Truth

by Aleatha Romig

  “Oh god, Courtney, I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be sorry. Let me get you the number. Just please wait until he leaves before you call.”

  “I will. Honestly, I’m not sure when I’ll call. I just want to know I can.”

  Momentarily, Courtney smiled as she scrolled her contacts. Looking toward the archway and back toward the kitchen, she quietly gave Claire the ten requested digits. Then she added, “I hope you know -- I truly hate him for what he did to you.”

  Claire nodded. “Thank you, but you’ve been his friend for a long time. I appreciate your help, but I understand…”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Courtney’s tone surprised Claire. Anger -- fervor, she wasn’t sure she’d heard such vehemence in Courtney’s voice ever before. “Perhaps I don’t.” Maybe she’d pushed Courtney’s allegiance too far by requesting Tony’s number. “I’d better go. Thank you again.”

  “Claire,” Courtney’s voice was more of a whisper, “I’d like to see you. I need to be honest with you about what I know and how I feel. It’d be better in person.”

  Emotions swirled. Claire wanted to see her friend, yet part of her wondered, is she truly my friend? Hearing Tony’s voice, so casual in her kitchen, could this request be a trap? And know -- what could Courtney possibly know? Claire lied to her, just like she’d lied to everyone else. Was the tone Claire heard directed at her or about Tony?

  Claire reminded herself Courtney was the only person to go out of her way to communicate with Claire in prison. She was one of the few people to offer support. Claire replied, “I’d like that too. First, why don’t you concentrate on your company? We’ll work out details later.”

  Courtney nodded. “You’re right about time. We’ve known him a long time. However, sometimes you know someone and still don’t truly know them. Other times you learn the truth right away.” She paused, but Claire didn’t respond, so Courtney continued, “I hope we can work it out -- to get-together. We’ll talk later.”

  Claire replied, and the line went dead. Courtney placed the small black slender phone in the pocket of her jeans and took the Blackberry back to the kitchen. Julia would be over soon; they had a busy afternoon ahead.

  Claire stared at the number on the note pad. There it was. Now, he wouldn’t be the only one able to initiate contact. She added the number to the telephone Tony called the night before. Claire shook her head. There were three telephones before her. All she wanted was one; now she had three!

  Courtney wasn’t the only person opposed to the idea of Claire calling Tony. Harry also thought it was a bad idea. Surprisingly, Amber understood Claire’s reasoning. Harry replied with the analogy of poking a bee hive with a stick.

  Claire finally smiled and explained, “My dad had a friend who raised bees. We used to go and help him extract honey -- fun but scary. The bees would buzz all around his garage as we worked inside getting the honey out of the combs.”

  Harry and Amber listened, probably thinking the bee analogy was meant metaphorically. Claire continued, “When I was little, I was afraid to help. After all, the bees were really mad. You can’t blame them. We’re taking their honey. I remember asking dad’s friend how he got the combs out of the bee hives without getting stung. He showed me this funky hat with netting and a thick material suit and gloves, boots – you know the whole bee garb?” The other two nodded. “So don’t you get it?”

  Claire watched waiting to see some realization in her friends’ eyes. When she didn’t see it, she answered her own question. “I promise not to poke the stick in the hive until I’m sure my outfit is fool proof. I don’t intend to be stung ...again.” Claire was sure she saw sparks of admiration in her friends’ eyes.

  Now that she had his number, Claire needed to work on her beekeeper’s outfit. Until last night, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. California was turning out better than she ever imagined. Honestly, she’d hoped maybe she could start a new life and forget the last three years. Then the whole paradigm changed; Tony called.

  Claire knew in the pit of her stomach – depths of her soul -- it would never be over. He shared in his box that he’d been watching her since at least the time of her parent’s death. No, actually – if, and she still isn’t sure of this -- if, he purposely lured Simon away with the job offer – he’d been watching since her freshman year of college.

