“Where are you staying once we touch down in Wilmington?” Thomas asked, changing the subject to our immediate plans. “Do you have a hotel reservation near the oceanfront for the weekend?”
“We booked a small motel about five miles inland,” I replied. “It was what we could afford after buying these plane tickets. We were planning to take the coastal bus down to the pier tomorrow.”
Thomas shook his head fondly. “Cancel the reservation on your phone right now, Marcus. You and Maya are staying at my family’s beach cottage on the southern end of Wrightsville.”
“Thomas, please, you’ve already done far too much,” I protested, shaking my head. “We can manage just fine at the motel. Maya doesn’t mind riding the bus; she thinks it’s an adventure.”
“It’s not charity, Marcus,” Thomas replied, his tone brooking no argument. “The cottage has a private walkway down to the dunes where the water is calm and quiet. You deserve privacy to say goodbye to Elena.”
