Nothing.

Behind him a desk clerk read a number out loud and Gemma read a different number back, and neither one was a number I had ever agreed to.

“They’re giving us ten minutes,” Lucas said.

“Ten.

Then they’re letting a wedding party from Boise have the rooms.”

“Then you’d better find a motel.”

“Mom.” His voice went small, the way it did when he was nine and had broken something of his father’s.

“Mom, it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow.”