HILARY GREETED them at the front door with red eyes and wearing head-to-toe black. She and Evelyn embraced as Magnus directed the limo driver on where to carry the luggage. Archie took his time getting into the foyer, bracing himself for the rush of people fussing over him.
“A hero,” Magnus blustered, holding his arm and leading him to the first-floor guest suite in the back of the house. “If you need anything, Archie, anything at all.” The elderly butler barely made it to Archie’s sternum, and he tried not to lean any of his weight on the man lest he crush him.
“I’ll be fine.” Archie collapsed on the bed with a sigh. The suite had a small bedroom, sitting room, and en-suite bath, all done in dark grays and Tiffany-blue accents. A large arrangement of white roses sat on the dresser. The guest room he’d coveted once upon a time. “Honestly, Magnus. I need a day or two off my feet, and then I can be of some help to you.”
Magnus tutted his disapproval. “Mrs. Walker gave us specific instructions, young man—you are to be treated as a guest, and there will be no working, nothing but resting until her private physician examines you.”
The man’s stern visage made it clear he was not to be messed with, particularly when Hilary and Evelyn came into the room. Archie was incredibly outnumbered.
“Good to hear it, Magnus.” Evelyn let go of Hilary’s arm and settled herself into a floral armchair in the corner. She sighed, and Archie knew her leg was bothering her. “Of course I am fully avail—”
Hilary didn’t let her finish. “While I’m sure everyone will appreciate you supervising, you’re not here to work either, Evelyn—just to relax and be with Archie.”
“Now, with all the visitors we’ll be having in the next few days—”
“Supervising,” Hilary reminded. She patted Archie on the foot gently. “Mrs. Walker was adamant. You’re guests.”
A weird silence descended over the room then; did they talk about what had happened? Evelyn broke the hush first—she sighed dramatically, shaking her head.
“Too much death in that child’s life,” she said sadly. Magnus nodded.
“Seems like just yesterday we were dealing with Mrs. Walker’s passing.”
“Twenty-one years ago? Twenty-two?” Magnus seemed to be thumbing through the endless calendar of his memories, eyes far away. “Henry was just a little thing.”
“We were five, or close to it.” Everyone looked at Archie, so he contemplated the woven pattern of the gray comforter. “Father and I had just come over from London.”
He had been terrified to be in a new country but oh so glad to see his mother again after a two-year absence. Living with his grandmother wasn’t the worst thing. His father had stopped by occasionally to check on him, and he and Evelyn talked frequently on the phone. They’d left the tiny flat above the bakery and moved across the ocean, into a grand house where the “servant’s quarters” were a great luxury compared to where they had come from.
After being hugged half to death by his weeping mother, Archie had been bathed, redressed in clean, new clothes, and brought to the main hall to meet the Walkers. The disinterested Norman, the blonde and ethereal Camille, and tiny Henry, who hid behind his mother’s skirts at the sight of a boy his age. He wouldn’t come out fully, just occasionally peeking with one blue eye while the adults conversed.
Archie had been impatient with the little boy—weren’t they to be playmates? Didn’t he want to run around in the great spaces that surrounded this amazing house?
Two weeks later Norman was in Hong Kong, Camille was dead, and Evelyn had Archie on her knee, pushing the hair out of his eyes.
“Henry’s lost his mum—you must be gentle with him,” she’d said sadly.
NOW, TWENTY-FIVE years later, Henry had lost his father.
And Archie wanted to be gentle with him. He wanted to protect him from what was to come.
His mother’s voice cut through his hazy memories, and he shook away the cobwebs. “Come on; let’s leave him to a nap.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop, stop. I’m going to the kitchen to have Hilary serve me tea, seeing as I’m a guest,” Evelyn said drily. “You sleep. We’ll bring you soup later.”
Magnus helped her to her feet. She shuffled over to the bed to drop a kiss on Archie’s cheek.
“Thanks, Mum.” He smiled at her gratefully. “Wake me when Henry gets home—please?”
She didn’t question why, just nodded. She ran her fingers over the soft fuzz of his buzz cut, lost, it seemed, in her own memories.
