When we returned to the hotel, I was disappointed that the fancy lobby seemed to have lost some of its appeal. All of a sudden, it looked cold and over-decorated. How had it moved from glamourous to only highly ornate? The same chandeliers sparkled down at me. The outer circular door was so clean it looked like the glass wasn’t even there. And my old favorite, the polished and glossy copper elevator was unexpectedly just an elevator.
Timothy turned to look at me. “Getting jaded already?” he asked with a smile.
I shrugged. “I love San Diego. Everything we’ve seen has been incredibly marvelous, but I guess I just want to go home. I want to move back into my apartment, to return to my job, and to gaze at the paintings in your gallery. San Jose is calling me,” I said with a laugh.
He nodded, then smiled. “Yes, I know what you mean. I really do understand. Let’s rest here tonight. I’ll get us tickets for a flight out tomorrow, if you’re sure this isn’t just fatigue from the ocean trip talking.”
We’d reached the elevator. Terry punched the right button, the one that went to our room on the new floor. I stepped inside and then sort of leaned against Timothy. He was right. I was tired, but, also, I yearned to go home.
The guys had been listening to the conversation. Bob said, “No more delicious apples? No more zoos or whale watches?”
I shrugged again. “It has been fun, but being spoiled gets tedious. When we no longer appreciate shiny doors, bowls of apples, or chocolate covered strawberries, then it’s time to go. My grandmother used to say that familiarity feels comfortable because it’s home.”
Terry opened his mouth to speak but then shut it as quickly. He swallowed his words, then asked, “So should we be ready to head out in the morning, Boss?”
Timothy glanced down at me, smiled, then nodded. “Unless Penelope changes her mind during the night.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Nope. Time to go home.”