to prove back there,” she went on, waving her hand behind her, “other than to make Charles sweat and punish him in some way. It’s my fault entirely. The others thought I wanted to send Charles packing, and they went along with it.”
“We need Charles,” Yoko said softly.
“Yes, we do,” Annie said forcefully.
“I agree,” Myra said. “But we are going to have a few new rules this time around.”
“Do you believe Charles is not allowed to talk about whatever it was that went on over there by orders of Her Majesty, or was he pulling our leg?” Annie asked fretfully.
“Charles never lies. Rather than tell a lie, he simply says nothing. The fact that he even offered up the explanation makes it all ring true. Whatever went on over there, we are never going to know about it, so we had better get used to the idea,” Myra said.
“Does that mean you are moving back into the main house, Myra?” Annie asked.
“It means no such thing. I’m more than comfortable right where I am, in the room next to yours. That’s not to say I won’t be…uh…moving back at some point in the future. Then again, I may never move back in. I’m not that same person who followed Charles to England.”
“I see that,” Annie said, with a twinkle in her eye.
“I see that, too,” Yoko added, giggling.
“I wonder what’s for dinner,” Myra said as she linked one arm with Annie and the other with Yoko.
“Barbara told me to do it,” Myra whispered to Annie.
“I know, dear. I actually heard her this time.”
“Oh, Annie, did you really?”
“Absolutely,” Annie lied with a straight face.
Up ahead, the sound of the door closing behind him sounded exceptionally loud, Charles thought as he walked through the main building that he and Myra had shared for so long. He stopped, dropped his duffel bag, and looked around. He struggled to figure out what was different but couldn’t quite hone in on what it was. Everything was neat and tidy. There were fresh flowers in a vase on the coffee table. There was no sign of dust. The windows sparkled.
Charles picked up his duffel bag and walked into the war room. Again, it was neat and tidy, the computers were on, the clocks were working. No sign of disarray anywhere. He flinched at the emptiness. He continued his journey down the hall to the suite he shared with Myra. And that’s when he knew what was different. Myra had moved her things out of the suite. He tossed his oversize duffel on the bed and hurried to the closet. All he could see were empty hangers. There were no shoes on the floor. No boxes on the overhead shelf. His eyes burning, he stepped into the huge closet and saw his own clothing at the far end, all enclosed in garment bags. When he’d left, his things had been hanging loosely on hangers. Someone, probably Myra, not knowing when or if he would return, had hung them in zippered garment bags. His shoes were in boxes instead of on the shoe trees. He swiped at his eyes before he looked over at the dresser where Myra kept the jewelry box in which she put her pearls every night. The box was gone, the dresser bare, save his own hairbrush and his own small box for cuff links. His things were now encased in a plastic bag. He bit down on his lower lip as he made his way to the bathroom.
It was a large bathroom, the kind any woman would love, and Myra had loved this bathroom, with the built-in Jacuzzi and the shower, with the seventeen different heads that shot out steaming hot water from all angles. The vanity held only his things on the right side, again encased in plastic bags. The left side, Myra’s side, was bare as a bone. He opened the linen closet to see a stack of hunter green towels that were enclosed in a zippered bag. Myra’s fluffy yellow towels were gone, as were all her sundries. Only his remained, encased in plastic. Suddenly he had a hate on for plastic.
His eyes still burning, Charles walked back into the bedroom, and this time he noticed that the comforter on the bed was different. When he’d left, there had been a green-and-yellow appliquéd tulip spread with matching pillows. Now a darkish green and brown comforter was on the bed, and there were no matching pillows. It looked depressing. He realized then how alone he was. He hated the feeling. He swiped at his eyes again. Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair. He wondered if it would ever be fair again.
Charles stripped down and headed back to the shower, where he stood under the seventeen needle-spray jets and let them pound out the tension in his body.
Forty minutes later, he was dressed, freshly shaved, and on his way to the kitchen, where he was expected to prepare a gourmet meal, the last thing in the world he wanted to do. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when he remembered the string of frankfurters hanging around Annie’s neck. Obviously, the girls had been eating things that were quick and easy.
A check of the larder and the Deepfreeze gave a lie to that. Someone had ordered and stocked everything just as he’d done. He took a minute to go to the back door that would allow him to see the garden, which—he knew—would be a disaster. He blinked at the neat, tidy rows of plants. The pole beans were tied neatly, as were the tomato plants. Shiny green peppers in need of picking peered up at him. He just knew there were at least a hundred zucchini under the trailing vines. Cucumbers were deep green and plentiful. The broccoli looked wonderful. He knew it would be tender and savory. Thanks to Yoko and her green thumb.
So his girls had managed nicely without him. He had to admit it hurt to know they had not only survived but functioned. Which then brought up a nasty thought. Did he subconsciously want them to have failed without him? The fact that he even thought such a terrible thing bothered him. Knowing and hearing Isabelle say aloud that they didn’t need him even though they wanted him was almost impossible to accept, but it was a sad reality, and he had no choice but to deal with it. He told himself he just needed patience. Well, his time in England had certainly not instilled patience in him.
As Charles checked out the vegetable bin and the freezer, his thoughts raced. If there was some way he could explain to Myra and the others, he’d do it in a heartbeat. But Her Majesty had looked him in the eye and made him swear never to divulge what had gone on during his stay in England. He’d promised, and he would die before he would break that promise.
The best he could hope for now was that time would heal all the wounds he’d created. Women, he knew, were, for the most part, forgiving creatures. He corrected that thought. Most women, with the exception of Myra, possibly Annie, too, were forgiving creatures. The only word that would come to mind was “endurance.”
And endure he would.
Shifting his thoughts to the matter at hand, he finally decided on his menu or, rather, his peace offering. He would prepare Shrimp Étoufée. A crisp summer salad from the garden, some of the pole beans in a light, savory garlic-butter sauce, homemade biscuits with soft honey butter. Myra loved his Chinese Almond Rice, so he would prepare that, too, and hope she understood he was making it just for her. For dessert he would make Rice Pudding with Raspberry Sauce and, of course, pots and pots of coffee. He dusted his hands together, satisfied that in the midst of all the turmoil in his mind, he could think of other things.
Charles licked his lips, crossed his fingers for luck, and started to prepare his homecoming dinner.
Chapter 3
The news of Charles’s return to Big Pine Mountain flew through cyberspace at the speed of light. In Las Vegas, in a rare afternoon of fun and frivolity, all arranged by Cosmo Cricket for
