The next morning exhaustion clung to me like a heavy coat as I drove into the quiet city of Boulder Colorado. I stopped in front of a modest roadside inn that looked simple enough to accept a guest without too many questions.
Inside the lobby the air smelled of cedar wood and fresh coffee. A young receptionist looked up from his computer and greeted me politely. “How many nights will you be staying,” he asked.
“Only one night,” I answered.
He placed the payment reader on the desk and I slowly opened my purse. My fingers brushed the cool metal surface of the card and hesitation filled my chest.
If my father had exaggerated its importance then the card might fail and I would be left embarrassed with nowhere to go. Still I had no other option.
I inserted the card. For two long seconds the screen remained blank and my stomach tightened with anxiety.
Then the receptionist suddenly straightened in his chair and stared at the monitor. “Excuse me ma’am,” he said nervously while clearing his throat. “One moment please.”
His fingers trembled slightly as he picked up the desk phone and called someone quietly. Within minutes a manager hurried into the lobby wearing a worried expression.