The Rain of Pharaoh
ONE She slammed her hand on the countertop. “What do you mean, there’s no reservation? Rhianne Fitzgerald, PhD. I made the reservation a month ago.” “Sorry miss,” said the harried clerk behind the counter. “I’ve got one room left with a king sized bed. I can give you a cot.” It was late afternoon, and a few rays of sunlight faded to yellow through the tinted windows of the lobby. Dr. Fitzgerald was flipping through the pages of her pocket calendar. “Here it is… Oh wait.” She turned to me sheepishly. “I made it for next week, accidentally.” I sighed. It had been a long flight. Not the part in the air, but lines in the airport. And now a line was forming behind us as we stood with our heavy luggage in the crowded …