Amy Maxwell's 6th Sense by Heather Balog Read Free Book Online Page A

vacation of a lifetime.”
     
    “And this is your room,” the bellhop remarks in a bored voice as he roughly pushes on the door. It appears to be stuck. Quite possibly from the insane humidity that is building up in the damp hallway where we are standing. It’s almost humid enough to rain inside , I find myself thinking after nearly dozing off from exhaustion. And Dramamine. The damn pill must last a day and half. I just can’t shake this zombie-like feeling.
    The bellhop manages to un-stick the bothersome door and flings it open. The room is definitely smaller than I imagined in my daydream, but that doesn’t seem to both Colt.
    “Awesome!” he say before dropping the backpack he’s been carrying on the turquoise tile floor and leaping up on the nearest bed. As he bounces dangerously close to the moving ceiling fan blades, his brother follows suit, scrambling up on the elevated mattress.
    “Trampoline!” Evan screeches as he bounces, his backpack slapping against his back.
    “Evan, Colt! Stop!” I yell, dropping my own carry-on and making a grab for my youngest child. “Jesus, aren’t you tired?” The kid has been up for practically forty hours straight, except for his three minute nap, and he’s still going strong. Forget that pink bunny with the drum—Evan is the perfect mascot for the Energizer commercials.
    “I am absolutely wiped out ,” Roger announces like I was addressing him. The bellhop leaves the room, still staring incredulously at the five dollar bill that Roger shoved at him. Five measly bucks after the poor guy had lugged our caravan of baggage up four flights of stairs. I can tell from his demeanor that Roger is proud of himself for remembering to tip the guy, but the bellhop was evidently expecting far more moolah for his efforts.
    Roger further demonstrates his exhaustion by flopping face first onto the bed.
    “Mother,” Allie whines while standing in the middle of the room, hands planted on her hips. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
    “Yeah, what about me?” Lexie pipes in as she pulls up next to me, dropping her hand on my shoulder. I glance up at her. Yes, I said up . When did my baby get taller than me? She’s only twelve!
    “Well, there has to be another room,” I say with an uneasy chuckle. I wander over to the nearest closed door with a smile on my face. There has to be another room because I gave Roger explicit directions to book a suite. We have four freaking kids for God’s sake.
    I pull open the door with gusto, only to have the ironing board behind the door smack me in the head.
    “ Mother f …” I bite my lip so that a stream of curse words doesn’t spew forth from my mouth.
    “What is that ?” Allie asks with disgust. “A broom closet?”
    “I can’t sleep in a broom closet!” Lexie wails, rushing to my side. If you thought it was to check on my status after being cold cocked with an ironing board, you would be wrong. Lexie has turned into a practicing teenager, and she wants to examine the injustice of the broom closet where she is certain she will be forced to sleep.
    “No one is sleeping in a broom closet!” I announce, rubbing my temples. “Roger! Where’s the door to the other room?” I poke him in his belly to arouse him from what appears to be the beginnings of a nap.
    “What the hell?” Roger grumbles. He peers up at me with his droopy brown eyes. “Amy, I told you I’m exhausted.”
    “We’re all exhausted, Roger. We all sat on a plane for four hours after waiting in an airport for two hours and then drove an hour to the resort. We all did that.”
    “You took a nap on the plane. And I—”
    I cut him off before he can finish his usual litany. “I know you worked all day yesterday at your job outside the house. But I worked at home. Packing and planning and writing lists and checking everything off,” I remind him.
    I am so sick and tired of this “but I work outside the house” crap that he likes to wave in my face. Yeah and he