Page 30 of The Perils of Pretending
“When we go out on the Anchor River, listen to the guides. I’m sure between all of us, we’ll catch plenty to send back to Utah.”
“We better. I have a really good salmon recipe I got from that Italian place on Fifth East before it closed down.” It was one of my favorite restaurants to walk to. When they went out of business, I mourned for my taste buds.
Brody’s face lights up. “Oooohh. Will you bring us some after the baby’s born?”
“You help me catch salmon, and I’ll bring you as much as you’d like.”
Brody holds his hand out to me. “You’ve got a deal.”
I shake his hand. “Excellent.”
The driver turns onto a paved road, pine trees lining each side. The road curves to the left, stopping in a U-shaped driveway in front of a large log-cabin style hotel. A metal sign with the outline of a grizzly on one side, a moose on the other, and trees in the background announces that we’ve arrived at Grizzly Cove Lodge.
Stopping under the portico, the driver parks and heads to the back to unload our luggage.
I step out of the SUV and look up at the building. It reminds me of the Old Faithful Snow Lodge in Yellowstone with its rustic charm and large windows. We thank the driver and collect our luggage. Grandma pulls out a hundred dollar bill, passing it to the driver. At least she’s generous with the staff. With a final goodbye, we head inside. The lobby has a grand stone fireplace to the right with brown leather couches and chairs. The registration desk is to the left.
Grandma strides to the counter. We follow behind her like we’re her obedient ducklings.
The middle-aged employee greets us. “Welcome to the Grizzly Cove Lodge. My name is Shari. How can I help you today?”
Grandma gets right to the point. “My family has the property reserved for the next nine days. Have any of the other Ashcombes checked in yet?”
“A few families, yes.”
Grandma bobs her head once. “Good. I’d like to be taken up to my room, please. Can someone assist me with my luggage?”
Is this employee supposed to know who Grandma is based on her appearance? She hasn’t said one word about which Ashcombe she is. It’s just like her to assume everyone should know her.
“Yes, ma’am,” Shari says. “If I can have you verify your name, I’ll get Ryker to help you up.”
Brody, Mom, and I hang back, waiting our turn. My gaze wanders lazily, checking out the place. Behind the desk is a bank of elevators. Based on the property map posted by the elevator, the lodge has four levels. First is the main floor, where we’re at. Floor two is the restaurant and spa. The top two levels are suites.
Somewhere on this level is the rec room. I have a feeling my cousins will hang out there at night after dinner, playing games and talking. I’m not nearly as close to Dad’s side of the family. Conversation flows when we’re around one another, but it’s polite and surface level.
“I will see you all in half an hour for dinner,” Grandma says, facing us. She eyes my outfit again. “Please change into something nicer and don’t be late.”
I only agree because after being on a plane for eight hours, I feel gross and like every germ and odor imaginable are clinging to me. But it’s the only reason and certainly not because Grandma’s asking me to. “I will.”
“Good.”
Grandma follows a guy (who looks barely old enough to legally work) to the elevator.
I smile, approaching the counter. “Hi, we’re the Darren Ashcombe crew. We’d like to check in please.”
Shari smiles back at me, probably thankful to meet someone more personable and less demanding. “Let me get you pulled up and we’ll see where you’re at.” Her fingers tap away at her keyboard. “Oh, you’re going to love the cub cabin we have you in.”
“Cub cabin?” I look at Mom and Brody. Both shrug, as clueless as I am.
Shari pulls out a map of the property. Grabbing a highlighter, she circles the main lodge. “We’re here. You three are staying in our Polar Cub Cabin.” She draws a line from the circle to our cabin. “It is the farthest from here, but you’re right on the beach. You’ll get fantastic views of the bay and a little privacy.”
“Think we were sent to the outer banks so we know our place in the family?” I ask dryly.
“Absolutely, yes. That’s the way we work,” a male voice behind us says.
My stomach jumps. Hot shame burns my cheeks. My comment was meant for Mom and Brody, not anyone in the extended family.
Spinning to see who I’ve offended, a huge smile breaks out on my lips when I spot my second cousin. “Robbie!” I’m incredibly grateful I was overheard by the only person in the Ashcombe family I can stand. He’s great-aunt Bernice’s second grandchild. Robbie’s two years younger than me and looks just like an Ashcombe with his dark hair and connected earlobes.
