More than a Divorce Statistic

Unbeknownst to us, Justin Boszner had been given early release from prison. His hatred of me had grown exponentially during his time in prison. Kerry and I had just gotten the kids to bed when we heard several windows in the front of our house shatter. I went to check out what had happened while Kerry went to make sure the kids were alright. As I stepped into the living room, I was confronted by Justin, and he was pointing a gun at me.

"Well, Mikey boy, I've waited a long time for this moment," he snarled. "I'm going to blow your guts out, and then I'm going to fuck your pretty little wife. I'm sure she'll enjoy it just like she did before."

I wanted to rip this asshole's head off, and I took a step forward, but he pushed the gun further out. "I wouldn't try that, Mike. I can cut you down before you could get close to me. But I want this moment to last a little longer."

At that moment, I saw a streak come from the dining room side of the living room. Kerry latched onto the gun as Justin tried to wrestle it away. I moved instantly, but the gun went off before I got there. Kerry slumped to the floor, but I slammed my fist into Justin's jaw, sending him reeling back where he hit his head against the wall. Then I was on my knees cradling Kerry. Blood was seeping from her stomach.

I grabbed the phone off the coffee table and dialed 911. It seemed like hours, but eight minutes later, the police and an ambulance were there. I had gotten a towel to press against the wound. I remember crying, "Please hang on, Kerry. Please don't die."

Kerry lay in my arms, looking up at me. "You are the only one I have ever loved. Thank you for taking me back. Take care of our children." Then her eyes closed. They never opened again. The hospital staff worked tirelessly to save her, but there was too much damage.

I was a total basket case. Thank God for our two mothers. They moved in and took care of everything as I zoned out. It took losing Kerry to finally realize that I was her only true love. I know I was at the funeral, but I can't remember anything about it. All I remember is thinking that I should be dead, not Kerry.

Justin was arrested and charged with first-degree murder. He committed suicide in jail before his trial. I was angry that he got off so easily.

It took about three months, but I finally began to pull out of my funk. My kids were the main reason for my recovery as I had to be strong for them. They missed their mother as much as I did. But as kids do, they heal quickly. I didn't know if I would ever heal, but they looked to me to be their rock. For Kerry's sake, I couldn't let them down. But I was still damaged, and as much as I tried to hide it, my mother knew it. It was she that finally suggested that I get away with the kids. I resisted at first, but finally agreed that we'd go back to Great Britain. My parents and Kerry's parents agreed to come with me to help me with the kids.

By this time, I was no longer worried about returning to England. About eighteen months after the kidnapping, Scotland Yard had unraveled the plot to kidnap the Crown Prince. It turned out that the plot had been hatched by a very small splinter group of anti-royals. The group only numbered thirty-something, but two worked in Buckingham Palace and had access to the royal schedules. Most of the members were clueless about what their leaders were doing, but all of them got prison terms of varying lengths. But the ultimate plan was to kill the Crown Prince.

After my divorce, I had invested the money I'd received in the settlements. It had now grown to almost five million dollars. So, I decided to go extravagant on this trip and booked first-class tickets for everyone. I made reservations at the Langham, one of the best hotels in London. Then I made sure to reserve a passenger van because I wanted to finish my Scotland and Wales tour.

I didn't realize it, but a media circus was about to explode in London, and I was going to be at the center of it. When I spoke to Inspector Blair and asked to have my name left off any of the reports, I assumed the records would be sealed permanently. However, they had not sealed the records permanently. They had simply sealed the records for five years. If the case remained unsolved, the seal would be extended. Another year had passed before someone asked the records be opened to the public. That request had finally been granted.

I had asked that my name be kept out of all the reports, but that didn't happen. My name was all over everything. Even as we were winging our way back to Great Britain, the reports were now being reviewed by several very tenacious reporters.

If I had had even the slightest inkling of what was about to happen, I never would have made the trip. I would have moved my entire family into hiding and stayed there until everything died down. But I had no idea, so I prepared for a trip that I hoped would help me heal my soul from Kerry's loss and the guilt I felt for not wholly trusting her love.

