They had packed like they were moving in permanently.
Suitcases.
Garment bags.
A cooler.
Folded lounge chairs that were somehow fancier than any furniture I owned.
“Derek, darling,” Donna called, “be a dear and carry these in. Your wife can handle the light ones.”
They had packed like they were moving in permanently.
Clara handed me a tote bag stuffed with what felt like bricks.
“Careful, sweetheart, that’s my good china. I never travel without it.”
My jaw dropped.
Who on EARTH travelled with their good china?
I stood there in the driveway, arms full, watching the two of them stroll toward the front door like paying guests at a resort.
Clara handed me a tote bag
I looked at the extra luggage piling up in the gravel.
A cold realization settled over me.
This vacation was no longer ours.
***
By the time I hauled the last bag inside, Donna had already laid claim to the master bedroom.
“Naturally,” Clara said, unpacking an enormous suitcase. “We need the good view for our rest.”
I looked at Derek.
This vacation was no longer ours.
“That’s our room. I booked it for us.”
He gave me that helpless little shrug he’d perfected over eight years of marriage.
“Let it go for now. It’s just a room.”
By noon, it was not just a room.
I was standing with an armful of towels while Donna reclined on a lounge chair like a queen inspecting her kingdom.
It was not just a room.
“These towels are damp,” she declared, holding one up between two fingers.
“They came out of the dryer an hour ago.”
“Then run them again. My sister has sensitive skin. And warm them this time, please.”
Clara raised a lazy hand from the neighboring chair.
“And bring the lemon water. Not tap. The bottled kind.”
I stood there blinking.
“Then run them again.”
“We only have tap.”
Donna laughed as if I’d told a delightful joke.
“Oh, isn’t she funny, Clara? Now go on, dear.”
I went on.
Not because I wanted to.
But because Derek was standing near the door mouthing the word please with his eyes doing that wounded puppy thing.
I went on.
Lunch was worse.
I had prepared sandwiches and a big salad.
I thought a light lakeside meal made sense in the heat.
Donna stared at the plate like I’d served her cardboard.
“This is it? Where’s the roast? Where are the potatoes?”
“It’s ninety degrees out, Donna.”
“I love good food, dear. BIG MEALS. At my age, I need proper nourishment. Clara does too.”
“This is it?”
Clara patted her stomach in solemn agreement.
So I cooked.
A full lunch, with roasted chicken and potatoes.
All while the two of them sipped drinks and watched me sweat over the stove.
Then came the nap.
“We’re resting from two until four,” Donna informed me, wagging a finger. “Absolute silence. Keep the children away from the house.”
“Absolute silence.”
“They’re seven and four. Silence isn’t really their thing.”
“That’s your job to manage, isn’t it?”
I spent two hours whispering to my kids on the far side of the yard.
We played a made-up game called Quietest Mouse in the World.
My daughter won by falling asleep in the grass.
***
By late afternoon, I’d had enough of tiptoeing around my own vacation.
I walked down to the lakeside where Donna lounged with a cocktail in her hand.
