I reached into my shoulder bag and pulled out a bank envelope. I pressed it into her hand. “Five thousand dollars. With the interest, I still owe you eight. I’ll have it soon.” Mom spluttered that I didn’t have to pay so much at one time and I should hold on to part of it to invest in my new “dating wardrobe.”

“Mom, no.”

“Miranda, I’m glad you enjoyed this little road trip, but that’s no reason to throw away the progress you’ve made. This was supposed to be an opportunity for you to make up your mind about your relationship with Jason, not to find another field you won’t succeed in.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I did exactly what I set out to do. I got my client from point A to point B, without … permanent damage. I’m making a rather substantial payment on the loan. That is the very definition of not failing,” I said. “You didn’t even ask me how I did, you just assumed, and I think that’s what hurts me the most.”

“Honey, you know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“No, Mom, you did,” I protested. “And I honestly don’t think you realize you’re doing it. You put me in the role of the family screw-up, because that way we don’t have to talk about Glenn’s tendency to spend Saturday afternoons at the Booby Hatch. As long as I keep screwing up, nothing else about the family need be called into question. You can pretend we’re all still kids and you’re still in control. You can keep us from getting into too much trouble, from getting hurt. Well, that’s just not the case anymore. I have a plan. I’m making progress. And that does not include working with you and Daddy at the law firm. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, I really am. We both know that me working with you is not a long-term solution. I’m bored out of my skull. If I stay there, I’m going to spend every minute either planning my escape or resenting the hell out of you.

“You’re going to have to accept that I’m going to make my own choices, even if they’re not the choices you’d make for me, even if they could get me into trouble. I’ve got to figure these things out for myself. The last couple of days were really hard. Working with this vampire—I messed up more times than I can count, but I didn’t fail. You always said that success was a learned behavior. Well, I’m learning, and I’m not willing to give it up just yet.”

“Really?”

“I really like the transport job, Mom.”

“But you liked the pastry shop, and the magic act, and the studio.”

“Yes, when I was still in the honeymoon phase, and everything was new and shiny and exciting,” I agreed. “But as soon as things got difficult … or caught fire, I gave up and came home to plan my next adventure. But this time, even when things completely disintegrated and it seemed as if I’d never get home, I was having the time of my life. I think I’ve finally found the thing that I’m good at, and it combines all of the things I learned while doing the things I wasn’t so good at.”

“What?”

I chuckled. “It turns out that to be a good vampire chauffeur, you need the skills of a failed photographer, an understudy yacht mechanic, a well-trained waitress, a taxi driver, and a magician’s assistant.”

“Oh, Miranda.” She sighed, her lip trembling. “I didn’t ever want to make you feel that you’ve failed. And I know I’m hard on you sometimes. It’s just, well, I could always count on you when you were younger; your antics used to keep everything so lively. I was always proud of Glenn, but you were the one who kept your daddy and me talking.”

I snorted. “I’ll bet.”

“No, when we were worrying about you, we hardly noticed that we worked too many hours and hadn’t had any real time together since our honeymoon. And when you grew up and started all of these wild adventures, I suppose I grasped onto that as something we could fuss over together. And when we got you to come home, and you were working for us …”

“You worried about me full-time?” I suggested dryly.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like a failure. Really. I was just so used to keeping my eye on you that it became a habit.”

“That is extremely unhealthy, Mom. And close supervision doesn’t mean I won’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m starting to see that, considering Glenn’s Booby Hatch issue.” She sniffed, swiping at her eyes. “So when do you go back to work?”

“I don’t know, but I may have just quit.”

“Well, that’s a first for you.”

I gnawed on my lips. “I know. But I’m going to keep at it. Even if I don’t work for Iris again, I’m going to stay in this field. I really like working with vampires.”

“Tell me what he was like.”

“Who?”

She smirked, pushing my hair back from my face. “The man who has you standing still for more than five minutes altogether.”

“I’ve been asleep for the last sixteen hours, Mom.”

“Don’t be obtuse, sweetheart,” she griped. “You have intentionally avoided talking about your client every time I’ve asked about him. And I don’t believe it’s because of some silly confidentiality agreement you signed for Iris. Now, tell me about Mr. Sutherland.”

“He was … contrary. He wanted things done exactly his way, or he became all stern and cranky. He gave me sixteen pages of rules and requirements before we even left his driveway.”

“And you always do so well with rules and requirements.”

“I drove him nuts from the moment the engine started. But eventually, I think he liked it. And Lord, I liked doing it, just because it made him break out of his stuffy persona and smile.”

“A good smile?” Mom asked, teasing.

I nodded.

“So why are you here instead of out there with him?”

“He—I just—it …” I sighed. “It wouldn’t have worked out. Like you said, he wasn’t my type.”

“That’s a silly reason. Your type usually looks like some of the clients coming through our offices. In fact, some of your boyfriends have been clients at our offices.”

