Thanksgiving week arrived swiftly, stripping the mountains of the last of autumn's colors and frosting the peaks with the first snowfall. I had made it abundantly clear to Andrew that it was in his children's best interest that no meetings or gatherings be scheduled for the week. I knew Henri was giving Lawrence regular reminders as well.
The preceding Saturday morning Andrew and I stood at the helipad together, bundled against the cold. "How are you looking forward to vacation?" I asked him after we started our ascent, rising above the trees in search of dawn.
"I'm excited," he acknowledged. "I can't wait to spend every day with the kids. I've given all their tutors the week off. We're going to play games and eat candy until I completely spoil their behavior for next week."
I laughed. "I have a hard time imagining Tarak misbehaving. He takes everything so seriously."
"Well, Marisol and I will have to help him loosen up!" Andrew grinned. "In my experience, a little freedom can go a long way."
"Is Mr. Kumiega on board with this plan?" I thought about his well-regimented tutoring routine and stern look.
"All Lawrence needs to think about this week is managing staff holiday pay and assisting Henri with the Thanksgiving feast. This week, parenting is all on me." Andrew's brow furrowed. "And moving forward, I think it's time to step back into that role full-time. I'm grateful that he's taken such good care of them. But it's too much to ask of him to be their constant caregiver."
"How did he end up taking that role? Why not Henri, or a nanny?"
Andrew considered the question for a moment. "Well, Henri certainly did her part as well. But to be honest, I don't remember it ever being a question. I spent the first several days--weeks--after Elaine's death working through the police reports, the funeral arrangements... By the time I was done, it seemed to have already been decided. Lawrence had already managed everything, right down to Marisol's medicine schedule. And over the years, work just got busier and busier, with more and more projects." He stroked his chin pensively. "But Khatri is thriving with our current ventures. I think we'll do just fine if we focus on what we have. Take a break from expanding until the kids are older."
"What about your newest project with the Kennedys?"
Andrew waved a hand. "Mr. Kennedy is as clever a businessman as ever. I'm sure he'll be happy to take most of the reins." He reached to hold my hand, caressing my knuckles with his thumb. "Besides, someone very wise told me recently to stop using work to pretend everything is alright."
"This someone does sound very wise indeed," I replied, nodding my head sagely. I wasn't able to keep the serious look for long as we both burst into chuckles.
It wasn't exactly a short ride, but it was still early enough in the morning when we arrived at the main Khatri estate that I was surprised to see Marisol and Tarak out on the lawn waiting for us--accompanied, of course, by Lawrence and Henri. Lawrence was holding Marisol by one shoulder, apparently preventing her from running headlong to the helipad. The blades weren't even slowing down when Andrew leapt from the fuselage and sprinted toward them. I followed at a more demure pace, still unsure of my footing in the helicopter's wind.
By the time I joined them, Tarak and Marisol had wrapped themselves around Andrew's legs, seemingly with no intention of letting go. Marisol giggled voraciously, beaming up at me. "Welcome back, Miss Claire!" she squealed.
I bent down to greet them at eye-level. "It's so nice to see you, Miss Marisol, Mr. Tarak. Are you excited to have daddy home for a whole week?"
"Are you kidding?" Tarak asked. "We're not letting him out of our sights."
The adults laughed together as we headed back inside. While the weather was more temperate here, it was still chilly, and there was no temptation to linger in the gardens. Inside the air was as warm as the family's laughter, and there was instead temptation to linger with them, basking in the glow of their familial affection. I could have stared for hours at Andrew's face, furrowed brows melting away as he discussed play plans with his precocious little ones.
Alas, duty called. I fell into step with Henrietta and Lawrence, words as fast and clipped as our footfalls. "All the food orders are in," Henri confirmed, "and we aren't hurting for wine. We won't need to prepare menus for the rest of the week."
"There are a few staffing knots to untangle," Lawrence muttered. "We have a few more young people than usual this year, wanting to be home with families."
"Anywhere I can assist?" I asked.
"You could confirm with the kitchen what number of staff we'll need for serving," he suggested, "and Henri is looking at what kind of cleaning and winter prep we can do in advance."
"We aren't preparing any guest accommodations this year," Henri mused, "so if we use our housekeeping staff's time wisely ahead of time, they'll be available for holiday duties for any kitchen and serving staff we're lacking."
"Where are we at with seasonal interior design?"
Lawrence gave one solemn nod at my question. "In truth, we haven't discussed anything in detail with them. I trust their work, of course. But perhaps that is another task you could handle."
"After I speak with the kitchens," I agreed with my own nod. And as we reached the end of the corridor we split, each to our duties.
Thankfully both assignments were brief and direct. The chef was surprisingly relaxed in our discussion about staffing. From his casual nature, it seemed he was relieved to have a relatively "small" Thanksgiving dinner to prepare. Of course, "small" only in comparison to the feasts he was used to preparing when extended family would attend. While the main guests of honor were Andrew and his two children, the kitchens prepared a generous dinner for the staff present that day as well, and that could number tens to hundreds of people depending on our need! With the professional calm I expect of a Khatri employee, he sat with me and discussed these hundreds of mouths to feed as though he was preparing for a family of ten.
The discussion with the interior design team was a little bumpier at first. It seemed they were used to being largely left to their own devices, forgotten in Lawrence's checklists, and weren't even sure exactly who I was when I telephoned asking for a discussion. It took a few minutes for me to figure out an 'in' with the receptionist in order to earn the listening ear of the head designer. After some condescending back-and-forth, I mentioned the important opportunity of creating a cozy autumnal place where Andrew and his children could engage in seasonally-appropriate activities. That piqued some interest, and soon I was on a video conference with a designer and a French translator, discussing whether or not real pumpkins in the entertainment lounge was a good idea.
It was approaching mid-afternoon by the time I had some breathing room. As I closed my laptop and breathed a sigh, I took a few minutes to collect my thoughts. Ordinarily, this would be a good time for me to reach out to Mrs. Henri or Mr. Lawrence and provide an update. But there was no harm in buying myself a little time by pretending my discussions had taken longer than anticipated. I tapped through the contacts on my smart watch and sent a message to Francine requesting her location and current task. I tidied my workplace for a moment, then received her message. She was dusting the library, and no one was around. Perfect.
I strode through the hallways with mounting anticipation, finally reaching the library's broad double doors. The grand mahogany entrance was carved with the likenesses of historical heroes, fantastical creatures, and far-off lands in a magical landscape representing elder Mr. Khatri's passion for reading and travel. It readied guests for the library within, which felt like stepping into a world between worlds. This was a cylindrical tower off one corner of the mansion, with a rising spiral staircase that resembled twisting vines climbing to the heavens. The shelves lined every inch of curved wall up three levels, with elaborate reliefs of unicorn heads, gargoyles, and famous authors overseeing the readers searching for their next tome. And there were no words to describe the velvet stuffed reading chairs and chaise lounges. I stood at the base of the staircase and stared up to the tiled ceiling glittering three floors above me--a mosaic of constellations peeking through tree branches. Of all the rooms in the mansion, this one was where Mr. Khatri had allowed himself the most whimsy.
