“Just pay it, Mark,” I added, looking at the long line of tired families forming behind us. “The kids need to get out of these clothes.”
He pulled his wallet out with a sharp jerk, tossing his credit card onto the counter.
“This place is already a rip-off,” he said.
The clerk handed back the card along with two plastic room keys, her smile a little tighter than before. Mark snatched his card and walked toward the elevators without waiting for us, leaving me to balance the diaper bag and guide the kids through the crowded lobby.
The room smelled of stale air conditioning and carpet cleaner. The children immediately ran to the glass door, pressing their noses against it to look at the pool three floors below. Mark dropped his garment bag on the luggage rack and immediately threw himself onto the king-sized bed, face down.
“I am exhausted,” he muttered into the pillows. “Do not let them make too much noise.”
“Mark, we have the welcome dinner at five-thirty,” I said, sitting on the edge of the stiff armchair near the desk.
