Blake emerged from the shower, feeling refreshed. He’d arisen from his reviving nap half an hour ago, and now he felt sure he’d got rid of the faint jet lag he’d been suffering earlier.
As he dried his hair, the intercom on the bedside chest buzzed, and he went to answer it.
“Hello?” he said.
Blake paused, holding his breath at the sound of that unmistakable voice reaching him in its gravelly, well-modulated baritone. He replied tentatively, “Hi...Dad.”
Blake thought he heard a sigh that sounded like relief, before his father spoke again.
“Hello son. And welcome back. Chase informed me that your trip was hitch-free, and I understand you were napping earlier.”
“Yeah. Jet lag caught up to me. I’m just in from the shower,” he answered. Blake couldn’t help thinking how much they sounded like strangers. Which they were. The last time they’d spoken, he’d been a mere boy.
“Great, I just came in myself and I’m up in my own room. I hope you wouldn’t mind us dining together this evening – say seven? I told the private chef Marcello to fix something special for us.”
“Of course, I’ll be down promptly,” Blake replied.
“Great,” his father said again, and next came a heavy silence. Both seemed to be listening to the other’s breathing – almost as if hoping to find answers within.
At last, moments later Blake said, “Well, I’ll see you in a little bit then,” before hanging up. He let out a ‘whoosh’ and then muttered to the large, sumptuously furnished bedroom, “See that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Blake figured they’d jumped one hurdle – at least they’d shared their first civil conversation even if it was over the phone. They might not get along so well face to face. But Blake decided to cross that bridge when he got there.
Opening his closet, he picked out what to wear from the newly unpacked clothes hanging there.