“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.