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When you looked at her you saw bone structure and poise rather than age, Martha thought.
“You look beautiful, Mrs. Harrison.”
“Call me Kathleen.” Kathleen picked up her purse. “We’re heading up to the roof terrace, where we will drink Manhattans and eat lobster risotto.”
Was that going to be delicious or disgusting? Martha pictured herself in the local pub at home on her return. I’ll have a Manhattan and lobster risotto. The response would probably be, What, love? accompanied by a blank look, a plate of fish fingers and half a pint of beer.
The roof terrace turned out to have views over downtown Chicago, and the lake beyond that.
“This is very cool.” Martha settled herself at the nearest available table but Kathleen gestured to the waiter.
She said something that Martha couldn’t hear, and the next moment they were being ushered to a table by the balcony, with the best views of the skyline.
Martha sneaked a look at the people around her, relieved to see a variety of clothing. Some were casual, some dressier in their approach, but they all had one thing in common—confidence. They all looked as if they belonged.
Martha sat up a little straighter and tried to look as if this glamorous bar was her normal habitat even though she was sure she wasn’t fooling anyone. She probably stood out like a zebra on a sandy beach.
And then the cocktails appeared, delivered with a flourish.
“To adventure.” Kathleen raised her glass and Martha, half dizzy with jet lag, tiredness and an overdose of excitement, lifted hers too.
“To adventure.” And a new life, far away from her old one.
Martha, explorer and drinker of exotic cocktails.
Take that, Slimy Steven.
She took a mouthful of the cocktail and almost choked. Her alcohol intake was restricted by her lack of funds, and when she drank she usually drank the beer her dad kept in the fridge. She probably had the most unsophisticated palate on the planet.
It took three sips for her to discover that the cocktail was the best thing she’d ever tasted and four to decide she’d be quite happy never to drink anything else. By the time she’d emptied her glass she realized that Kathleen was nothing like her own grandmother.
There was a strange spinning feeling in her head. Jet lag? Cocktail? Having had no experience of either before this moment, it was impossible to tell.
Kathleen ordered another and Martha was about to point out that drinking so much on an empty stomach might not be such a good idea when the lobster risotto arrived.
Chicago was spread before them, glittering and bright.
“What did you say that persuaded them to give us this view?”
“I told them the truth.” Kathleen picked up her fork. “That I’m of somewhat advanced y
ears and one never knows if this could be my last supper.”
Martha wasn’t used to people acknowledging their own mortality so openly. What should she say? Don’t be silly, you’re going to be fine. But what if she wasn’t fine? What if Kathleen died on this trip?
She took another slug of her drink. She’d never seen a dead body.
Was it selfish to hope that Kathleen at least didn’t die until the end of the trip? She didn’t want this adventure to end yet. Nor did she want to be blamed by scary Liza for leading her mother to her doom.
Maybe it was in her interests to be at least a little protective.
“Are you generally well? Anything I should know about?” She probably should have asked Kathleen to have a medical check, or produce a certificate of health, but given that Kathleen hadn’t asked her for proof of her driving experience that wouldn’t have been fair.
“I’m eighty. You could say I’m like a classic car. I need maintenance. My engine stutters and I have scratches on my paintwork, but still I endure.” Kathleen raised her glass. “To living in the moment.”
Martha raised her glass too. “Living in the moment.” Which was fine, as long as her moment didn’t include having to deal with Kathleen’s dead body. They were going to be driving through Death Valley, weren’t they? It didn’t sound auspicious. Maybe they should take a different route. Also the car analogy didn’t thrill her because she didn’t have a good track record with cars. She didn’t want to be responsible for putting another dent in Kathleen’s paintwork. “Shall I order you a juice? Water?”
“I’ll have one more cocktail to celebrate our first night. You?”
