He tucked his phone into his front pocket and finally grabbed the handle of his own garment bag, his eyes already scanning the signs for the exit.
The heat outside the terminal hit us like a wet wool blanket, carrying the heavy scent of coconut sunscreen from the passing crowds. The heavy weight of our luggage on the tile floor of the rental car lobby felt like an anchor pulling at my shoulders.
By the time we arrived at the Coral Haven Resort, the clock in the lobby read half past two. The lobby was paved in white tile that echoed with the sound of children shouting near the indoor fountains. I stood at the polished oak desk, holding the diaper bag in one hand and the blue binder in the other.
Mark leaned against the brass bellhop cart, his fingers tapping a fast rhythm against the railing.
“There is an additional resort fee of forty-five dollars per night, ma’am,” the young woman behind the desk said, smiling.
Mark straightened up immediately, his face tightening.
“Forty-five dollars for what?” he asked, his voice cutting through the lobby chatter. “We already paid for the room online.”
“It covers the pool towels, the fitness center, and the beach access,” she said.
“We are not going to use the fitness center,” Mark said, leaning over the counter. “This is ridiculous. It was not in the original quote.”
I looked down at the blue binder, where the email confirmation was tucked behind the first tab. My fingers felt too clumsy to search for it, and the heavy diaper bag was slipping from my shoulder. Darlene was pulling on my wrist, pointing at a giant plastic crab near the gift shop door.
“Can we get a toy, Mommy?” she asked.
“Not right now, Darlene,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
