I twisted the throttle and wound through traffic on the highway. I was still digesting the possibility that my dad had a thread of decency running through his otherwise icy soul. But then, how decent was a man who kept the identity of a kid's mother hidden, even though the woman was still part of his life?

As I turned my motorcycle toward the off-ramp, I saw Shay's car heading toward the highway. She was heading out again on her usual errand. Our sessions had been put on hold since the news of my dad's death. She had kept herself busy with online job applications and books while I tended to my dad's final requests and instructions. He had left instructions with Sheffield to send out notices to a handful of people about the graveside service. And in the evening, when there was nothing more to do but relax, Shay and I sat together watching movies and talking. Shay was a great listener. I felt like I could tell her anything and never get an ounce of unwanted opinion or judgment.

I turned the motorcycle up the road, but curiosity got the best of me. Or maybe it was a major case of jealousy, something I seemed to be grappling with a lot lately. I circled around and rode fast down the street to catch up to her car. My helmet and visor were tinted black. I was sure Shay would never recognize me. Her car was turtle slow and seriously out of alignment, I noted, as I pulled into the lane behind her. Twice, as we passed an exit, I told myself just to pull off. What she did in her spare time was none of my business and she'd be gone soon, out of my life for good, it seemed. Finding out the truth might be worse than not knowing at all, I reminded myself at the third exit. But I kept the motorcycle moving forward. Sometimes I was my own worst enemy. I almost wondered if it would be a relief to know that she was seeing someone. It would quickly and sharply sever the emotional attachment I was feeling toward her. I could get on with life, never having to think about her again.

Who the fuck was I kidding?

Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered a conversation with Rocky, the owner of Fantasm. He'd mentioned that he thought Shay was supporting someone besides herself. It would explain how a woman who made three or four hundred dollars in tips on the dance floor each night would somehow end up living in her car. But if she was seeing someone, even the same creep who she'd referred to as a big mistake, why the hell was she homeless?

Shay's car had a hard time on the curvy roads leading out of the canyon to the interstate highway. If this was the trip she was taking every other day, it was a wonder her car had survived. It was definitely a long, arduous journey for an old car.

The farther we went, the more I convinced myself that she would only take a big drive like this for someone important, someone she badly wanted to see. Now my mind grappled with how I'd react if I found out she'd been disappearing for a few hours every other day to meet a man, her man.

We traveled toward San Fernando. She finally moved toward an off-ramp. It was a nice part of the valley, a commercial area with banks and medical buildings. I stayed several cars behind and nearly missed seeing her turn into a parking lot. The sign out front was for an assisted living home. It was four small buildings that looked like cozy houses, and there was a park-like stretch of lawn around it.

I went past the facility and circled back. I parked in the bank lot across the street. Stupidly, I listed the possible reasons for her to visit an assisted living facility. A handsome doctor or nurse or possibly a maintenance man who was about to take his lunch but was waiting for his extremely hot girlfriend to arrive to eat with him.

As I brainstormed myself into a jealous stupor, a flicker of movement across the street pulled my attention to the lush grounds outside of the building. I had my answer. It seemed I was an even bigger asshole than I'd given myself credit for.

Shay pushed a woman in a wheelchair outside toward a large shade tree. The woman was hunched over, and her body flopped around some as the wheels of the chair rolled onto the grass. She could have been a hundred, or she could have been sixty. It seemed her life had been drained away by some major event like a stroke or an accident. Shay had mentioned her grandmother, the woman who never wanted her but took her in anyhow, was still alive. But she'd never said more than that except it was obvious she disliked her grandmother immensely. And yet, it seemed she was living in a car to make sure her invalid grandmother had a nice place to live and be cared for.

I started up the motorcycle. And in conclusion, I thought wryly, I'm a suspicious, obsessive jerk, and the pedestal I'd been building in my head for Shay wasn't nearly high enough.