Caleb stood by the refrigerator, adjusting his leather watch strap so tight the skin underneath turned white. On the counter between us sat a flyer for gas at four dollars a gallon, next to my half-empty mug of black coffee.
“The deposit is due by noon,” Caleb said, his voice rushing ahead of his breath. “If we don’t lock it in now, the whole week after Christmas gets released to the public.”
I took a yellow dishcloth and wiped a circle of dried milk off the granite. I polished my gold wedding band with my thumb, a habit that always made me feel grounded when Caleb started to spin.
“I don’t mind writing a check, Caleb,” I said, speaking in my usual measured way. “It is simpler to keep a paper trail for my own records.”
“They don’t take checks for the holiday rates,” he said, his eyes darting to the window where the November leaves were scraping against the glass. “It has to be a card. Sloan said she can input the numbers on the portal from her phone.”
“The mountain lodge,” I said, pausing to let the words settle. “We have not discussed which rooms we are getting.”
Caleb shifted his weight and pulled at his watch strap again. “It is just the standard layout, Mom. Two floors. Plenty of space.”
“Who is on the top floor?” I asked.
He looked down at his shoes, then out toward the driveway. “We are still sorting that out with the manager.”
“I would like the room with the fireplace, if possible,” I said. “My joints do not do well in the damp winter air.”
Caleb cleared his throat, but the sound was thin. “Sloan is coordinating the floor plan with the booking agent.”
“Is there a reason I cannot call the lodge directly?” I asked.
“It is just easier if one person handles the portal,” Caleb said, his voice trailing off as he reached for his car keys on the hook. “Sloan has the discount code from her blogging partner.”
I turned back to the counter, the damp dishcloth cold against my palm. “I will have the card ready when you come back from the lumber yard.”
