As Arabella stood there, she could almost hear noises coming from the back of the house and . . . humming? She cocked her head, wondering if her grandmother haunted the house or if she was going a bit mad after the long two-day drive from Sea Breeze. She heard the distinctive creak of the pantry door opening and the pitter-patter of feet on the green speckled linoleum kitchen floor.
Feeling like she was in a scary movie, she crept down the narrow hallway to the kitchen door that was halfway open. Her chest heaved while she debated between pushing open the door and announcing her arrival, or running away. Ghosts, even a grandmother ghost, were still frightening as hell.
Arabella swallowed hard and put her shaking hand on the dark wood door. She heard the scrape of metal on metal. Cookies lifted off a pan? Dear God . . . could ghosts bake cookies? Well, if any ghost could manage it, she'd bank on her grandmother.
With her heart wedged somewhere in her throat, she had just decided to push open the door and confront her fear when the door swung open.
Arabella screamed and stared into the face of . . .
Her mother?
Yes, her mother, but with deep red hair. Her mother screamed too and held a spatula over her head like a weapon.
"Mom!"
"Arabella! What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Baking cookies."
"Baking cookies?"
Mindy lowered the spatula. "My oven is on the fritz. Joe thinks he can fix anything, but he's wrong. He tinkers and tinkers until finally he breaks it or he breaks down and calls for help. So I came here to make cookies for a cookie-exchange party. The house was a mess, so I ended up cleaning all day yesterday and now I'm baking like a madwoman. Want to help?" she asked cheerily, seemingly fully recovered from their scare a moment ago, as if it were a normal occurrence for Arabella to be standing there.
Arabella seriously thought she might faint.
"Darling, you look white as a ghost."
"Funny choice of words . . ." Arabella sort of stumbled into the kitchen and sat down in a metal-backed chair.
"Bella, are you okay?" the red-haired Mindy asked in her mom voice. "Do you want a bottle of water?"
"Got anything stronger?"
"As a matter of fact, I've been drinking a wee bit of wine."
Arabella noticed the rosy color in her mother's cheeks and knew it wasn't just from the cozy heat of the kitchen. Her little indulgence was likely another reason she'd failed to hear Arabella's arrival. She smiled. "A wee bit?"
"A glass or two." Mindy fussed around in the white cabinets and came up with a delicate wineglass. "Here you go, sweet pea." A moment later Arabella had a generous pour of chardonnay in front of her.
"Thanks, Mom." Arabella took a deep sip and felt her heart rate slow down. She grinned at her mother's lopsided red bun on top of her head and the flour-dusted Christmas-themed shirt.
"Well, I think I could use a breather." Her mother topped off her own glass and sat down at the small table. "What on earth are you wearing? Is that a horse?"
///
"It's a long story." She took another sip. "Speaking of clothing, isn't it a bit early for Christmas cookies and festive attire? Are you becoming one of those people who start celebrating Christmas before Thanksgiving?"
Mindy waved a dismissive hand. "Thanksgiving is only a couple of weeks away. The holidays have gotten so busy for us that my book club started doing the exchange early. The Santa shirt is for Christmas cheer. You know, to get me in the mood."
"I think the wine is for that."
"I must say it's doing the trick." Her mother tipped her head back and laughed. "The cookies actually freeze really well. I just have to keep Joe from eating them all before I can get them in the freezer. Did you know he got me a deep freezer for my birthday?" she asked with a bright smile. "I always wanted one," she said, and it struck Arabella how her mother never asked for much and was happy with simple things.
"No, I didn't know," Arabella said, feeling a flash of guilt. She didn't know much about her mother's day-to-day life. "But that's really nice."
"He's thoughtful that way."
"How did you get in here, by the way?"
"When Grady bought the house, your father gave the keys to me. He acted like he was doing something sweet, but I know he really wanted me to clean up the mess he and Cynthia left behind. I did put my foot down and told them not to take any of the furniture because I knew you'd want the house to look the same as it always did." She lifted one shoulder. "I know I didn't have the right to make demands, but these days I tend to speak my mind. I'm thinking about getting a tattoo."