Could life get any better? There we were, my little sister and I, being happily spoiled by our Nonna. Then Mommy came home. When I first heard her voice, I thought the good times were over. Then I saw her. She looked like the most beautiful movie star: dressed in her Sunday best, impeccably groomed, and simply glowing. She glided partway into the room, stood tall and proudly declared, “I passed my driver’s test, Ma. I can now take us shopping whenever we want.” And in ways I was far too young to understand, life had just gotten infinitely better.
Neither of my grandmothers drove though both could. I'm not sure why my maternal grandmother didn't, though I've always suspected she just enjoyed being chauffered around. My paternal grandmother, on the other hand, was almost phobic about getting behind the wheel of a car. My mom told me once that just after her and Dad were married, she got stranded at work and my grandmother had to come get her. She said when Mamaw arrived, she was pasty white and sweating profusely, her teetch were chattering and she had a death's grip on the wheel. Had she lived, I would have liked to have asked her why she was so profoundly afraid of driving.
Kimberly has gone from a well-paid female executive one minute to a desperate woman the next. Thinking her day can't possibly get any worse, she finds out how wrong she is when she goes home. The only way to set things straight is to get even.
