• Dana answered at 4:31.
• Booked. Pelican Bay Family Resort, Kill Devil Hills. Two adjoining suites, ocean view. Waterpark, kids’ club, breakfast buffet starting at 6. Shuttle confirmed through Coastal Concierge. They’ll be there at 5:00. Are you okay? — D.

• I typed back.
• I’m okay. Thank you, Dana.

• By 4:45, everything was confirmed.

• I closed my laptop.

• I looked at my mother’s phone.
• Face-down on the counter. Next to the empty Château Margaux.
• I thought about her face last night. Smiling at the screen. Turning it over when she saw me watching.
• I didn’t pick it up.
• I want to be clear about that.
• I didn’t pick it up.

• But it buzzed.
• At 4:47. While I was standing there with my coffee.
• A text. The screen lit up. Even face-down, I could see the light glowing around the edges.
• It buzzed again.

• I turned it over.

• I know. I shouldn’t have.
• I’m not proud of it.
• I turned it over.

• The lock screen. A photo of Poppy and Jonah at Christmas.
• Two notifications.
• From my mother’s sister. My Aunt Linda. In Greensboro.

• LINDA: Did you get there? How’s the beach house??
• LINDA: Did you tell her yet about the house?? Or are you waiting till she’s settled?

• The house.

• I scrolled up.
• I could see the preview of my mother’s message from last night. The one she’d been typing when she turned the phone over.
• CAROL: We’re here!!! It’s even bigger than the pictures. 4 bedrooms! Melissa already took the big suite lol. Haven’t told her yet. Going to wait till morning. Phil says once we’re in, she won’t say no. She never does.

• Phil says once we’re in, she won’t say no.
• She never does.

• I stood in my kitchen.
• At 4:48 in the morning.
• Holding my mother’s phone.

• Haven’t told her yet.
• Told me what?

• I put the phone back.
• Face-down. Exactly where it was.
• I went back upstairs.
• I sat on the edge of my bed.
• I looked at the moonlight on the floor.

• She never does.

• At 4:58, Melissa’s fist hit my bedroom door.

• “Coffee! Eggs! Toast! And make enough for everyone!”

• I looked at the clock on my nightstand.
• 4:59.
• I almost smiled.

• I went downstairs.

• At 5:02, Melissa appeared in the kitchen.
• Wearing my robe.
• My cream-colored silk robe. From a boutique in Charleston. Monogrammed on the pocket in navy thread. M.R. My business partner’s wife gave it to me the day we closed the sale. It cost eight hundred dollars.
• Melissa had found it hanging on the back of the guest suite bathroom door. Where I’d left it after my last shower in that room. She’d put it on over her pajamas.
• She’d tied her blonde hair into a messy bun.
• She looked deeply offended.

• “Where are the eggs?” she said.

• I lifted my coffee.
• “There aren’t any,” I said.

• She blinked.
• “What?”
• “No breakfast here this morning,” I said.

• My mother appeared behind her.
• In her pale pink cardigan. Her hair flat on one side from the pillow. Holding her phone.
• “Sweetheart,” she said. “What does that mean? No breakfast?”

• Before I could answer, headlights swept across the living room windows.

• Big ones. White. Bright.
• Gravel crunched in the driveway.

• A white twelve-passenger luxury shuttle pulled up in front of the house. A Mercedes Sprinter. COASTAL CONCIERGE painted in navy blue letters on the side.
• A dark SUV pulled in behind it. A black Ford Explorer. With a small gold star on the door.

• Melissa marched to the window.
• She pressed her face to the glass.
• “Who is that?”

• I set down my mug.
• “Your transportation,” I said.

• She turned around.
• She stared at me.
• “My what?”

• Two women got out of the shuttle.
• Neat navy blazers. Khaki pants. Name tags. Clipboards. One older, maybe fifty, with gray hair in a bun. One younger, maybe twenty-five, with a ponytail.
• The driver’s door of the Explorer opened.
• A man got out.
• Forties. Tall. Broad-shouldered. In a tan uniform. A badge on his chest. A radio on his shoulder. A folder under his arm.
• CURRITUCK COUNTY SHERIFF.

• My mother went completely still.

• Then there was a knock on the front door.
• Polite. Two taps.

• I walked across the living room.
• Past my father, who was sitting up on the couch now. Rubbing his eyes. Confused. The TV still on. An infomercial for a pressure cooker.
• I opened the front door.

• “Good morning,” the deputy said. “Ms. Reese?”
• “Good morning,” I said. “Thank you for coming.”
• “Deputy Marcus Hale,” he said. “Currituck County. Your attorney called.”
• “I know. Thank you.”
• He looked past me. Into the house. At the suitcases in the hallway. At Melissa in my robe. At my mother in her cardigan.
• He nodded once.

• Melissa hurried across the living room.
• “What is going on?”

• I stepped aside.
• I let the two women from Coastal Concierge into the house.
• The older one held out her hand.
• “Good morning,” she said. “I’m Rhonda. This is Kayla. We’re here to help with your luggage.”

• “Your new accommodations are ready,” I said to my family.

• My mother frowned.
• “Accommodations?”

• I took a piece of paper off the entry table. Where I’d put it at 4:50. Printed. In a clear plastic sleeve.
• I handed it to my mother.
• “I’ve booked you two adjoining suites at Pelican Bay Family Resort,” I said. “In Kill Devil Hills. Twenty-five minutes south. Ocean view.”
• My mother looked at the paper.
• “They have a waterpark,” I said. “An indoor one. And an outdoor one. A lazy river. A kids’ club with activities all day. Arts and crafts. Sandcastle building. A pirate ship.”
• I looked at Poppy.
• She’d come out of my office. In her fox pajamas. Holding her rabbit. Standing in the hallway. Listening.
• “And a breakfast buffet,” I said. “Starting at six. Pancakes. Waffles. A chocolate fountain.”
• Poppy’s eyes went wide.

• “Everything is paid for,” I said. “Two nights. Both suites. Breakfast included. The shuttle will take you there and bring your cars after.”
• I looked at my mother.
• “After that,” I said, “you’re free to extend the stay at your own expense. Or go home.”

• For several seconds, nobody spoke.
• The infomercial played on the TV. But wait. There’s more.

• Then Melissa’s face turned bright red.

• “YOU’RE KICKING US OUT?”

• “I’m moving your vacation somewhere more appropriate,” I said.

• “Into some tacky tourist trap?”

• “You’re welcome to find something else,” I said.

• My father came down the hallway.
• Storming. Pulling his windbreaker over his shoulders. His face red from sleep and anger.
• “What is all this commotion?”

• Melissa pointed at me.
• Her finger shaking.
• “She’s throwing us out!”

• My father stopped.
• He saw the deputy standing in my front doorway.
• He saw Rhonda and Kayla. In their navy blazers. Rolling Melissa’s four enormous suitcases toward the front door.
• He saw the shuttle in the driveway. Its engine running. Its headlights on.
• His expression hardened.

• “We are not leaving,” he said.

• I held his gaze.
• “You are,” I said.

• “I am your father!”

• “And I’m the owner,” I said.

• He stepped closer.
• Close enough that I could smell the wine on his breath from last night. Close enough that I had to tilt my head up to look at him.
• His voice rose.
• “You don’t get to humiliate this family just because you have money,” he said. “We drove nine hours. We came here to spend time together. As a family. And you are going to let us stay.”
• 

     >>>PART 5