I was rinsing sweet corn silk off my knuckles at the sink when I reached for it.

It was the assistant front desk manager at the Grand Pines Lodge valet station.

He asked if he was speaking with Nora Weaver, the sole primary account holder for the line of credit ending in four zero nine two.

I told him he was.

“Mrs.

Weaver, your husband is standing at our main entrance with two family members,” the clerk said, his voice flat and practiced through the static.

“He presented a secondary card for four thousand eight hundred and sixty-two dollars to settle three luxury suites, spa passes, and dining charges,” he said.