  Yes, Anthony Rawlings was the one who callously threw her away – left her to be incarcerated for a crime she never committed. However, multiple times she thought about his offer. Before she pleaded no contest to the charges, he offered her another out. He offered her the option to plead insanity. He even had an institution ready to take her as a patient. If she’d accepted his offer he would still to this day, possibly forever, be in control. Somehow Claire believed Tony expected her to take his option.

  She grinned, realizing that without trying, she’d defied his plans. Feeling a small amount of pride, Claire grasped the unusual feeling. If she could defy Anthony Rawlings out of instinct, instead of intention and survive, it seemed the possibilities were limitless, if she put her mind to it.

  Tony would never allow her to exist away from him. Somehow she needed to remove his power. Claire realized hiding from the sound of his voice, strengthened it. Conversely, the opposite would weaken it.

  Last night, after returning to the table at the restaurant, Claire announced to her friends she was ready to continue the work on their quest. She currently had the time and thanks to Tony, the money. She would accept help, but without a doubt, Tony’s phone call cemented her resolve – Mr. Anthony Rawlings had a lesson to learn and Claire claimed the role as teacher.

  Amber and Harry saw her red blotched face. Yet, instead of pity or even acknowledgement of her current condition, both friends smiled. Amber got up and hugged Claire, “I hope you know you have my full support and any help I can provide.”

  “If you two scorned ladies will allow, I would like to be involved in this quest.” With that, Harry encircled both women in his arms. Their group hug lasted only seconds, but the common goal and support energized Claire beyond any depletion from the phone call.

  This morning she woke with new purpose. Her phone call with Courtney didn’t diminish that purpose, it increased it.

  As she dressed for her day, Claire marveled at again hearing her ex-husband’s voice. Twice in two days! Hearing him speak to Courtney, sounding casual and friendly, there was a time she worked diligently to keep that tone in his voice. It was refreshing to not concentrate on his feelings, but on her own.

  Claire smiled at herself in the mirror. She liked her chestnut brown hair, jeans, and tennis shoes. She liked wearing very little make-up. From now on her concerns were going to be her focus!

  She’d spent the last fourteen months grasping at straws of self-worth. It was a difficult process especially while in a federal penitentiary. At one time she wondered if living was worth the trouble. Today, she knew it was.

  His voice, through her phone, divulged more to her than merely words. Tony had once said she knew him better than anyone. In the pit of her stomach she knew he would seek to find her. And beyond a shadow of a doubt, he’d succeed. Anthony Rawlings rarely, if ever, failed.

  This reality fueled her need to suddenly become visible. Her original plan of anonymity was to avoid him. She failed. Being invisible would make her an easy target, no matter his intention. The more visible Claire Nichols was to the world, the harder it’d be to remove her. This, hopefully not too late realization, made her cheeks rise and a smile radiate beyond her lips to her green eyes.

  Honestly, the prospect of seeing him, talking to him, being near him frightened her. The fear didn’t just stem from his possible actions – but, hers. Claire knew, she couldn’t predict her own actions, emotions, or responses when the time came to meet him face-to-face. Despite their history, Tony had the ability to manipulate her thoughts and beliefs. Her personal pep talks were all well and good while he remained at large. Nevert
heless, Claire could not honestly predict how she would respond, when push came to shove.

  She reminded herself, unlike three years ago, she now knew the rules and boundaries to his game. Rule number one, there were no boundaries. Anthony Rawlings was capable of anything and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Yet, even Superman couldn’t overcome kryptonite. Catherine once told Claire, she had the rare opportunity to know Anthony Rawlings as few do. Claire knew his intimate beliefs. She knew his kryptonite – appearances!

  She also knew without a doubt, he’d be in California. It may be days, weeks, or hell, only hours, but he would step foot on the west coast. It would happen. Claire needed to be ready, her beekeeper suit intact.

  She sat on the tall stool in the kitchen, her laptop open and began to egosurf. Before she could change the perception the world possessed of her, she needed to know what that perception held. The results were nauseating.

