I nod and spy the sandal underneath Butch’s lounge chair. Right underneath his butt. Right where I won’t go. I want my shoe, but I’m not going to reach between his legs to get it. “Butch, can you grab my sandal? It’s under your chair.”

He huffs a little as he leans between his knees and retrieves my sandal. “I’ll make you a deal. Your shoe for dinner.”

“I’ve got five more pairs upstairs,” I say, smiling a little and holding out my hand for my shoe. Having kids has helped me deal with persistent men. Maternal charm and teacherlike authority.

“This is an expensive shoe.”

“Butch.”

Reluctantly he gives me the shoe. “A drink tomorrow?”

“That might work. We’ll see.”

In my room, the light on my phone is blinking and I check messages. Anne’s called. I sit on my bed and quickly dial her number.

“So?” she demands the moment she hears my voice. “How’s it going? Having fun?”

I picture Butch the developer, who just got me running back to my room, but Anne doesn’t need to know that. “Great. It’s gorgeous. The hotel is gorgeous.”

“Does the room have a good view?”

“Amazing. You can see everything, the whole beach, the hotels on the strip, and all of Diamond Head.”

Anne sighs. “God, I’m jealous. It’s horrible here. Cold and wet. The rain hasn’t let up since you left.”

That’s encouraging. Suddenly four hundred a night doesn’t sound so revolting. “Is Philip better?”

“Much.” Anne sighs again. “He was better within a few hours of you leaving.”

Not surprising. I’m sure Philip could have managed to deal with the kids if he’d wanted. At the very least, he could have tried to get a sitter and let Anne go on the trip with me.

“You could still jump on a plane,” I say, thinking that a few days would be better than nothing. But Anne immediately makes a negative sound, and even though she’s on the other end of the phone, I can see her shaking her head.

“I can’t. I think Philip has passed the bug to the kids.”

She’s such a good mom, such a good wife.

And for a moment I think I should have stayed with Daniel, even though we weren’t happy anymore. It would have been the better thing to do. Better for the kids, at least.

Which reminds me, I should call Daniel, let him know I’ve arrived. Not that he’ll pick up my call. He’ll see my number and let it go into voice mail.

“Have you met anyone interesting?” Anne asks.

I picture Butch again and his hairy belly and his stories about Vegas restaurants and surgically enhanced women. “No.”

“No one?”

“No one interesting.”

Anne hesitates. “Maybe your standards are too high.”

“Maybe I’m still not ready to date.”