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"My mom has it today—she needed it to run some errands in Granollers," Laia says, hands in her coat pockets.

"Your mom doesn't have a car? God, sorry, that's none of my business. Get in—I'll take you home."

Laia's lips curve into a smile on their own at her kindness.

"You don't have to. Don't worry—the bus stop isn't far and there's one in ten minutes."

"Come on, Laia. Let me make up for the beach stunt somehow. Get in, please. It's no trouble at all."

Laia bites her lip and finally nods, walking around the Mercedes to climb in through the other door.

"Which way?"

"Straight ahead, then take the second left, toward downtown. Thanks, really—you didn't have to do this."

She doesn't, but Claudia wants to—though she doesn't say so, and they ride in silence for a couple of minutes while Claudia keeps glancing over at her every so often. Laia has her legs pressed together and her hands folded in her lap, as if she's trying to take up as little space as possible.

"Tell me about yourself," Claudia says.

Laia turns her head very slowly, as if she hasn't understood the question.

"About me?" she says, incredulous.

"Is it really that strange that I want to know something?" Claudia glances sideways at her. "We've known each other for two months—we see each other every day, you follow me all over Barcelona at night—and the only things I know about you are your age and that you're the most principled person I know."

Claudia stretches her fingers out against the steering wheel, palms resting on it, and waits, feeling awful for not having made even a small effort to get to know the woman who risks her job putting up with her nonsense.

"Okay, what do you want to know?"

"I don't know—anything. Do you live alone?"

"No. That was my plan after college—find a job in my field and move into a small apartment somewhere I could afford." She smiles, because in Spain that's getting harder and harder for a young person.

"So why didn't you? What did you study?"

"Business administration, but I didn't finish. I was in my second year when my dad died."

"I'm sorry," Claudia says quietly, turning to look at her.

"Thanks. I quit then to help my mom. My sister was about to start college and she couldn't handle everything on her own. The survivor's pension my dad left wasn't much, so I found work, and between what I earn and the house-cleaning hours my mom puts in, we manage."

"And what about your degree? Your plans?"

Laia shrugs.

"I don't know—maybe when my sister finishes I'll go back and complete it. I'd really like to."

Unease settles over Claudia, and within seconds she's ashamed of herself again. She's a goddamn privileged person who was born into a family where she's never gone without anything, and she wastes her life while people like Laia are forced to give up or put their plans on hold to keep their families afloat.

"I'm sorry you're going through that."

"It's okay. It was harder at first—the grief hit at the same time as a job I struggled to adapt to and responsibilities I wasn't ready for—but I'm good now. I'm not complaining about the life I have."

Claudia tightens her jaw. She's not complaining either—she simply doesn't do anything to change what she doesn't like, which is worse, because it makes her a coward.

"You must think I have no empathy. That I live my privileged life like a spoiled teenager."

"I don't think that, Claudia. Honestly, I'd like to be able to think it—I'd even prefer it, because at least then I'd understand why you do what you do."