by Mary Whitney
“Nicole has told both the president and Matthew Foster,” I said.
“How long has this been going on?” Ben scratched head. “I’m so behind. I thought you and Felicity had something going on.”
“It’s been very recent,” I said. “Things have been off with Felicity for a while now.”
“So it’s only recently that you’ve become romantically involved with Nicole, but you’re willing to resign for her?” he asked with a skeptical eye. “This must be serious.”
“It is.”
“And the political consensus from the White House was that you’re the sacrificial lamb for the relationship,” said Kent.
“I wouldn’t call it that. Something had to be done. This is the easiest route. And as Ben has pointed out, I need to take some time off for my father and family.”
“You’ve put the BBC in quite an awkward position,” Ben said. “You’re well aware of that, though. We’re going to be accused of going soft on the US president because of their White House correspondent.”
“Indeed. It’s why I sacked myself.”
Ben looked to Kent for guidance as to what the official position would be on my resignation. Kent tapped his hand on the table twice as if he’d just made up his mind. He nodded at me. “We’ll get someone to replace you as soon as possible. As to questions about your status, if asked—and only if asked—the BBC will state this was a minor personnel issue that’s been dealt with, and though it is saddened by Adam Kincaid’s departure, we wish him well and look forward to employing him again if the opportunity arises.”
“Thank you very much. Cheers,” I said with a smile of relief.
With his hand on the remote to disconnect the video, Kent was warm as he said, “Goodbye to you both. Adam, please keep in touch.”
Knowing that I’d have a box of personal crap from my office to take home, I’d driven to work that morning. As I was shutting the boot of my car, my phone rang. It was Sylvia.
“Good morning.”
“Morning, Adam. We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do. I need to tell you what’s going on.”
“Whatever it is, it can wait. Mum’s just called me. We need to go home.”
“Dad is…”
“Fading. It won’t be long.”
“But I was planning to fly tomorrow. Is that enough time?”
“I asked her the same thing, because I’ve got a big meeting tomorrow afternoon, but Mum said we should come now. I’m leaving this evening. What do you want to do?”
“Well, I’ll fly tonight as well, then.” It sounded decisive, but really it was an auto-reply. Hearing that Dad was about to die made me feel helpless—it reminded me I had no say in the matter. There were no choices to be made. I was to do as expected.
Sylvia then begged off the phone, and I let her go. It seemed like too odd a time to tell her of my news with Nicki or my job.
Getting in my car, I decided to phone Nicki before I left the car park. It was an odd location for a call, especially since I’d just resigned, but I needed to talk with her. I worried that she might not pick up the phone, but she answered immediately. “Hi, sweetheart!”
Despite the bad news I’d just heard, I smiled hearing Nicki’s voice. A lightness had come over her, and you could hear the happiness.
“Are you sure you’re still interested in me?” I asked. “I’m just an unemployed bloke now.”
“Oh my God. You resigned so quickly.”
“Well, my bosses are in London, and they’re hours ahead of us. I didn’t see any reason not to contact them as soon as I woke up.”
“So how did it go?” she said with a quick breath.
“All in all, it went relatively well, but only because I resigned. They asked how long our relationship has been going on, and I said it was relatively recent. They asked about Felicity as well. I was scolded, as could be expected, but since I was quitting, I’d taken away their thunder of sacking me.”
“That’s true. They don’t have much to do now.”
As I told her the rest of my story, she took it all in and laughed. At the end, she sounded relieved but said, “I’m really sorry this has turned out this way for you.”
“But I didn’t tell you the most important part,” I answered.
“What’s that?”
“They’ll hire me back in another capacity in the future.”
“Oh, that’s great! Especially because we won’t live here forever.”
“We won’t?”
“Well, I mean, I won’t have this job forever, and then in the future…if we were still together we could—”
“We’re absolutely going to be together. I was just wondering where we might live other than DC?”
“I don’t know. I imagine you would want to spend time back in London. Am I right?”
“You are. How do you feel about that?”
“I think it would be nice for a while.”
My heart swelled knowing that she’d be willing to move for me. “You don’t know how happy you make me.”
“You make me happy, too. I love you.”
“I love you.” The emotion I felt for her gave me the support I needed to tell her what was going on. I sighed. “Things haven’t been all good this morning, though. Sylvia called with bad news. Dad isn’t doing well at all. I need to go home straightaway.”
“It’s that bad.”
“Yes, I must go so I can see him before…”
“I’m so sorry. When are you leaving?”
“This evening. It just depends on what flight I can get on at the last minute.”
Without hesitating, Nicki said, “Would you like me to come, too?”
“No, you don’t have to. I’ll be okay.”
“All you have to do is say so, and I’ll be there.”
“I know. Really, I’ll be fine.” I chuckled. “And you already got to talk to him.”
“I did. He was very kind.”
I wondered again what might have been said between them. I wanted to ask but decided that one day I might learn…or not. As long as Nicki was with me, either would be okay.
I checked my watch. “So, I guess I need to book a flight. Hmm. Funny. I’m unemployed now and without an assistant. I haven’t booked a ticket for myself in years.”
