Page 83 of Notorious

He looks at me in disbelief. “Really?”

“Sure. It makes you happy, and I don’t mind it.”

“That might be the secret to a happy marriage: giving the other person what they want when it doesn’t harm you to do it.”

“Exactly.”

While the route out of Los Angeles is hilly and pretty, once we get into the Central Valley, it’s nothing but agriculture: fruit and nut trees, row crops, cows. Johnny seems to get more tense with every mile we drive, his jaw tightening, fingers tapping on the wheel.

“You okay?” I ask. “I thought you’d be excited about this trip.”

“I am excited, but I’m damn scared Mama’s gonna be worse than the last time I saw her.”

Silos flash by. “I suppose that’s possible. We won’t know until we get there. What will you do if she’s gotten worse?”

“Feel like shit.”

“And you kind of feel like that now, no? I mean, you’re already imagining it.”

He sighs. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m borrowing trouble, and the interest rate on that’s way too high. Okay. Maybe she’s gonna be good.”

“Is this more of me being an optimist and you being a pessimist?”

Johnny flashes me a quick smile. “Likely, yes.”

“No matter what, it’s gonna be okay. Want me to drive so you can relax?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he says. “I mean, I’ll try to settle myself. But maybe you can drive after the next rest stop.”

He’s starting to admit when he needs help, which is good. And he’s not being so stoic. His rule about honesty is fucking refreshing, given that I’ve been around politicians all my life. Of course, he and I don’t carry the baggage of having known each other—apart from our public personas—prior to Vegas, so that makes it easier.

I take over the driving after we stop for a quick lunch at a diner an hour south of Fresno, and when we get into town, he directs me to his mother’s house.

We pull up to the driveway of a one-story home in what looks like a pretty nice part of town. New houses, tidy yards, new cars.

“Is this …” I ask. “Did you buy her this house?”

“I did.” Johnny’s chest swells with pride. “All paid up.”

Ever since he was a kid, he’s been working to care for his mother. I’m not sure how I feel about that. It’s kind, loving, and honorable of him, of course. But part of me thinks, well, that she’s an adult. Surely she could do some things for herself.

Then again, maybe I’m being an insensitive jerk. I haven’t had to deal with someone I love being chronically ill. And I’ve certainly never had to worry about how to keep a roof over my head or food on the table. Maybe I need to just let Johnny live his life the way he wants to and stop judging things I don’t understand.

We get out of the car, and he offers me his hand with a smile. “Come and meet my mama.” His hand’s steady, but his voice wavers slightly.

He walks up to the door, which is adorned with a fall leaf wreath, knocks, and walks in. “Mama?”

“In here, Johnny,” she says, her voice a quiet drawl.

We walk into a sparkling clean living room. Does he pay for a housekeeper, too?

His mom’s sitting in an upholstered chair, with another woman seated nearby.

“Mama, Denise, this is Kurt Delmont. He’s my husband. Kurt, my mama, Sue Ann Haskell, and her caregiver, Denise.”

His mom’s tiny, with pretty pale eyes and a generous smile. She seems frail but warm and friendly. “It’s so nice to meet you,” she says. I go to move toward her, but Johnny stills me by setting a hand on my bicep as she stands up and comes over to me. Her steps are sure but slow.

“Likewise,” I say, smiling and shaking her small hand.

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