When I pulled down my suitcases and began to pack them for this trip, I discovered the long-forgotten phone number for Sarah Smythe. I was sure that the number was no longer in service or now being used by someone else. Still, on the slim chance that it might be hers, I called it. If I could contact her, perhaps I could persuade her to join us on our tour. If nothing else, I felt I still owed her a dinner for the one I canceled when I fled England more than six years ago.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the number, indeed, was still Sarah's. I was even more pleased that she remembered immediately who I was. Sarah told me that she had been greatly disappointed that I had to cancel our dinner engagement. However, Sarah also assured me that she understood perfectly why I had to do so. I felt a little guilty that I couldn't tell her the real reason. But that was a chapter of my life; I felt best left in the past.

We talked for a good two hours. I can only imagine what my phone bill will be like when I return home. Still, it was a thoroughly enjoyable conversation. I have a few friends that are so close that we can go for months without conversing, but when we do, it's as though no time has passed at all. It was like that with Sarah.

Little by little, we filled each other in about our lives over the past five years. Sarah was pleased when I told her I had remarried Kerry and had two children. Sarah told me that she still taught at the same school but was now the Assistant Head Mistress. She had been married for a short time about two years ago. The marriage had been a disaster, and the divorce was especially nasty, and her ex-husband was extremely bitter. It was clear that Sarah's failed marriage still troubled her, so I finally told her of Kerry's murder and my struggles to put my life back together again. There was a long silence after I finished telling of Kerry's death, and for a moment, I thought that Sarah might have hung up. But then I heard her sobbing on the other end.

"Oh, Michael, I feel so absolutely retched for you," she said in a trembling voice. She had always addressed me by my given name and rarely by my nickname. "Still, you have your children. I know that seems like small comfort now, but in the years to come, you will realize how truly blessed you are."

At first, I didn't know what to say, but then with a half-hearted chuckle, I said we should put the sad stories behind us. Sarah agreed and began telling me about some of the funny things her students had done. I was grateful for the humor; but I finally broached the real purpose of my call.

"Look, I know this is absolutely last minute, but I'm coming to England with the kids and their grandparents," I explained. "I'd like to have an opportunity to do a little touring. If there is any way that you could get free, I'd love for you to join us."

"Oh, I would love to do that, Michael, but I couldn't possibly get free right now. We're only halfway through this term, and I have so many meetings I have to attend. I'm so terribly sorry."

"I understand," I said but couldn't hide my disappointment. "But look, I still owe you dinner from last time. Perhaps you could free up an evening to dine with me?"

"I'd love to do that," Sarah said immediately. "However, you have to promise to bring your children and their grandparents. I'd love to meet them all."

"Wonderful," I said happily. "I'll call you when I get to London, and we'll set something up."

Like I said, even as we were flying across the Atlantic, the secrets that I had hoped would be locked away forever, we about to come flooding out.

We arrived early in the morning, and I knew that the best way to defeat jetlag was to stay up until it was time to go to bed in your new location. If you did that, then the next day, you were in sync with the new time zone. Since the kids had slept most of the flight over, they were raring to go. My parents and Kerry's parents weren't as enthused with the plan but went along with it because I insisted. Once we were checked into our rooms, I called Sarah and arranged to have dinner with her the following night. Then we set out to explore London.

We went to the Tower of London, took a boat tour on the Thames, and visited Legoland Windsor. We all had a great time, but that was all going to change the next morning. I went to bed that night happier than I had been in a long time. I was looking forward to our tour, and I was looking forward to dinner with Sarah.

I awoke the next morning to heavy knocking on the door of my room. I had booked a two-room suite for the kids and me. The kids were still asleep in one of the bedrooms as I hastily pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt. I stumbled to the door and opened it. There in the doorway was a distinguished older middle-aged man with a newspaper under his arm.

"Forgive my intrusion, Mr. Adams," the man said apologetically. "My name is James Batterman, and I am the manager of this hotel. I sincerely apologize for disturbing your slumber, but it is of some urgency that I speak with you."