“Try Orbitz like the rest of us.”
“Maybe I will,” I said, matching her sarcasm.
Her voice became sympathetic again. “I don’t think our travel schedules are going to mesh very well. I’m going to be out-of-pocket a lot in the next couple of days. Please keep in close touch, because I’ll want to come later.”
“Later?”
It was stupid to question what she meant. As she answered, “The funeral,” I quietly said it to myself.
The funeral. There would be a funeral, and she wanted to be there for it. My mind skipped ahead to what it might be like. Visions of a memorial service in Cambridge and interment in Scotland came to mind. I wanted Nicki at my side for both.
I replied softly, “Thank you. Having you there will mean everything to me. I’ll be in touch.”
“I want to be there.”
“Then I’ll text you when I land in London. I love you, sweetheart.”
“And I love you.”
Chapter Sixteen
ORBITZ SERVED ME WELL. I found an eleven a.m. direct flight out of Dulles that I could still catch and realized there was no reason to delay until evening, especially now that I was out of a job.
I arrived in Cambridge late that evening, and when I woke the next morning, the house was busy. Mum was happy to see me—happier than I’d expected. I soon realized it was because she had a new friend. A round-the-clock nurse was now stationed in the bedroom, providing Dad with high dosages of morphine and helping Mum with his care. Her name was Susan Welch, and she was from Blackpool. She’d taken a liking to Mum, whose Liverpool accent had become more pronounced in her presence. The two joked often, and the help with Dad must’ve eased a b
urden on Mum—a burden that she hadn’t wanted her children to see or bear.
Susan didn’t have the same rapport with Sylvia, though. Sylvia found the nurse rough and demanding, and I think Susan had no idea what to make of my sister. In true Sylvia form, she clacked around the house in her stilettos, rearranging furniture, photos, and knickknacks that had been in their locations for decades. She was obviously looking for some purpose. There was nothing to do, though, besides usher in the neighbors and friends wanting to pay their respects. Otherwise, we sat vigil because Dad was barely conscious.
Sylvia warned me before I walked in, “He’s really out of it. He smiled at me but didn’t talk.”
“Okay. I won’t expect much.”
“Oh, and that nurse. She says not to talk about him like he’s not there—especially about funeral stuff.”
“What do you mean?”
“She thinks he hears things—even though he’s out of it.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“Not really, but I’m following her directions. She snapped at me earlier when I said something.”
I nodded, deciding I’d also follow those instructions. Perhaps Sylvia thought Susan was superstitious, but surely a hospice nurse knew more about dying people than my sister.
Dad didn’t move as I sat down next to him. I held his hand, hoping he might speak to me. His eyes flicked open for the briefest second, only to close again. His mouth gaped, and a scratchy whisper acknowledged me.
“Adam.”
Beyond his saying my name, my last real communication with him would be the slightest squeeze of my fingers that he gave me after I told him that I loved him. His hand was cold, paper-thin skin and knotty bones; it was such a contrast to how I knew his body to have been. I understood then that Dad, as I’d known him all my life, had already left us.
Nicki and I kept in frequent contact. When we talked or texted, she was there for me—listening, joking, and overall making me very happy, despite my sad situation.
At one point, Susan pulled me aside, saying, “You should know that your father may pass away without you there. And you shouldn’t feel badly. That’s how it often happens.”
“How on earth will that happen? I’m here all the time.”
“I’m simply saying that sometimes people don’t want to die with their loved ones around them. They don’t want to see them sad.”
“Who doesn’t want to see whom sad?”
“Either one.”
“Huh.” I didn’t quite get what she was saying. “So he’d choose to die on his own so that it’s less sad for everyone?”
“Yes.”
I could see how Sylvia thought her superstitious. I nodded and thanked her for the information. Walking away, though, I didn’t believe her. What? Like Dad has any say in the matter of when he dies?
Yet, what did bloody old Dad do? He died just as he’d wanted to live the remainder of his life—alone with Mum. Late in the day on Wednesday, Sylvia and I had gone to the train station together to pick up David and his mum. We returned, and Dad was gone.
I’d managed to keep the tears back when I was with my family standing in front of Dad’s body. It was only when I spoke with Nicki a few minutes later that the emotions pushed through. I cried like a baby on the phone with her.
She listened patiently and was as sweet as ever. When I pulled myself together, she asked, “When is the funeral?”
“Sylvia is in charge. It’s a big do on Friday—a memorial service at Trinity College Chapel—but then we’ll go to Scotland on Saturday to bury his ashes on the estate Sunday. That ceremony will be small and just family.”
“Well…I—”
“Nicki, you don’t have to be here on Friday.”
“I want to be there. I just need to figure out how.”
“Where are you right now, anyway?”
“In Aspen, Colorado. There’s a big fundraiser tonight at a swanky house.”
“Please, don’t cut your trip short. You get back to DC on Friday. If you could make it on Saturday so we could go to Scotland together, that would be wonderful, but, really, that’s not necessary either.”
