As we arrived at the hotel in N.C., our car turned swiftly towards an hotel entrance overhang.
I peeked into the lobby.
“Heh,” I remarked, “I’ll wait. Two rooms, right?”
“You come too.” Phil coaxed.
The lobby revealed the same hotel smell and coffee station I had seen relentlessly as a flight attendant. Grab, the key, find out restaurant recommendations and the hours of free breakfast.
“See you at the pool?”
He looked at me inquiringly, as if to say, you really don’t want two rooms, right?
I nodded and turned to go, followed by my roller-bag.
“Thanks, see you in a 1/2.”
When we arrived at the pool, the gate was closed.
“No,” I lamented, “forgot to check the hours. Guess we can go for dinner.”
At the Red Lobster, I ordered my regular, particular bend on New England tastes. Phil surprisingly ordered exactly the same nuances, including desert.
“Do you always order just that meal?”
“Yes, believe it or not, I do. When I come here with my nephews, that’s exactly what I get!”
“Will I meet your nephews tomorrow at the reunion?”
“Yes, let’s go so we can get some rest.”
Phil saw me to my door of the hotel room.
“May I come in? My TV isn’t working, we can watch the fights.”
TO BE CONT’D