“Excuse me,” I said, holding the folder close to my side. “Could we get three extra beach towels for room two-fourteen?”
The woman reached into the lower wire shelf of her cart and pulled out a stack of thick blue terrycloth. Her name tag read Marta, and she looked tired in the bright fluorescent hallway lights.
“It is very quiet on this floor today,” Marta said, handing me the towels. “Usually by noon the kids are running down the halls, but we only have three check-ins on this wing.”
“We like the quiet,” I said, balancing the heavy towels on top of my folder.
“Enjoy it while you can,” Marta said. “The weekend crowd is always different.”
I thanked her and turned back toward our door, the weight of the paper folder still solid under my arm. Emma was waiting by the entryway, her blue plastic bucket already dangling from her wrist.
“Ready,” Emma said, her high voice bouncing off the high ceiling of the hallway.
