I stopped breathing for a second.
Brian said, “The reservation change is already done.”
“She’ll do it.”
“You’re sure?”
“My mom hates disappointing people. Especially family.”
I moved before I heard anything else.
I walked past their room.
Past mine.
Past the elevators.
I took the stairs because I did not want to stand under bright lights with strangers while my face looked the way it must have looked.
Halfway down, I sat on the landing.
My knees felt weak.
I thought about every favor.
Every time I had rearranged something.
Every time Emily had said, “Mom, you’re the only person I trust with Ethan.”
I had heard love in that sentence.
Maybe love had been there.
But so had convenience.
And Emily knew exactly which part I would respond to.
I stayed on the stairs until I knew I could walk through the lobby without crying.
Then I went to the front desk.
A young woman with dark hair looked up.
“Good evening.”
I put my sandals on the counter.
“I’m sorry. I need to ask a strange question.”
“Of course.”
“What time are we checking out tomorrow?”
She asked for the name.
“Perry. Emily Perry. Or possibly Brian Perry.”
She typed.
Then frowned.
“Could I see your ID?”
I gave it to her.
She looked from the license to the screen.
“Are you Mrs. Rose Perry?”
“Yes.”
Her expression changed slightly.
“All right. Your room is scheduled to check out at ten.”
“My room?”
“Yes.”
“What about the other room?”
She clicked again.
“That room has been extended three nights.”
I stared at her.
“Extended?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Until Thursday?”
She checked.
“Yes.”
I thought about Brian’s question.
Did you tell her about tomorrow yet?
“What about my grandson?”
The receptionist looked uncertain.
“What do you mean?”
“Is there anything on there about travel arrangements? A shuttle?”
She typed again.
“Yes. There’s a transportation request for tomorrow.”
“For who?”
She read the screen.
“You and Ethan.”
“Going where?”
“Asheville.”
For several seconds, I said nothing.
The receptionist glanced up at me.
I heard myself ask, “They’re sending me home with my grandson?”
She looked uncomfortable now.
“The note says you agreed to care for him until his parents return.”
“I agreed to nothing.”
She looked at the monitor again.
“There’s an authorization attached.”
“May I see it?”
She hesitated, then turned the screen just enough that I could see a document.
My name appeared near the bottom.
So did Ethan’s.
Below them was a digital signature.
Mine.
Except I had never signed it.
“I did not do that.”
The receptionist’s face became serious.
“You didn’t authorize this?”
“No.”
“Did you give someone permission to sign on your behalf?”
“No.”
She turned the screen back toward herself.
“I’m going to put a note on the reservation.”
“Please print that.”
“I need to check what I’m allowed to release.”
“Then check.”
My voice came out harder than I intended.
“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t your fault. But my daughter is apparently planning to put a four-year-old child on a shuttle with me tomorrow and leave me responsible for him for three more days, and she has not said a word to me.”
The woman nodded.
“I understand.”
She called someone.
A few minutes later, a supervisor came over.
He was a man in his fifties named Mr. Alvarez.
The receptionist explained quietly.
He asked to see my ID again.
Then he studied the reservation.
“This is unusual,” he said.
“That seems like a gentle word for it.”
He gave me an apologetic look.
“You’re right.”
I asked if the transportation request could be removed.
He said it could be marked as disputed and canceled from their side.
“Do that.”
He nodded.
Then I asked a question I had almost forgotten.
“The hotel offers childcare, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Was there ever childcare on this reservation?”
Mr. Alvarez looked at the screen.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much?”
He did not give me the amount immediately.
Instead, he said, “There was a childcare package included with the original booking.”
“Included?”
“Yes.”
“For the entire stay?”
“Several blocks of care were reserved.”
I stared at him.
“What happened to it?”
He scrolled.
“It was canceled before check-in.”
“By whom?”
“I can tell you the modification came through the guest reservation portal.”
“And the refund?”
“It was processed to the original payment method.”
I gripped the edge of the counter.
“So childcare was already arranged.”
“Yes.”
“And someone canceled it.”
“Yes.”
I almost laughed.