I Paid Twelve Thousand Five Hundred Dollars for a Family Trip, and They Planned It Without Me
I clicked it, and the van agreement opened, three pages, the reservation number printed across the top and a green verified stamp in the corner.
I picked up the key ring lying by the monitor, the one with the plastic tag from the rental counter, and turned it over.
The number on the tag matched the number at the top of the page.
“Margaret.”
“There’s a signature block,” I said.
“Page three.”
“Don’t scroll it tonight.”
“I’m going to scroll it.”
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