Just like old times.
Unfortunately.
HENRY SLEPT the distance from the hospital to the house; Libby roused him when they arrived, petting his arm gently. Outside it was getting dark, the sky a dark blue streaked with orange.
The driver helped him out of the car; he wanted to shake the man’s hovering hands off, but that would require the world to stop spinning.
It wasn’t.
“Hilary texted me—Archie and Evelyn are here, all settled in. I put him in the guest suite on the main floor, and Evelyn is staying in the room next to Hilary.” Libby prattled on, balancing her purse and the large vase of flowers. The manic edge stretched from her voice to the tremor in her hands. “The caterers have been called for the reception tomorrow, after the… funeral.” Her voice cracked as she walked toward the door. “I didn’t want Hilary to have to manage so much, with guests and all.”
Henry leaned on the driver’s arm, letting the man guide him. “Good idea,” he said. Archie was here; he wanted to see Archie.
At the top of the stairs, Magnus appeared, clucking over Libby holding the vase, relieving her of it with demanding hands. “Madam, please allow me.”
“Thank you.” Libby whirled around, reaching for Henry’s arm. “I’ll get you upstairs to bed, check with Hilary on dinner.”
“Libby, take a breath. Please.” Henry looped his arm around her waist. “Please.”
She stopped talking, but the vibrating jitters continued to rack her body. Henry thought he should speak to the family doctor, see about getting her something to calm her nerves.
They went through the front door, and Henry blinked—the lights were all on, seemingly every light in the house. Hilary was standing at attention near the bottom of the stairs, dressed in her official uniform, the one that was only brought out for special events held at the house. Magnus, he realized, was also wearing his formal suit. He stood next to Hilary, chin up. Next to him, in a simple blue dress and with her hair pulled back, was Evelyn, gazing at him with love and sympathy.
Henry wanted to cry.
“We just wanted to welcome you home, Mr. Walker, and the staff expresses their deepest condolences on the loss of your father,” Magnus said, stiff and proper even as his eyes got damp. “We are here for whatever you may need.”
“Thank you,” he said softly, releasing the driver’s arm to walk over to them. He managed it with some success—he didn’t end up on the floor at least.
He shook Magnus’s hand and accepted a sad nod from Hilary. When he reached Evelyn, he didn’t bother with protocol; he leaned down and gave her a hug.
“Poor sweet boy,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Is Archie all right?” He lowered his voice as much as he could.
“Sleeping. He’ll be fine.” Evelyn pulled back. She reached up to pat his cheek tenderly. “You being home will speed his recovery.”
They think we’re friends, just childhood friends, Henry thought, trying not to read anything into Evelyn’s words—or the strange expression on Libby’s face when he turned around.
“Thank you all for your support,” Libby said, suddenly composed. “Henry, why don’t you go upstairs and lie down? Hilary will bring you dinner.”
He considered saying he wasn’t hungry, but there was pretty much no way that excuse was going to work with these four people. Henry squeezed Evelyn’s hand, then moved toward the stairs.
“Soup,” Evelyn called after him. “You’re getting soup and tea.”
“I’d expect nothing else,” he murmured, casting her a small smile before concentrating on the seemingly endless flight of stairs above him.
DESPITE THE exhaustion and dizziness, Henry managed to get undressed and into bed without incident. Everything smelled better here; everything was normal and comforting and familiar.
And that was when it hit him, really, truly hit him.
It wasn’t normal anymore.
Normal was strangers committing violence against his family. Normal was watching his father struggle to breathe and listening to apologies because no one could save him. Normal was this constant sense of dizziness and pain that racked his head. Normal was his life now belonging to WalkCom.
He pressed his face into his pillow, unable to stop the tears trickling down his cheeks.
He wanted five minutes, just five. Just enough to tell his father that despite everything, he loved him. That he understood his father’s world had collapsed when his mother died. How were you expected to go on when everything that kept you moving was gone?
Your motivation.
Your inspiration.
Gone.
Henry cried for a little while, for his father and his mother and maybe even for himself. When he was out of tears, he rolled over to the dry pillow and fell into a dreamless sleep.