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.”