Patrick sighed.
“Ma’am, we’re completely booked. There’s a corporate gala in the ballroom. Zero vacancies.”
“My daughter needs a bed. If you could look a little closer, I’d appreciate it.”
Karl, the employee standing beside him, laughed under his breath.
“People always show up thinking that if they push hard enough, a luxury suite will magically open up.”
Patrick didn’t correct him.
“Try one of the budget inns near the highway. You might have better luck.”
Clara looked at him for several seconds.
Then she glanced down at Lily.
The little girl stirred in her sleep.
Clara gently adjusted her daughter’s head against her shoulder.
“Can I speak with the general manager?”
“The general manager is occupied,” Patrick replied. “I’m not disturbing him because you can’t find your booking.”
Then a woman in her mid-fifties stepped out from a service door with a stack of towels.
Gray-streaked hair was pulled into a braid.
She wore the maroon vest of housekeeping.
Her nametag read:
LUPITA.
She took one look at the sleeping child.
Then the bent roses.
Then Clara’s exhausted face.
Then the receptionists.
She set the towels down.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Is everything alright?”
“My reservation isn’t showing up.”
Lupita looked at Patrick.
“Did you check the corporate holding block?”
Patrick frowned.
“The what?”
“The secondary tab,” Lupita said. “Executive bookings don’t always propagate on the first search.”
Karl rolled his eyes.
“Lupita, go back to your floor. This isn’t your department.”
“No, it isn’t,” Lupita said quietly.
“But a tired mother with a sleeping little girl is my business if she’s being left to stand out here.”
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