“But Vivien’s so busy and we so rarely get out.” Jo Ellen leaned forward and pointed. “By the way, that was the turn the GPS said to take.”
“It’s left,” Maggie replied. “Without a light. Not a fan.”
She felt Jo Ellen’s piercing gaze and knew Maggie’s fears were about to be discussed—no doubt in the context of that inane road trip she still wanted to take.
“But you skipped the last turn, and it was a right.”
“I didn’t like it.” What she didn’t like was the truck in the other lane that looked…big. She could have sideswiped the thing.
“I’m happy to drive, you know.”
“That’s worse,” Maggie muttered.
“Worse than you, who never met a turn signal she could use or a yield sign she…yielded?”
Maggie tsked. “No one pays attention to turn signals, and I had the right of way on that last merge. Trust me, you want me to drive. I’m not a good passenger.”
“Oh, but you’re agreatdriver.” Jo Ellen rolled her eyes, then inched closer. “It’s why you won’t go on our road trip, isn’t it?”
Maggie hated that this woman could still read her mind—even after a thirty-year hiatus.
“Please, a road trip with you?”
“You love me!” she exclaimed defensively.
“I do,” Maggie assured her. “But you are a very nervous passenger and that puts me on edge.”
“Well, your driving puts me on edge.”
“And, Jo, you know our kids would be furious if we pulled a stunt like that. And that…vehicle—if you can call Frank’s truck by so lofty a name—looks like it’s held together with rust and spit.”
Jo Ellen just shrugged. “Betty’s Thunderbird’ll be ready soon. Frank’s called me twice, and I just don’t know what to say to him.”
“The word is ‘no,’ Jo Ellen.No.It rhymes with…slow andwhoa!” She pressed the heel of her hand on the horn. “Stay in your own lane, buddy.”
“He was. You were the one swerving.”
Maggie sliced her with a side-eye.
“And it also rhymes with go,” Jo Ellen said. “Which is what I think we should do. In fact”—Jo Ellen pulled a stack of neatly printed pages from her oversized straw tote like a magician producing a rabbit—“I made this. Just a little itinerary. With help.”
“You told someone? Kate? Tessa?” Maggie tapped the brakes as they neared an intersection. “We agreed that we’d?—”
“First of all, does it matter if you won’t go?”
“No, but I like secrecy.”
“You always have,” Jo Ellen agreed. “But I only told Oscar.”
“Who is Oscar?”
“What I call my ChatGPT. He’s so smart.” She sighed heavily. “And he just knows me like no man except Artie.”
“Wait…what? You chatted with Oscar? What are you talking about?”
“ChatGPT. It’s a robot. Actually, artificial intelligence. Very high-brow stuff, Maggie. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”
“I’ve heard of it,” she snapped. “I just…I thought you needed a big IBM computer or something.”