Still half asleep, I motioned for the man to enter. Behind him a waiter rolled a cart in with juice, tea, coffee, and covered dishes. Mr. Batterman motioned for the waiter to bring the cart in and set everything up on a table in the corner. Once that was complete, the waiter was dismissed. Mr. Batterman immediately poured me a cup of coffee, which I took gratefully.

"I think you should sit down, Mr. Adams. There is news, which I am almost certain that you are completely unaware of."

Once I sat down, Mr. Batterman spread out the paper before me. The headline read -- MYSTERY OF PRINCE PETER'S KIDNAPPING REVEALED!

Below the headline but still above the fold was a color picture of me. I quickly scanned the article and groaned. My mind went in a million directions at once. But paramount in my thinking was about protecting my children.

After finishing enough of the article that I knew that I had been totally and completely exposed, I looked up at Mr. Batterman.

"How bad is it?" I asked.

"Right now, there are hundreds of people and scores of media milling about outside the hotel, hoping to get a glimpse of you. Apparently, word has also leaked out that you are in London and that you are staying here. The television stations have been talking about nothing else all morning. I expect the crowds outside the hotel to grow. I've already requested police to institute some form of crowd control. To put it simply, Mr. Adams, you have become a media sensation. All of Britain wants to know all about you."

My mind was a jumble, and I still had no idea what to do. But then I suddenly felt I knew why Mr. Batterman was visiting me. "I assume that you would wish us to find accommodations somewhere else?"

"Oh, Good heavens, no," Mr. Batterman said with a look of horror. "I've only come to let you know what's happening and to assure you that we will do everything within our power to protect your privacy." Only when Mr. Batterman said privacy, he pronounced it like Prev-ah-c.

"What do you suggest I do?" I was still unsure what to do about this mess and more than a little intimidated by the whole thing. And this was only my first blush with the craziness that was unfolding. It was only going to get worse as the days wore on.

"I would personally suggest that you and your family remain in the hotel, at least for today," Mr. Batterman suggested. "Hopefully, things will die down, and people will lose interest eventually. I'll check with my home office and see what they suggest."

"The only problem with your plan is that we have a dinner engagement with a friend at the Pedella Restaurant."

Mr. Batterman thought for a second and then offered a solution. "Might I suggest that you invite your guest here and have dinner at the "Grove" downstairs? It's a four-star restaurant and only seats forty-six, so it will be quiet and private."

I told Mr. Batterman that his suggestion was an excellent one, and I'd cancel my reservation at the Pedella and make new ones at the Grove.

"Please let me take care of that for you," he offered, and I accepted. I was still a basket case about what was happening. And, as of yet, I hadn't even seen what was going on outside.

"Mr. Batterman, may I ask you a question?" I was hoping he could help me get my head around all of this.

"Of course, I'll answer anything that I can."

"Why is this now such a big deal?" I asked. "I mean, the kidnapping happened over six years ago. Okay, maybe the police fudged a little on the details, but what does it matter? The Prince was rescued, and he's safe and sound."

Mr. Batterman studied me for a moment, and then he smiled kindly. "Mr. Adams, you're an American, so our Royal Family is more of a curiosity to your people than anything. But to someone who is truly British, the monarchy is the bedrock of our country.

The nation was stunned when it was reported that the Crown Prince had been kidnapped. All of Great Britain fell under a cloud of fear and grief. Then when he was rescued, the nation rejoiced as one. If you remember, the news of his safe return touched off three days of celebrations. Now to find out that you, sir, saved the Prince and that you sought no recognition for your actions. You have captured the imagination and gratitude of this nation. All I can say is that every member of my staff feels honored to serve you in any way that we can.

Also, I want you to know that you will pay for nothing during your stay here at the Langham."

"No, I can't accept that, Mr. Batterman," I immediately protested. "Our stay here is already causing you and your staff a lot of inconveniences."

Mr. Batterman held up his hands. "If it will soothe your sense of fairness, I spoke to the head office this morning, and they are thrilled with the free publicity. Already reservations are up more than eighteen percent."