  Entering CLAIRE NICHOLS RAWLINGS into the Google search engine landed her over fifty thousand hits! She began to click and read. Yes, there was factual information: born October 17, 1985, to Jordon and Shirley Nichols. One sister, Emily Nichols Vandersol, married to John Vandersol. Claire graduated from Hamilton Heights High School in Fishers, Indiana, and obtained a Bachelor’s Degree in meteorology from Valparaiso University. She completed a one year internship in Albany, New York, and then worked for WKPZ as a meteorologist assistant in Atlanta, Georgia. After WKPZ was bought, she worked at the Red Wing, a restaurant in Atlanta, until 2010. It’s at that point the history of her life becomes mostly conjecture.

  One of the few facts: on December 18, 2011, she married Anthony Rawlings. Claire had read the information before about her being a gold-digger. However, the ferocity of the newly found articles surprised her. It was as if some of these reporters were truly hell-bent on righting the wrongs done to Anthony Rawlings.

  Claire scrolled numerous articles which made her every sin public knowledge. She read about her changing hair color and shopping habits. There were accurate and inaccurate reports of travels. Thinking that perhaps this was a journey she shouldn’t have taken, she clicked and discovered an unlikely ally – a redeemer of her reputation. The article appeared in Rolling Stone, February 2012, following her arrest – prior to her plea. It was entitled, Mrs. Rawlings, No longer a Mystery – But Seriously a Killer? by Meredith Banks. The article discussed Claire Nichols, the real person, student, sorority sister, daughter – grieving the loss of her parents following their tragic deaths, intern, meteorologist assistant in Atlanta, bartender . It went on to discuss the impromptu meeting in Chicago and the unlikelihood of Claire Nichols attempting to murder her husband. Meredith mentioned Claire’s hesitation to discuss her future husband. Hesitation, I didn’t discuss him! Meredith also discussed the obvious -- with as much money as Anthony Rawlings possessed, why would Claire want to kill him? She used the travel, shopping, and pampering spas as evidence. Why would Claire want to kill the handsome generous husband who showered her with luxuries? She had access to all the money she wanted and Anthony was making more. Meredith concluded killing him made no sense.

  Claire couldn’t help but see the irony – the first, perhaps only, positive and accurate article was written by the same woman who wrote the article eighteen months earlier which almost cost her, her life!

  Claire opened another page on her laptop and Googled Meredith Banks, independent correspondent based out of Long Beach, California. The website contained her email and phone number. After a quick check of Google Maps, Claire learned Long Beach was a six and a half hour drive from her current location. She pondered that information. With Tony’s current state of mind, perhaps a 400 mile drive wasn’t a bad plan.

  Claire considered her new option. She could contact Meredith. She could promise an exclusive interview. But, what was she willing to reveal? If she couldn’t look Amber and Harry in the eye and talk about her life as Mrs. Rawlings, was she ready to do it with Meredith?

  Off the dining room were two sets of sliding glass doors leading to a courtyard with a small outdoor sitting area and hot tub. Claire eased her way out into the yard and into a chair. Holding her mug of warm French Vanilla latte, she looked up toward the sky. The clouds had parted revealing patches of blue. She knew the entire disclosure process needed to be well thought-out. Claire reminded herself not to act impulsively or without forethought. Perhaps, as stunning as it seemed, Meredith may be the answer she’d been seeking. Yet, before she attempted to make contact, Claire needed to be sure of what she intended to share. Her article years ago with Vanity Fair taught her that every question must be thoroughly reviewed and dissected. Each impromptu answer must go through the same scrutiny.

  If she planned on informing the world the truth, she needed to be sure it came across the way she intended. The question looming in Claire’s mind -- could she trust Meredith Banks to write that article? Claire truly didn’t know the answer.

  White filmy wisps of condensation moved ever so gently across the sky as beams of sunshine continued to win their battle. Tilting her face toward the sun, Claire closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh spring air. The warm rays and warm coffee reminded Claire that no matter her decision, the reality remained, it was her decision.

  Suddenly an old question resurfaced, how did he do it? How did he make her disappear, without anyone questioning her sudden departure? This information seemed incredibly important. She needed to be sure, history would not repeat itself.

  Every journey into the past is complicated by delusions,

  false memories, false naming of real events.

