Master Bedroom — 1950
Jonathan took two faltering steps into his parent’s master bedroom and stopped. His hand still rested on the door jamb, lingering outside the room for one final moment. Under the pads of his fingers he could feel the empty nail holes embedded in the wood. Remnants from the last time he’d done this.
“It’s strange, what lingers,” he said, bitter amusement trickling past the dread leaching into his bones.
“Is everything alright, sir?”
Startled, Jonathan released his grip on the door jamb. He stepped properly into the room and turned to face the man behind him. “Yes, Jeeves, everything’s fine.”
“Jeeves?”
Jonathan cursed himself. Such a simple mistake, but potentially costly. Still, at this stage in his planning, did it matter? Throwing caution to the wind, he said “It’s not Jeeves, then?”
“No, sir,” the butler said, his moustache failing to hide a frown of concern. “It’s Bob.”
“Bob? That’s not a proper butler name. Have I missed something?” Then, seeing Bob’s quizzical look, he waved his hands dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. If it’s Bob, it’s Bob. It’s too late to change, anyway. Ignore me, and pardon my mistake. I’m not feeling quite myself today, I’m afraid.”
“I understand, sir.” Bob, chewing his moustache, clearly did not understand. But his training forbid him from even professing anything but a positive demeanor.