“Well, let me see…”
We talked a little more, but she then had to leave. As much as I wanted her there with me, I didn’t want to drag her away from what was an interesting trip, just to sit around Cambridge.
After Dad’s body was taken away, the initial aftermath of grieving didn’t go on for long before organized chaos erupted in the house. Sylvia turned into an event planner, working with the funeral director and handling all the details of the coming days. Mum was the smiling, steadfast widow, dealing with all the guests and callers. The place was so crazy that David and I decided to escape to a pub, where we toasted Dad and watched football.
When I woke up on Thursday morning, there was a text from Nicki.
I’m going to try to make it Friday morning.
I love you. I’ll be in touch.
With my first smile in at least a day, I quickly tapped back.
I love you. So very, very much.
As I stood in front of the Trinity College Chapel on Friday morning, I greeted Dad’s old colleagues and our family friends, and all the while, I was on the lookout for Nicki. It was silly of me, though, because I knew she’d only landed early that morning. We’d talked, and depending on any delays in arrival, the immigration queue, or traffic getting out of London, she probably wouldn’t arrive in time for the memorial service, but she would be at the house for the wake.
There I was, though, looking over everyone’s shoulders to see if Nicki had somehow made it. A local newspaper had a photographer there, and he kept trying to get my photo with everyone I spoke with. He thought the new Viscount Adam Kincaid, BBC reporter, somewhat of a celebrity—little did he know I was unemployed and could give a fuck that I now had the family title.
It was almost time for the family to walk down the aisle and take our seats when a hired car pulled up across the way. I could see the passenger handing a slip of paper to the driver. Then the door opened, and a woman’s heel hit the ground. I knew it was Nicki.
Ignoring my family, who called me to come back to the church, I walked straight toward her. She saw me and walked faster, though the long, narrow skirt of her black dress slowed her down. When we were close enough, I grabbed her in my arms for a tight embrace.
“I made it,” she said with a sigh.
“You did. And I love you for it.”
We kissed once and I wanted more, so I kissed her again, and then once more. That one went on for a bit. Nicki pulled away and smiled. “Adam, this isn’t the place.”
“I don’t really fucking care.” Then I winked. “And I know Dad doesn’t either.”
Taking Nicki’s hand in mine, I kept it there with no intention of ever letting go. We walked down the aisle with my family, and whilst my eyes were on the altar, I was sure the rest of the church’s attention was on Nicki. I smiled inwardly thinking that my father ended up being the person introducing Nicki to his extended family and friends.
As we sat in the pew, rather than pay attention to the vicar’s various prayers for the dead, I focused on the eulogy I was about to deliver. I hadn’t written any of it down because seeing my thoughts about Dad on a page would be too heartbreaking. Instead, I relied on my television experience to give an off-the-cuff, yet formal speech—with enough sentiment that it wasn’t dry, but enough professionalism for no sign of personal emotion. I wanted to keep my feelings for later because I was so confused. It was my father’s funeral, for Christ’s sake—I should’ve been devastated. But with Nicki at my side as if she were my partner in life, I was incredibly happy.
After the service, we went back to the house, where Sylvia had organized a proper wake, though the centerpieces were a little artsy for Cambridge. Nicki’s hand was still firmly in mine as I introduced her to everyone as “my dear friend,” and no one seemed to recognize who she was. When one of Dad’s colleagues
walked straight up to us and held out her hand, however, I became concerned. Professor Hadley had spent so many years as the sole female in the biology department at Cambridge that she had little time for formalities.
“Hello, I’m Professor Beatrice Hadley. I do believe you’re Nicole Johnson.”
“Yes, yes, I am,” Nicki said with a gracious smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Professor Hadley.”
Glancing at me, Beatrice commented, “I suppose you know Adam from his work at the White House.”
“Yes,” I answered on Nicki’s behalf. “But actually we knew each other before then.”
Nicki gave me a quick look of approval and said, “Yes, we’re old friends.”
Then another professor joined our conversation. Offering Nicki his hand, he said cheerily, “I’m Graham Schofield—I worked with Professor Kincaid. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Johnson.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Professor Schofield,” she said, shaking his hand.
“So, Adam, how is the BBC these days? Are you still enjoying living in Washington?”
I cleared my throat as I prepared to officially make my resignation public knowledge. “Washington is a wonderful city, but actually, I’ve left the BBC…for the time being.”
Both professors looked a little taken aback by the irrational career move. Thankfully, Mum had overheard it all and interrupted us, saying, “Adam’s decided to take some time off so he can be around if we need his help.”
As Mum moved on to another group, Nicki added, “I’m also looking forward to Adam spending time on his artwork.”
I glanced down at her and smiled. I hadn’t really thought about using the time to focus on my cartoons and caricatures, but it was a good idea. Squeezing her hand, I mumbled, “I suppose I’ll have time for that.”
“Artwork? What would that be?” Professor Hadley was curious.
“Oh, political cartoons. It’s just a hobby of mine.” I shrugged.
“Really? Do you know Richard Lawrence at the Financial Times?”
