Клэр Донелли - Catch As Cat Can

But this past December had been a surprisingly warm celebration, a sort of adopted family dinner. Sunny splurged on a ham, with roasted potatoes, green beans, and her mother’s secret recipe for onions and raisins. Will cooked the appetizers at his place, scallops basted with maple syrup and teriyaki sauce, wrapped in bacon. The food police had definitely been off for Christmas. Mrs. M. had, of course, provided her famous coffee cake for dessert. Ben Semple, a police colleague of Will’s, had surprised everyone by creating mulled wine in the kitchen, and his girlfriend, Robin Lory, supplemented dessert with cupcakes from the bakery where she worked.

It had been a special day with presents and laughter, not to mention good food. Sunny thought that they might have the beginning of a wonderful tradition. Now she found herself wondering if everything was about to change.

Mrs. Martinson checked her watch as they rolled across the bridge.

“How are we doing?” Sunny asked. “The traffic hasn’t been too bad.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Helena agreed, but she still looked anxious.

“Why don’t you use your phone and check the arrival time,” Sunny suggested.

The plane was on time, and so were they.

Sunny continued on the interstate until she reached the airport exit, turned, and made her way along gradually smaller streets to the terminal. Her irrepressible side couldn’t help remembering that just beyond the runways stretched a golf course. It’s not everywhere you can fit in a few holes before taking off, she thought.

She dropped Mrs. M. at the terminal entrance and parked at the short-term lot nearby. Picking up the shopping bag, she set off across the street, still making good time.

The whole area—airport, country club, and a lot of other structures—had formerly been Pease Air Force Base, and still served as an exit and entry point for military flights. As a veteran, Mike Coolidge sometimes came here to greet the troops as they returned home.

“It didn’t happen for me when I came back from ’Nam,” he explained. “But I want every guy and gal to know that we appreciate their service.” He’d talked Sunny into accompanying him a few times, so she knew her way around the terminal.

Sunny quickly spotted Helena Martinson over by the arrivals section and joined her. “They’re taxiing up to the Jetway,” Mrs. M. reported. “We just made it. Did you—” She spotted the bag dangling from Sunny’s hand. “Oh, good.”

Of course, there was a wait, but at last passengers began to file past the barrier toward them.

Helena suddenly straightened up, raising a hand. “Abby!”

Sunny stared at the woman approaching. With her winter tan and honey-blond hair, Abby Martinson was hard to miss. Her years in California hadn’t left her unrecognizable. Quite the opposite, in fact. Abby had grown into the spitting image of her mother as Sunny remembered her while growing up, when Helena Martinson was the hottest mom in the neighborhood.

Only when Abby got closer did Sunny see beyond the knockout looks and notice the effects of two days of cross-country travel, the puffy skin around bloodshot eyes, the tension in her shoulders even as she hugged her mother.

“Do you need to go to the luggage carousel?” Helena asked.

Abby shook her head. “Nope. Everything’s here.” She hefted the wheeled carry-on bag she’d been trailing behind her.

“What about your coat?” Mrs. M. looked at the waist-length quilted jacket her daughter was wearing. Sunny remembered having one like it when she was working in New York. It had turned out woefully inadequate when she returned for a Kittery Harbor winter.

“It’s lucky we brought something,” Helena said, reaching for the bag Sunny held. Catching Abby’s glance, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I suppose I should introduce you—reintroduce you, I mean. Abby, this is Sunny Coolidge. She drove down with me.”

“Coolidge?” Abby said.

“Yes, she’s my friend Mike Coolidge’s daughter. Sunny, I’m sure you remember Abby.”

“Sure,” Sunny said, extending a hand. “Welcome back to Kittery Harbor, Abby.”

“Of course. Sunny,” Abby said, taking a moment to place her. “You’ve got to forgive me, Sunny. It’s been—well, more years than I like to think.” She shook hands. “Good to meet you again.”

Once again, Sunny’s reportorial instincts gave a little twinge, detecting something not quite right.

Somehow, I don’t think Abby is as glad as she sounds, Sunny thought. Either that, or my antenna needs serious adjusting.

3

Maybe I can’t get a read on Abby because she’s an actress, Sunny told herself. Certainly she felt at a disadvantage. Standing beside the two Martinson women, petite, slim, and shapely, Sunny felt hulking and over-upholstered.

Helena drew a parka out of the shopping bag. “I thought you might need this. Looks like it should still fit.”

The coat was a deep, almost indigo blue. And however many years old it might be, it was still beautiful.

Why can’t I get coats like that? Sunny thought with a rueful look at the mustard-colored parka she was wearing. An unfortunate incident with a nail sticking out of a fence had killed her winter coat, forcing her to look for a replacement when the outlet stores had mainly cleared out their winter stuff. Mustard was the color beggars had to take when they couldn’t be choosers. It was warm at least.

“Mom, I’m not a kid anymore,” Abigail said, as Helena held out the coat to her.

“You’ll thank me when you get outside.”

“We’re just walking to the car, and then to the house.” Abby shrugged out of her jacket and pulled on the parka. It looked great on her, of course.

They pushed their way through the terminal doors to get outside. When Abby shuddered, she wasn’t acting. “You think you remember how the weather was, until it hits you in the face.”

Sunny smiled, remembering her own rude reintroduction to wintertime in Maine.

“So you think, maybe, I was right to bring the coat?” Helena said as they crossed the airport road to the parking lot.

“Actually,” Abby replied, “I was wondering if you were sure you didn’t want to move to some place like California.”

“Abby, this is where I’ve lived my life—and you’ve lived half of yours.” From Helena’s tone of voice, this wasn’t her first go-round on this particular conversation.

Sunny led the way to Mrs. M.’s Buick. She unlocked the doors and opened the trunk to deposit Abby’s carry-on bag.

Helena and Abby took the rear seat. That didn’t surprise Sunny. When Mrs. M. rode with Mike, they often sat in the back together when Sunny drove. She kept her eyes on the road, giving her dad and his lady friend some privacy. But she couldn’t keep her ears turned off as they moved to join the traffic out of the airport.

“When did you stop driving your own car, Mom?” Abby asked.

“I didn’t stop driving.” A little more testiness crept into Helena’s voice. “But I think it’s safer to let Sunny do the driving when it gets dark out.”

“I could have—”

“Which would be safer, the old woman driving, or the young woman who’s spent most of the last two days getting here from California?” Mrs. Martinson cut in. “I can see you look dead on your feet.”

Abby sucked so much air in, Sunny braced herself for an explosion. Instead, the younger Martinson released it all on a long sigh. “I don’t think that’s fair, considering I had to go by way of Hoppenskip Airlines to find a route that ended up at this airport. I left home for a one A.M. red-eye flight to Texas, transferred to another plane to Florida, and then had to catch a ride between airports to hook up with the flight up here. It should have been a day in the air, but thanks to that storm I spent the night with a choice between a chair or the floor in the Texas airport lounge. I’m sorry I got here late, after dark, and in such a crabby mood.”