That evening, I cooked Christopher’s favorite meal, which included rosemary lamb, roasted asparagus, and a bottle of Napa cabernet he often reserved for special occasions, and I arranged candles along the table while soft jazz played in the background.
When he came home, he smiled and said, “You’re spoiling me tonight, and I feel like I missed something important.”
I smiled back and replied, “Maybe I just wanted a quiet evening together, because we have both been busy lately.”
He spoke about expansion plans in Arizona, specifically a mixed use development near Scottsdale, and his voice carried confidence as he described investors, projections, and timelines that seemed to energize him.
He reached across the table and held my hand, then said, “I’m lucky to have this life, and I don’t say that enough.”
I studied his face carefully, searching for any sign of the plan I had read earlier, yet he appeared exactly as he always had, composed and self assured.
After dinner, he fell asleep quickly, while I walked into my private office that he rarely entered because he believed it existed only for managing my charitable foundation.