeping you from getting serious? You are looking.”
Louise shrugged. “I think I need someone with a . . . stronger personality.”
Zona thought of their neighbor. There was a strong personality, and it wasn’t a good thing.
“A gentle man beats a beast any day,” she said.
“That is true,” Louise agreed. “I certainly don’t want a beast. But I would like a man who is a little more . . . take-charge.”
“Alpha male,” Zona said, mildly disgusted. “They’re great in a novel, not so much in real life.”
“Maybe,” said Louise. “Anyway, I’ll call Martin and see if he can come over.”
“I may have to use your car tonight,” said Zona. She’d have to go online and quickly get the license on file.
“That’s fine. So,” said Louise, “other than a fussy car and an unhappy daughter, how was the rest of your first night as a HopIn driver?”
Zona sighed. “Piece of cake. Too bad it had to end with my daughter telling me how I’ve ruined her life,” Zona said and glared at the dark brew in her cup. “She’s right, of course. I have.”
“You have not,” Louise said firmly. “You need to stop this self-flagellation. Maybe she won’t make the same mistakes you have, but she’ll make her share. Count on it.”
“She hates Fen for dumping her. Although I don’t blame him.”
“Thanks, Mom,” said Bree from the kitchen doorway, startling Zona and making her feel a little ill herself.
Bree was still in Zona’s sleep tee, so Zona went to the laundry room and fetched her clothes. It made a handy escape.
She returned to hear her mother saying, “You can’t keep blaming your guy for pulling away. He’s protecting his heart, just like you want to protect yours.”
Bree yanked on her jeans with quick, sharp movements, as if she were pulling on armor, getting ready for battle. “No, he’s giving himself permission to find someone else.” She frowned and pulled on her blouse and jacket.