When Mr. Batterman left, Grant and Louisa came wandering out of their bedroom. The breakfast that Mr. Batterman had left included bacon, eggs, bagels, and danish. There was also oatmeal. I made up plates for both of them and then plopped them down in front of the television. I ordered up the movie Toy Story for them to watch. It was their favorite. Then it was time for me to make some phone calls.

The first thing I did was call a family meeting. I woke up both sets of grandparents and asked them to come over to my room as soon as possible. After that, I called Sarah to tell her about the change in plans.

When I rang her, she picked up on the first ring, "Michael, I can hardly believe what I see on television. Is any or all of it true?"

"Unfortunately, it's all true," I confirmed. "I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you about it, but the truth is, I wanted to leave it all behind me."

"That's why you canceled the dinner date with me?" Sarah said in a voice that made it sound both like a question and a statement.

"Yes, I'm sorry I deceived you," I apologized. "But the British government agreed with me that it was best if I left the country quickly and quietly."

"And what they say about your injuries, are they true? They say you nearly died. Are they exaggerating?"

"No exaggeration, and it's all true, but it's no big deal," I wanted to get off the subject of me and on to the subject of dinner that night.

"Michael, it's a huge deal," Sarah protested, and I thought she was angry with me, but she wasn't. "I mean, you had to go through that whole ordeal all by yourself and then to go home and have your wife murdered." She started to cry at that point.

"Please, Sarah, don't cry. I'm okay now. I just called to see if you would mind if we ate in the hotel tonight, considering everything. I'll understand if you don't want to come. I mean, the media have made it totally crazy around here."

"I will absolutely be there tonight," Sarah said immediately. "There is no way that I'm letting you cancel another dinner on me. I'll see you at six."

When the grandparents arrived, I just laid out the newspaper. I then took them to my room and put on the television. The news was wall to wall about me. I was beside myself with anxiety. I had looked out the window to the front of the hotel and saw hundreds of people milling about. The police had set up barricades and had moved the people across the street and kept them moving. The whole scene was surreal.

As my mother was reading the story, she suddenly broke down and cried. This day was just getting worse and worse.

"What's wrong, mom?" I asked with alarm.

"You almost died, and you never told us about it," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry about that, but I felt it was better to keep all this a secret in case terrorists were behind the kidnapping. I didn't want them coming after anyone else in my family. Then when it turned out not to be terrorists, I didn't see the need to revisit the past."

I'm not sure my mother was happy with my explanation, but she accepted it.

We met in my suite before going down to dinner. Sarah looked stunning, and my parents were very curious about her. She charmed them easily and soon had them laughing at her stories of being as Assistant Head Mistress. Dinner started out very embarrassingly, as the entire restaurant stood and applauded when we entered. Then people began to come up to our table to introduce themselves and thank me. I just smiled and introduced them to my family and Sarah.

As the people continued to come to our table, Grant finally turned to me and asked, "Daddy are you famous?"

"I guess I am," I answered, "but I don't want to be."

It was at dinner that Sarah gave me the first good news of the day. After explaining who I was, the school board approved a two-week paid leave for her. Sarah would now be able to travel with us and be our guide. Now the only question was, would we be able to actually make the trip.

Halfway through dinner, Mr. Batterman stepped next to our table, "I apologize profusely for interrupting. But might I have a word with you, Mr. Adams?"

I excused myself and followed the hotel manager to a quiet space by the kitchen door. There, he looked around to make sure no one was within earshot.

"Mr. Adams, I been in contact with our home office," he began, and I feared we were now going to be asked to leave. "They had a rather good suggestion. They thought it might tone down some of the media frenzies if you held an impromptu press conference tomorrow. We could set it up in our ballroom. Of course, the decision is entirely up to you."

I turned the suggestion over in my head several times, and I liked it.

"I think that's a great idea. What do I have to do to set it up?"

Mr. Batterman smiled and shook his head. "Absolutely nothing. We'll handle everything. I suggest ten am tomorrow. You'll just need to present yourself in whatever attire you wish. You should prepare a short statement, and then we'll allow the press thirty minutes for questions."