Driving a taxi at 65 wasn’t part of my retirement plan, but it became my passion. After a fulfilling career as a writer for a women’s column, I found joy in the open road and the stories of my passengers.
“Mom, why driving people around?” my son Darren questioned. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” I replied. “Let me enjoy what I do.”
One day, my friend Jane called. “Hi, Allison, I need a favor. Mike needs a ride to the airport tomorrow. I’m babysitting, so I can’t disturb the baby.”
“Sure,” I said, always happy to help.
The next morning, I picked up Mike, who I barely knew. As we drove, he asked for a detour. “I’ll direct you. I’ll pay you at the airport.”
As we arrived at the address, I spotted a young woman waiting on the curb. My stomach twisted. Mike jumped out, greeting her with an energy I hadn’t seen before.
“Hi, honey,” he said, pulling her into an embrace.
“Finally, you got rid of your old hag!” she sneered. My anger flared as I realized this was a woman Mike had been cheating with.
“How could I let this slide?” I thought. I couldn’t just drive him to the airport after witnessing this.
The couple’s conversation continued in the backseat, fueling my resolve. I switched on the radio, hoping to drown out their chatter. After a while, Mike noticed we were back where we started.
“Why are we here?” he shouted.
“Didn’t you ask me to drive you home?” I feigned innocence. Just then, Jane stepped outside, confusion on her face. When she saw Mike with the woman, her expression turned to shock and anger.
“What’s going on?” Jane demanded.
“Jane, it’s not what it looks like,” Mike stammered. “Nicole is coming on the trip too. Right, Allison?”
“Oh really?” Jane’s voice trembled. “It looks like you’re cheating on me with her!”
Nicole smirked. “Well, now you know. Mike’s been with me for months.”
Jane’s eyes blazed. “After everything we’ve been through?”
“Jane, I can explain,” Mike pleaded.
“Save it. Get out of my friend’s car and find your own way out of here,” Jane snapped.
“Thank you, Al,” she said, leaning against my window. “For showing me the truth.”
“Anytime, Jane. You deserve better.”
She turned to Mike, her tone final. “I want you gone by the end of the day. If you go on your trip, I’ll call the kids to move your things out. You’ll get nothing from me because of your infidelity.”
As I drove away, Jane waved at me with a sad smile. I hadn’t expected my routine job to turn into a moment of truth for my friend, but I was glad I hadn’t turned a blind eye.
Now, I’m at my kitchen table, drafting an article about men and cheating—how it often disguises itself under the guise of business trips or family obligations.
What would you have done?
