Second Honeymoon

Chapter 44

TEN MINUTES INTO the ride, the boys finally waved the white flag and gave up asking where I was taking them. I must have sounded like a broken record. “I’ll explain when we get there,” I kept saying.

Twenty minutes later, we finally got there.

“A hotel? You’re taking us to a hotel?” John Jr. whined as he looked at the sign in front of the Poets Inn in the town of Lenox, Massachusetts.

“First of all, it’s not a hotel. It’s an inn,” I explained calmly, nodding at the majestic white Victorian, complete with a turret and wraparound porch. “Second of all, yes, this is where I’m taking you.”

“I thought you said we’d be back at camp for dinner,” said Max through a frown. “Tonight’s pepperoni pizza night, my favorite.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not spending the night.” I put the car in Park, turning to the backseat. They looked like a couple of lumps sitting there. Mopey times two. “Just trust me, guys, okay? Can you do that? Please?”

They followed me inside, feet dragging, and I told them to wait by the entrance while I had a word with the owner, Milton, who was behind the front desk. When I’d called ahead before leaving Manhattan, I’d had only two questions for him: “Is the Robert Frost Room taken?” and “Do you mind if I borrow it for a few minutes?”

“It’s available,” said Milton to the first question, followed by “Be my guest” to the second. Talk about hospitality. Indeed, Milton was as nice now as when I first met him…fifteen years ago.

“Let’s go, guys,” I said to the boys after being handed the key. Yes, an actual key. No magnetic-strip card or annoying beeping red light after your first seven tries here.

We climbed the three flights up to the top floor and the Robert Frost Room. The rugs in the hallways were worn, the paint was peeling a bit along the moldings, but the feeling was far more cozy than worn. Just as I remembered it.

“Have you been here before, Dad?” asked Max, sounding a bit winded from taking two steps at a time to keep pace with his older brother and me.

“Yes,” I said as I unlocked the door and we walked in. “Once.”

John Jr. immediately glanced around at the four-poster and velvet curtains, a far cry from his camp cabin. “So why are we back?” he groaned.

“Because I owe you boys something,” I said. “And it starts here.”