“Easy,” I told her in a warning tone. “Don’t backtrack on this touching moment.”

She tilted her head, and once again, I was grateful that I’d never been on the receiving end of Mom’s questions on the witness stand. “If you saw him again, what would you do?”

I grumbled into my pillow but eventually admitted, “Jump him.”

Mom sighed, clapping a hand over her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t share these things with me.”

“I know. That’s part of the reason I do it.”

I stayed up for most of the night, telling my mom about my adventures on the road with Collin. She couldn’t believe what I’d put up with, what I’d put myself through, just to keep a job. But I think it served to convince her of how badly I wanted to avoid coming back to Jason. She agreed that Collin sounded like just the sort of frustrating, fascinating man I deserved, and she spent the rest of the night trying to persuade me to contact him before he left town.

After unburdening my soul, I slept for at least ten hours. I plugged my iPod into the alarm clock and put my “Sleepy/Spa” playlist on repeat. I woke up with a slick of drool dried to my cheek and my hair in wild disarray. I stumbled out of my room, whacking my shoulder on the doorjamb on my way to the bathroom.

A full moon shone down on my parents’ yard. I went into the bathroom and splashed some cool water on my face. I peeled my hair back from my face with a headband and stumbled down the stairs.

“Mom, can we arrange an intravenous coffee system?” I mumbled, plodding down the steps.

I heard my mother’s tinkling laughter from downstairs. I hadn’t heard her laugh like that since Glenn’s wedding. It took all I had not to turn on my heel and clomp right back up the stairs. I would not be caught in one of my mother’s meetings, whether it was with members of the church bazaar committee or a potential date or employer for me. The last one resulted in our not speaking for days because I dumped a glass of iced tea over Leonard “Wandering Hands” Burton’s head.

“Miranda, is that you?” Mom called. “We have a guest, honey. Come on down.”

I was wearing a sleeveless flannel nightgown my brother had given me last Christmas. It was lavender, with pink kittens on it. Circa 1989 LA Gear slouchy socks completed the look. “Um, I’m not exactly dressed for company right now, Mom.”

“Oh, I think this visitor will be happy to see you, no matter how you’re dressed.”

Was my mom being held hostage? Was that why she sounded so sunny—and somewhat desperate? I grabbed a heavy walking stick from the umbrella stand and stuck my head into the parlor entryway.

“Collin?”

I dropped the walking stick with a clatter.

He was standing in my mother’s parlor, impeccably dressed in a slate-blue pinstriped suit, leaning against the mantel as if he’d been taking tea in the family parlor for decades. My mom was perched on the edge of her seat, entranced by the smooth vampire.

Collin smiled winsomely at me. “Miranda.” He eyed the stick on the floor and suppressed a grin. “Thank you for disarming.”

“I haven’t made up my mind about that,” I warned him.

“Oh, Miranda, hush. Don’t be rude to the man when he dropped by to give you flowers.”

“Flowers?” I glanced down at the elaborate arrangement of cream roses, lush orange calla lilies, and hypericum berries all bound together with a crisp orange taffeta ribbon. He placed the bouquet in my hands, fingers brushing against mine as he gazed down at me. “It’s a little unusual to tip your driver with flowers, don’t you think?”

“Well, my driver was rather unusual,” he said. “And I brought you this.”

He handed me my photo journal, which I’d apparently left at Ophelia’s when I huffed off. I grinned at him, opening the book. It seemed slightly heavier. New photos were taped onto pages toward the back. Pictures I recognized as shots I’d taken on our trip. The abandoned drive-in with its crumbling screen in the middle of nowhere. Collin at the diner booth, his eyes closed as if he was praying for strength. The Batmobile’s boobs. Me sleeping in the slanted bed at the Country Inn. My hair was tumbling around my face. My features were relaxed and untroubled. Despite the surroundings, I looked almost angelic.

“I was not aware that you took this,” I said, lifting my eyebrows and showing him the picture in question.

“I may have played with your camera a little bit while you were sleeping,” he admitted.

“My camera that was burning at the bottom of the ravine?”

“I also may have taken the memory card out of your camera while you were sleeping, so I could find a way to make copies of your photos,” he said, palming the memory card with a flourish, extending that hand to me, then snatching it away at the last minute. “You’re not the only one who’s good with sleight-of-hand.”

“Thanks for giving this back,” I said, closing the book and clutching it to my chest. “I would have been very upset if I’d lost it.”

“I wanted to make my own mark on it before I gave it back to you,” he said.

“Sophie’s just a friend?” I said, eyeing him carefully. “There’s no history there?”

“I have no interest in Sophie,” he said. “She’s too predictable, too polished. I want a woman who picks fights in parking lots with unknown assailants and loves to eat questionable food from even more questionable establishments and makes beautiful pictures of ordinary things.”