The Man In The Mirror

“That’s easily fixed,” I said and took the brush from him. I scraped the white away, repainted the face black and gave the brush back to him. With his little tongue poking out of his mouth he carefully added another white smile on to his father’s black mask. Then to my surprise he used the brush to connect his tiny stick hand with that of his father. He smiled up at me, to announce the completion of his task.

“Your dad is holding your hand?” I said.

He nodded. “I haven’t seen him for a very long time. Mummy says he is very busy.”

“Do you miss him, Zackary?”

His answer surprised me. “He makes me cry.”

He rose to his feet then, lifting the kite up and handed it over to me.

We put it away to dry and I reached for the water balloons. The next twenty minutes were spent filling them up by the tap. By the time we were done he was already half soaked, his cheeks rosy from all the laughing at his struggle in tying up the balloons without the water spilling out.

“We need a songstress,” I said.

“What’s a songstress?”

“Someone who can sing.”

“You can’t?”

I puffed up my chest and spurts of laughter escaped my throat. “Well, I mean, I’m not too bad.”

“Go on then. Sing something,” he urged.

I waved my hand as though there were a crowd waiting just holding their breaths to listen to me and bless them with my talent. Zackary just stared at me curiously.

“London bridge—” I screeched.

“Nooooo,” he screamed, his hands flying to his ears.

My eyes nearly popped out of my sockets. “Your voice can get that loud?”

He started giggling then.

“You sing then.” I pulled the bucket of balloons towards us. “We’ll pass this between us and when the song stops the person who’s holding it, will get a balloon squashed on their heads. He squealed with excitement at the prospect of squashing balloons on my head, and once again I was taken aback by how completely different he had become in the space of one morning.

“I’ll start,” he yelled and began to sing Baa, baa, black sheep.

I considered letting him win the first round, but since he’d never squashed a balloon on anyone’s head before it would be safer if I won the first round and let him see how it is done. So with more excitement than I should have had, I squashed the neon green ball on his head. It drenched him all the way down to his clothes. His laughter rang out to the skies, and his eyes sparkled with glee. I let him win the next round and he was brutal with that balloon.

We kept at it until we were both soaked to the skin.

“Come on,” I said taking his hand. We headed out to the garden to pass the balls between ourselves. “Whoever lets it drop will be blasted.”

We played until we abandoned the game all together, and it turned into a full out balloon fight.

We ended sprawled on the grass, exhausted. There were pieces of blasted rubber all over the grass. “Are you cold?” I asked him.

“No,” he said, but I could see he was.

“Come on, let’s get you in the bath. We rose up and found to our surprise the entire staff had gathered by the door to watch us, amusement all over their faces.

“We took pictures,” Carrie yelled out.

“Take this one.” I yelled back and lifted Zackary as far up in the air as high as I could. He yelped in startled joy, his legs flailing.

The shot captured was pure perfection.

Chapter 17

Brett

This was the first time I had traveled to London, or for that matter, anywhere, ever since I left the hospital, but it had worked out well. I only met with Logan and worked on a new investment projection alone, but it still felt good to leave the castle. Even my back didn’t hurt. I ran my hand along the large raised scar on my thigh. Actually, even my leg was feeling a lot stronger. Though I’d had a long day it did not throb or ache.

Perhaps all my pain was in my mind.

By the time I arrived home it was nearly midnight. The first thing I did was pull apart my drapes to see if Charlotte’s light was still on. It wasn’t, but the little bedside lamp in Zackary’s room must have been on, because it’s greenish light filled his window.

I frowned. Surely, he was not still awake at this time.

I picked up my phone and called Barnaby to ask him to go check on Zackary. But as if on cue, the light in Zackary’s room went off and seconds later the light came on in her room. Her curtains were open and I could see her walking around her room. She must have been with my son until now.

“Sir?” Barnaby’s voice came through.

I had been so engrossed watching Charlotte I had forgotten I was still holding the intercom phone. “Sorry for the trouble, Barnaby,” I said. “I thought I needed something, but it turns out I don’t.”

“That’s quite all right, Sir. Goodnight,” he said formally.

I wished him goodnight and disconnected the call. Slipping my hands into my pockets I watched her. She had a curvy figure. The kind I liked. Or I used to like. It was so many years ago that I last had even the desire for a woman, I had forgotten how my body felt when I was craving a woman. From this distance she did not look middle aged. She looked to be in her twenties.

I dialed her room number and waited for her to respond.

“Hello?” she said, and I noted the thrill that raced down my flesh.

“Did Zackary just fall asleep?”

“No, he didn’t,” she said. “I was reading him a story, but somehow I ended up putting the both of us to sleep.” The amusement in her tone filtered through and it made me long for a bliss I had never known.

The words left my lips before I could stop them. “I wish I could fall asleep that easily.”

“You have trouble falling asleep?”

“Yes,” I said slowly. This was not exactly the conversation I wanted to have with one of my staff.

“My mother has insomnia too. It is a remnant from the months before my father passed away.”

“I’ve never been compared to someone’s mother before.”

“I’m so sorry,” I didn’t mean in that way. “I mean …”

“Charlotte, relax. It was a bad joke. I’m afraid I’m not used to talking to people anymore.”

“Oh,” she said, the relief in her voice was obvious.

“What did your father pass away from?”

I could hear her hesitation but she eventually said, “Cancer. It was a long and painful battle.”

“My condolences.” I could have kicked myself for probing. What was wrong with me? I was behaving like an insensitive prick.

“It’s all right. It’s been almost seven years now so the pain is no longer as devastating.”

“No longer as devastating,” I repeated turning the statement over in my mouth. “Is that really true? Does it ever completely heal?”

“No,” she replied quietly. “It doesn’t. Even when you think it has … it comes back … as fresh as ever, to taunt you with what you lost and can never have back.”

We both knew we were no longer talking about her father. There was an awkward pause. Neither of us knew how to fill it. I heard her take a quick intake of breath.

“You took Zackary out to play today?” I blurted out.

“I did,” she said quickly. “We made kites and harassed each other with water balloons. We had a blast, literally.” She chuckled to herself.

I found my lips stretching into a smile. It was something that happened often when I was talking to her and hardly at all when I wasn’t.

“I have pictures,” she said, “but … how do I send them to you?”

“Do you have a USB stick?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Save the pictures on it and pass it to Barnaby.”

“I’ll give it to him in the morning,” she said.

“Do you mind if I … er … send him to you to tonight?”

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“Of course. I’ll be awake for at least another hour.”

“Thank you. Have a goodnight then, Charlotte.”

“Wait … I mean.” She laughed nervously, “I just wanted to say thank you for allowing Zackary to spend time outside. He had a wonderful time today.”

“It was your suggestion. It is I who must thank you,” I said.

“I’m glad to be able to help,” she said softly.