I walked up to the high wooden front desk, holding my driver’s license and the credit card I had saved for three months to use for this trip.
“Checking in for Cara Vance,” I said to the young clerk behind the counter.
The clerk tapped on her keyboard, her eyes scanning the screen. “Welcome, Ms. Vance. I see your reservation for the next four weeks. We have you in cottage four, just behind the pool deck.”
“Perfect,” I said, letting out a small breath I had been holding since we crossed the county line.
“We do have a very high volume of local traffic today due to the end-of-summer festival,” the clerk said, sliding two blue plastic keycards across the counter. “If you plan on driving anywhere this afternoon, I would suggest leaving early. The main bridge gets completely backed up by one o’clock.”
I took the keys, a sudden wave of worry tightening my throat. If the traffic was that bad, any delay returning to the resort later would make us late, and Owen would document it immediately.
The clerk handed me a folded glossy brochure with a map of the property. The resort welcome packet had all the pool hours and the boardwalk map on the back, and she pointed to the layout of the pamphlets on the desk.
Before I could ask about alternative routes, my phone began to buzz in my palm. Owen’s name flashed on the screen in bright white letters.
I stepped away from the desk, moving toward a quiet corner near a tall potted palm tree. Emma was standing by the glass doors, watching a small brown lizard on the patio stones outside.
“Owen, I am checking in now,” I said, keeping my voice low. “We made it safely.”
“I know exactly where you are, Cara,” Owen said. His voice was incredibly calm, almost pleasant, which made the hair on my arms stand up.
“What do you mean you know?” I asked.
“I told you that you didn’t need to take her that far,” Owen said. “You should have stayed closer to home. We will see how much of a vacation you actually get.”