  -Adrienne Rich

  Chapter 8

  Claire gripped the phone tighter, “What texts and emails are you talking about?”

  “It must’ve been in March, if I remember right. March of the year you left Atlanta.”

  “That is what I’ve been saying, Emily. Tony took me away in March, March 17, 2010, and I was at his house on the 20th. I never sent emails or texts.”

  “Yes, you did. You sent out emails telling about a new job possibility. They said how excited you were about it.” Although Emily couldn’t see, Claire shook her head. “Actually you also sent out emails via Facebook. I remember thinking, you must really be excited.”

  “I never sent those. Did you respond?”

  “I did and you replied. Then about a week later you sent a text saying you’d be getting a new phone number and would call. As you know, you didn’t call for months, and your old number no longer worked.”

  Claire pondered this new information, “I wonder if messages went out to other people?”

  “I know John received the same emails and texts – you know, like you did a mass send? And when we didn’t hear from you again for a while, I called your apartment complex. They said you’d moved out and paid to break the lease. They also said something about a new job opportunity but couldn’t remember any details.”

  “Why didn’t you ever mention this?”

  At first Emily remained silent. When she spoke it was with a recent reoccurring sharpness to her tone, “And when do you suppose I should’ve done that? Maybe while your every word was scrutinized or perhaps while my every word was overheard?” Those details, about their conversations during Claire’s marriage, were just recently revealed by Claire. Obviously Emily still found them upsetting.

  “No, Emily. I’m sorry. I know you couldn’t have said anything then, but now?”

  “Well, perhaps I’ve been busy trying to get to know my sister again and oh yeah – my husband. Details of your disappearance three years ago, when I thought you just didn’t want me in your life, well, they haven’t been high on my priority list.”

  Claire inhaled deeply and exhaled. Emily’s anger was justified. “I want you to know I did not, and would not, just email or text you or John out of my life. If it happens again, please know it isn’t me.”

  Emily’s end of the line went silent. She finally responded, with distress not resentment, “Why?
Are you seriously afraid it could happen again?”

  Claire didn’t hesitate. She no longer wanted to delude her sister. “Yes.”

  “I promise, if I can’t get ahold of you, or I get those kinds of messages – I’ll have the police break down Anthony Rawlings’ door.”

  Claire smiled. “Thanks, Sis. Hopefully, that’ll never be necessary. Right now I’m learning what I can about how he did it last time.”

  The two spoke for a while longer. During her time in Iowa, her calls were not only monitored but time restricted. The two sisters relished their new lengthy soul revealing conversations. Emily informed Claire she’d be going to New York the first week of April to bring John home. With his sentence complete, the condition of his probation required regular interaction with a probationary officer. As long as he did that, he could travel, or live, anywhere within the continental United States.

  Due to the charges of fraudulent billing, The New York State Bar Association suspended John’s admission to the bar, disabling him from practicing law. For any chance at redemption, an appeal must be made to the governing body’s disciplinary committee. Emily wasn’t sure what he’d do. She was just happy they’d be together.

  Claire wanted to ask to join Emily in New York. However, instinctively she believed her presence was currently unwelcome. She hoped it was only momentary, besides Emily and John needed private time.

  Amber arrived home to find her dining room table covered in piles of disheveled papers. It was the information Claire saved from Tony’s box, along with new information Amber and Harry helped accumulate. Harry’s connection to the Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence was definitely advantageous.

  From the box, Claire saved pictures. Looking through the stack, she placed them in chronological order. The first series was from her parent’s funeral. If she hadn’t stared at them for hours, in her cell in Iowa, the subject would be upsetting. Instead, the circumstance of their existence dominated her thoughts. The photo in her hand was of the grave site. She saw the vibrant autumn trees surrounding the double plot and a seemingly appropriate gray sky. The faraway shot showed Emily with John on one side and Claire on the other. There were many people behind them. The next one caused Claire’s stomach to churn. It showed a close-up of her, alone -- her name handwritten on the back. She recognized the distinguishable writing. She’d seen that same script on many notes throughout her two years with Tony.