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

comes home from work, kicks off his shoes, and I’m still working. But I don’t want to get into that now. I just want find out where the hell the extra room is so I can get the kids settled.
    “We’re supposed to have a suite, Roger. There are only two beds in here.”
    Despite his sleepy demeanor, Roger leaps to his feet, grinning. He rubs his hands together like a spider about to devour a fly.
    Uh oh. I know that look. That’s the look he got on his face when he told me he saved money by switching our car insurance to some no name brand, and when we (ahem...I) had that fender bender in the Stop and Shop parking lot, the insurance agent happily told me that sort of thing “wasn’t covered under our current policy” . It’s the same look he got on his face when he found “a cheaper plumber than that guy that’s been ripping us off for years” and he gave the guy five hundred dollars to buy us new faucets to install, and then the guy was never to be seen again.
    My stomach lurches, and I hold on to the side of the bed, not sure I want to hear what is going to be churned out by the wheels currently spinning in my husband’s head. I know Roger has made some lame brained attempts at saving money for this trip (like our red eye flight at nearly one o’clock in the morning), and most likely it does not bode well for the remainder of our vacation.
    “When I went online to book, I got us the double room instead of the suite. It was almost a thousand dollars cheaper!” He beams proudly at me, like he’s three years old and he just told me he was a big boy and went on the potty.
    “Roger!” I cover my face with my hands and sink down on the bed.
    “What?” Roger throws his own hands up in the air like my distress is completely unfounded.
    “We have four children. Plus us. That’s six altogether. There are two beds. Each bed sleeps two . Now, I know it’s been awhile since you’ve done multiplication, but let’s take a stab at this one. Two times two is…” I speak to him like a dim witted moron. Which, in this situation, he absolutely is.
    Roger shoots me one of Allie’s death stares. “I know how to do math, Amy.”
    “Apparently not since you didn’t get enough beds for the entire family!”
    “Oh, but I did!” Roger says triumphantly. He holds up his pointer finger, indicating that he has yet to reveal his brilliant plan. I grit my teeth, certain that his brilliant plan is anything but. He shuffles over to the minuscule love seat—judging by its fabric and color, it was obviously acquired sometime in the seventies—squished in the corner of the room. He tosses off the pillows, flinging them in my direction. I duck to avoid the first pillow, only to be smacked in the head by the second olive colored cushion.  Dust flies off of the cushion with reckless abandon. Makes you wonder when the last time anyone thoroughly cleaned the joint.
    Colt and Evan have ceased bouncing on the beds and are now staring at their father going berserk. They have never seen him fling objects. In fact, they rarely see him vertical. And moving. At the same time.
    “Roger, for God’s sakes…” I start to say as I pick a dust bunny out of my hair.
    I don’t get to finish my sentence before Roger is gripping a metal bar in the middle of the now naked couch and tugging with all of his might. His face is turning a dangerous shade of red. I quickly take inventory in my head, my eye on the bag where I packed all the medication, including Roger’s nitroglycerin pills. I am hoping he can avoid having a heart attack on the first day. That would put such a damper on our vacation. Especially in a third world country and all.
    “I really think that you should sit down, Dad. You don’t look so hot.” Allie chews her lip nervously from the other side of the room. Great, even our sixteen-year-old, who probably wouldn't notice if I was on fire, thinks Roger looks bad. This is not a good sign.
    Roger waves his hand impatiently and