The woman stared into the blue box as if something inside had bitten her.
For the first time since we had returned to the pool, she had nothing cruel to say.
Her boyfriend leaned over.
“What is it?”
She snapped the lid halfway shut before he could get a clear look.
The resort employee in the navy polo didn’t move.
His cheerful expression had disappeared.
“Actually, ma’am,” he said, “you may want to leave that open.”
Several people around the pool had stopped talking.
Mia was sitting beside me with both hands wrapped around her smoothie.
She looked from the woman to me, trying to understand why everyone suddenly seemed interested in a gift box.
I didn’t understand either.
Then the woman pulled the first item out.
It was one of our towel clips.
The same white plastic clip I had attached to Mia’s chair that morning.
A small strip of blue tape was still wrapped around one side because Mia had insisted on decorating it the night before.
She had drawn a tiny crooked heart on the tape with my pen.
I recognized it instantly.
So did Mia.
“That’s mine,” she whispered.
The woman’s eyes shot toward us.
The employee nodded calmly.
“Yes,” he said.
“It is.”
Beneath the clip were our two room-number tags, sealed inside a clear plastic bag.
And beneath those was a glossy photograph.
The woman picked it up with trembling fingers.
Her boyfriend finally managed to look over her shoulder.
His face changed.
The picture had been printed from the resort’s pool security footage.
It showed the woman standing beside our chairs while Mia and I were away.
One of our towels was in her hand.
The trash can was directly beside her.
The second photograph showed her boyfriend watching while she removed our reservation tags.
A third showed her dropping everything into the trash before taking the chair.
The employee folded his hands in front of him.
“We recovered the tags after another staff member reported what happened.”
The woman looked around quickly.
“This is ridiculous.”
Her voice was louder now, but the confidence had disappeared.
“I didn’t steal anything.
They weren’t here.”
The employee nodded toward the tags.
“Our chair policy allows registered guests to leave reserved loungers temporarily for food, drinks, or swimming.
That’s why we provide these tags.”
She scoffed.
“So what? I moved a towel.”
“You removed two reservation tags, discarded another guest’s belongings, and then refused to return the chairs when the guests came back.”
The woman’s eyes flicked toward me again.
I could see her deciding whether she could still bully her way out of it.
Then she made the worst possible choice.
“She’s making this into something it isn’t,” she said, pointing at me.
“I told her to find another chair, and she did.
End of story.”
The employee’s jaw tightened.
“No, ma’am.
