Right on time the next morning, pounding started on my door.
Behind Sam and Jennie, spread across the hallway and bleeding into the lobby, stood six older women in matching flamingo visors, oversized sunglasses, and tropical-print outfits loud enough to disrupt weather patterns.
Judy had a karaoke machine. Marlene had a cooler. Patty had somehow found maracas before breakfast.
The lobby had gone quiet. Everybody sensed a show.
Judy pointed at Sam and Jennie. “Which one of you invited your own mother here as unpaid labor?”
Somewhere behind the front desk, a receptionist made a choking sound she disguised as a cough.
“You invited them?” Jennie turned on me.
“You said I should know my place,” I replied. “I thought I might enjoy it better with company.”
“Which one of you invited your own mother here as unpaid labor?”
My grandchildren, appearing in various stages of breakfast stickiness, looked absolutely delighted. Brad immediately attached himself to Marlene’s tote bag because it contained crackers.
Susie gasped, “Grandma, your friends are amazing!”
Matt, who had looked worried since the drive down, smiled for the first time.
Judy clapped her hands. “Ladies, to the pool!”
Within 10 minutes, 80s music was blasting, Marlene was leading water aerobics with the authority of a naval captain, and random tourists were joining in. Sam ended up chasing Brad around the pool deck while sweating through his shirt.
“Move those young hips, Sammy!” Judy yelled.
Sam went red so fast it looked like the Florida sun had singled him out personally.
