* * *
Our bags were packed within four hours of the kids returning from Cancun. Then, we hopped straight into a private plane to Heathrow.
All week, I tried my best to focus on our grandkids. They proved to be the best distraction with all their demands and need for our attention. Though, when their parents arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief. I love them all, but silence is golden. Also, enjoying a meal without interruption is a blessing no one speaks of.
As for Alexa, she avoided me since our argument. She had no words, and I had no words. What do you say when your daughter says she hates you? The wound is still open, but thankfully, she did listen and was home every night. With Adriana watching her, I made sure to inform my sister of Alexa’s rules. Adriana is much more relaxed with her own children, but I also know I can rely on her when needed.
Ten and a half hours later, the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac at Heathrow. The landing is reasonably smooth, and in typical England style, the sky is gray with the sun missing behind a cluster of clouds.
Visiting London is not something we often do, but of the times I’ve been back, the nostalgia is a force to be reckoned with. Every place, every street we drove down, has some memory attached to it. Some are pleasant, and some I would rather forget.
We chose to stay at The Four Seasons at Park Lane as our properties are all tenanted. Unlike Manhattan, it never made sense for us to purchase a place to stay since our visits were few and far between. The kids always preferred to spend time in France at our chateau because their cousins were next door when Noah and Kate’s visited too.
Our flight arrived in the late afternoon, making it dinner time when we check-in. Charlotte appears exhausted, despite her resting on the plane. During the last week, she did her best to juggle taking care of the kids and trying to work when I took over. But, of course, Charlotte refused to slow down because she didn’t want to fall behind despite having a competent team working in the office.
“Why don’t I order room service? We have a big day tomorrow.”
Charlotte simply nods, too tired to even form a sentence, falling limp on the plush sofa inside the sitting room. When the food arrives, she takes some bites but looks close to falling asleep at the table.
“I don’t think I can make it.” She yawns.
A soft chuckle escapes me. “I’m surprised you didn’t fall asleep after the first bite. Go to sleep.”
“Are you coming?”
I rub my chin with a smirk. “Is that a question?”
Charlotte lets out a huff but follows with a grin. “Are you coming to bed? Don’t get offended if I fall asleep if you try anything.”
“We’ve been married for what?”
“A long time,” she answers with a knowing smile.
When it comes to Charlotte, I’m greedy and selfish about my needs. But, at this moment, I’m sympathetic to my wife’s needs. It’s been a very long week for both of us, and even I feel worn down and tired.
As the night falls, so does Charlotte into a deep sleep. I’m hoping to do the same but find myself tossing and turning with flashes of my past life with BJ. When it all becomes too much, I turn over and glance at the clock. It’s just after midnight.
Inside my suitcase, there is a bottle of sleeping pills. It’s rare for me to take medications, but given the nature of tomorrow, I hop out of bed and pop one, eventually falling asleep.
The following day, I manage to wake up despite the aided assistance of the pills. As I slide my arms inside the black suit jacket, Charlotte stands beside me in the mirror. Even for a funeral, she looks stunning in the simple black dress she wears.
“Are you okay?” she gently asks with concern.
“I'm fine,” I simply answer. “We should leave in order to make the ceremony and the burial.”
BJ was a man who wasn't fond of commitment. He often joked about my life, referring to Charlotte as the ball and chain. His British humor wasn’t offensive nor belittling, and even though he called Charlotte such names, he equally enjoyed her company whenever we were together. She knew how to tame the bastard in her presence, and because of that—he respected her very much.
Perhaps, in hindsight, his humor was masking his loneliness.
Today, his life of solitude is noticeable.
Attending his funeral are only a small number of people. His former nanny, an elderly lady, is sitting in a wheelchair being assisted by a nurse. The woman’s posture is fallen, her limbs frail and thin, yet inside her pale hands, she clutches onto rosary beads with her eyes closed.
Standing in a huddle are business partners he had dealt with of late. Accompanying them are their partners. I see one of my former employees, the one who sent me the text message.
Then, there is his polo club team. They wear their uniform to honor him—pale blue shirts with white pants. BJ was fond of the sport having grown up in England. Personally, I had no interest even though he tried numerous times to make me join and play while I lived in London.
But, notably absent is anyone in his life who meant more to him than an acquaintance.