A Catered Mother's Day Read Free Page B

interpreting her sigh. “It’s okay. I know you don’t like Ellen very much.”
    â€œI never said that,” Libby protested.
    â€œYou don’t have to.”
    â€œIt’s not that I don’t like Ellen, it’s just that she complains all the time. She whines more than I do.”
    Bernie laughed.
    â€œBut I’ll come,” Libby told her sister. “Of course, I’ll come. You’re going to need my help.”
    Bernie smiled. “Like that’s going to happen.”
    Libby smiled back. “Funny, how it always seems to. I wonder what Ellen’s doing at the Riverview Motel anyway.”
    â€œI guess we’re going to find out,” Bernie said. Then she ran upstairs to tell her dad where they were going. A minute later she was down with the keys to the van. Her dad’s routine injunction of “be safe out there” floated down the stairs after her. Libby was waiting outside.
    â€œI’m surprised Dad didn’t want to ride along,” Libby observed.
    â€œHe said to call him if it’s anything interesting and he’ll get Marvin to drive him down. He thinks Ellen is probably being hysterical.”
    Libby made a pffft noise with her lips. “Well, she does tend to get a tad overwrought.”
    â€œThere is that,” Bernie allowed.
    â€œMore than a tad,” Libby added.
    Bernie didn’t say anything because it was true.

Chapter 3
    T he Riverview Motel on Route 72 had been built over seventy years ago at a time when people went out for leisurely Sunday afternoon drives. Once the motel had been an elegant stopping place for tourists bent on enjoying the scenic pleasures of the Hudson Valley. Now Route 72 was a forgotten road and the Riverview Motel was strictly for the locals. It was the place to go if you were a teenager and wanted to have a party, or you were older and wanted to have an assignation.
    The sign signaling the turnoff to the motel was sited ten feet off the road and had never been replaced. Over the years, it had come to tilt sharply to the left, giving the picture of the Hudson River a tipsy feel. The weather had done its work as well, and by now the blues had faded to grays, while the boats on the river and the people on the shore had been reduced to white and black smears.
    A few of the letters on the sign had vanished as well, so now the sign read, T HE IVERVIEW OTEL. It had been that way for as long as Bernie and Libby remembered, the owners, Isaac and Mina, having no desire to invest money in fixing it. As Bernie pulled into the parking lot she noted that the grass and the ivy seemed to be winning the battle in their fight with the macadam.
    Libby pointed as three wild turkeys looked at them, gave a couple of squawks, and hurried off into a cluster of weeds that were invading the parking lot perimeter. “Isaac should sell this place before it falls down.”
    â€œI don’t think he really wants to,” Bernie replied as she maneuvered around a piece of cement.
    â€œThen he should fix the place up,” Libby stated.
    â€œHe could,” Bernie said. “But he obviously likes things just the way they are. I’m guessing that he prefers to spend his money on his fishing trips.”
    â€œThat salmon was really good,” Libby allowed, remembering the four pounds of king salmon Isaac had given them from his last trip as a thank-you for storing the catch from his freezer in theirs when his power had gone out last winter during the ice storm.
    â€œGood!” Bernie exclaimed. “It was great. I hope he goes on another trip soon.”
    â€œMe too,” Libby replied. It really was the best piece of fish she’d ever tasted. “Dad is talking about going down to the Carolinas with Clyde. They have mahimahi down there.”
    â€œNot as good as salmon, but good enough,” Bernie said. Then she changed the subject. “Boy, I had some great times here,” she