I opened the blue binder to the second page, where I had color-coded each hour of our stay.
“It is only three,” he said, his voice muffled by the comforter. “I need an hour.”
“But we need to unpack and get the kids changed,” I said.
“You do it,” he said. “I am off the clock.”
I sat there for a long moment, looking at the neat columns of my handwriting on the paper. Eight months of planning had gone into these ten days, funded by the quiet shifts I had worked at the boutique downtown while the kids were in school. I had saved every dollar in a separate account, wanting this trip to be the thing that finally stopped the quiet drifting between us. Now, the room felt incredibly small.
Darlene came over and put her hand on my knee, her eyes wide.
“Is Daddy sick?” she asked.
“No, sweetie, just tired from the plane,” I said, squeezing her shoulder.
I stood up and began lifting the heavy suitcases onto the second bed, unzipping them with quiet care so the metal teeth would not click too loudly. Mark was already asleep, his breathing slow and heavy, completely insulated from the room.
