On impulse, she called a bed-and-breakfast on the Maine coast where she and her husband had once spent an anniversary weekend decades ago.
Miraculously, they had one room left.
She booked it.
Before leaving, she wrote a note and placed it on the kitchen island.
The cleaning lady comes Tuesday.
The house is locked.
Then she left.
By nine o’clock, her phone had become a siren.
The first messages were demands.
We’re at the gate.
The code isn’t working.
Call now.
The front desk says you canceled.
Then came outrage.
My parents are freezing in the car.
How could you humiliate us like this?
And then Connor, angry in the flat, entitled tone adult children sometimes develop only with the person who has rescued them too often.
Mom.
This isn’t funny.
Megan is crying.
You are embarrassing us in front of her whole family.
Fix it right now.
