Christmas with Nick Klaas

Part 4: Fight or Flight

Noelle stepped off the pontoon plane and nearly twisted her ankle on the floating pier as her boot slipped out from under her. Thigh-high and made of red velvet, it was the type of footwear that was usually perfectly acceptable for the season. But winter in Manhattan was obviously very different from winter in wherever-in-the-boonies part of Finland they were in right now. 

On top of the already grueling six hour red-eye that departed LaGuardia at one in the morning, she'd lost all track of direction during the forty-minute flight out of the capital. Hoping the tiny prop plane wouldn't crash as it soared above fjords and mountains was her central concern. This place didn't even have a proper airport for goodness sakes, forcing the aircraft to land in the middle of a lake.

"I told you to dress properly," Avery scolded from up ahead, her face barely visible under the faux fur-lined hood of a goose down parka.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Nanook of the North," Noelle replied wryly, snickering at her travel companion.

Bundled in insulated boots, waterproof pants, and thick leather gloves, Avery looked like she had come to run a dog sled race. Noelle, on the other hand, packed outfits that were good for lounging around a roaring fire while sipping wine and for playing in one concert. The women obviously had different priorities, and she would have appreciated not being nagged for hers. Especially when Miss Nacogdoches 2014 was getting a free vacation out of it at her expense.

"Hey, lady! You forgot something," yelled the burly pilot after her.

Noelle turned around to see he was holding a Samsonite pet carrier. Two, orange eyes shone out from behind the grilled door before sounding out an angry, "Meow."

"Oh, right," she muttered, reluctantly taking the baggage. Added to her rolling carry-on and violin case, her hands were more than full.

But her current predicament was no one's fault except her own. Okay, maybe it was partly Al Croaker's fault for seeing dollar signs instead of recognizing the exploitation he was subjecting to his best musician. Who could blame him, though? Arts funding had been in the toilet for years, and she respected the hustle. It was on her for not succeeding in getting out of this trip. She should have made an ultimatum. He intimidated her with breech of contract so she should have just threatened to quit. There was a 93.8% chance it would have worked.

Having a cat along on this forsaken adventure, however, was one hundred percent her doing. And who would have thought that lawyer neighbor would not only need a pet sitter for the next week, but that he'd gladly take Noelle up on the offer. So now she was in Scandinavia lugging around a cranky feline. If that wasn't fate giving her a big, fat "you made your bed, now lie in it," Noelle didn't know what was.

Pulling her luggage behind her as she followed Avery off the pier under a sign saying Tervetuloa Keskitalvi, Suomi/Welcome to Midwinter, Finland, Noelle internally huffed at the missed opportunity. Soon she was externally huffing too. The darn cat who was meowing louder than ever must have weighed fifteen pounds, while her violin had to be protected at all costs. Her boots were also soaked through from the ankle-deep snow, while her skintight leather pants and woolen poncho coat weren't nearly warm enough.

"Do . . . do you know . . . wh-where we're going?" she asked, teeth chattering from the cold.

Avery stopped and turned, holding up the smartphone in her hand. "Not really. This place isn't on Waze, Google or Apple Maps. It's like it doesn't even exist," she said. "But this seems like a main road and the houses are concentrated just over the bend, so our hotel must be in that direction."