She had absolutely no idea what was waiting for her inside.
The lobby of Pinerest Lodge was breathtaking. Vaulted ceilings with exposed timber beams stretched high above us, and a massive double-sided stone fireplace dominated the center of the room.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered an unobstructed panoramic view of the lake.
It was exactly the way I had envisioned it 3 years ago.
Chloe spun around, taking in the crystal chandeliers and the plush velvet seating areas.
“Isn’t it incredible?” she asked, not really looking at me. “Derek’s firm uses places like this for their executive retreats. This is what real success looks like, Mom. Not clipping grocery coupons and hoarding pennies in that dusty old house of yours.”
“It’s a beautiful building,” I agreed quietly, looking around at the bustling staff.
Derek flagged down a passing server carrying a tray of sparkling cider. He took two glasses, handing one to Kloe, and completely ignored me.
“We’re going to hit the spa right after we check into the presidential suite,” he announced. “You can probably find some free walking trails out back, Martha. That doesn’t cost anything.”
I watched them sip their drinks, feeling a familiar twinge of disappointment.
I had spent decades raising Kloe to be kind, but she had married a man who worshiped money, and she had eagerly adopted his worldview.
They assumed my quiet life in a modest neighborhood meant I was struggling. They never bothered to ask what I actually did with my time or my savings since my husband’s business shares had paid out.
“Let’s get our keys,” Chloe instructed, marching toward the long mahogany front desk. “I want to make sure they didn’t mess up our reservations. You know how these places are always trying to squeeze an extra dollar out of you.”
I followed a few steps behind, my duffel bag light against my hip.
I watched a young woman at the desk greet them with a polite, practiced smile.
Things were about to get very interesting.
“Welcome to Pinerest Lodge,” the young clerk greeted, reading the name on Derek’s platinum credit card as he slapped it onto the marble counter. “How can I help you today?”
“Reservation for Derek and Chloe Sterling,” my daughter stated, leaning against the counter like she owned it. “We have the presidential suite, and there should be a separate basic room reserved for my mother, Martha Griffin. Make sure that one is billed entirely separately. We aren’t covering her incidentals.”
The clerk’s fingers flew across her keyboard. She stopped, frowning slightly as her eyes scanned the monitor.