Truth

by Aleatha Romig

  Claire sighed, “I will talk with her tonight.”

  “By the way, I like the black bathing suit, but I’d prefer it here at the estate where it wouldn’t be seen by as many people.”

  Her head darted from side to side. Behind the trunk of a palm tree, under the shade of an umbrella she saw Phillip. “Good-bye, Tony.” She disconnected the line, before he could comment. She stood and made her way toward Phil’s umbrella; they needed to talk.

  The late afternoon temperature was perfect. The low humidity combined with a light breeze made the pool oasis a haven for relaxation. However, as Claire approached Philip Roach, his expression looked anything but relaxed.

  She didn’t ask permission to sit in the chair next to his, she just did.

  His voice was curt, “Ms. Nichols, I thought we weren’t to know one another. Can I assume we’re being photographed?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.” Holding up her phone Claire continued, “It seems my ex-husband is receiving up to the minute updates. He even knows what I’m wearing.”

  “What can I say, I have a job. I do it.”

  “Then tell me what last night’s note was all about.”

  Phil looked away. Eventually the enticement to see Claire sitting next to him, in nothing but her black bikini, was too strong. He returned her gaze. Mindlessly he wished she wasn’t wearing the large sunglasses. He so rarely was able to look at her this close. He wanted to see her eyes. Finally he responded to her question, “It was a display of unwise judgment.”

  “Unwise?” Her voice softened, “I thought it was kind.”

  “Well, Ms. Nichols, I’m not paid to be kind. I suppose I momentarily forgot my place in this equation.”

  Her anger regarding Tony’s knowledge of her attire faded. She gently touched Phil’s outstretched leg and said, “Thank you. He was upset when he arrived.” She smirked, “He’s not too happy right now. But he calmed last night, he’ll calm again.”

  “You seem to have an uncanny ability. My concerns were unfounded.”

  “No Phillip, your concerns were admirable. Thank you.”

  He nodded.

  Claire went on, trying to give Phillip some sense of understanding. “This is nothing but a game to Mr. Rawlings. Unfortunately for me, he has the ability and resources to keep the game going into untold overtime. And you are a piece of that game.”

  “Game? That wasn’t the impression I’ve received.”

  “It’s like chess. I make a move, he makes a move. Eventually one of us will declare check-mate.”

  “From my short experience, I believe you’re a worthy opponent.”

  “You see, that’s where I’m confused. Sometimes I think I’m an opponent. Other times I think he believes I’m the prize. Thing is, I’m not interested in being a prize.”

  “Maybe instead of chess, it is archery. And you, Ms. Nichols, are the target.”

  She pondered his observation. That scenario would take more consideration. She asked, “By the way, what happened to you at that French restaurant?”

  “I had an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  Claire nodded. “Thank you again for your concern. I’m in hope of you being dismissed soon, but I doubt that will happen. And at this time I don’t want to break in another bodyguard. So I’ll leave you to your work.”

  As Phil watched, Claire walked back to her chair. He considered her words and thought to himself, bodyguard -- that does sound better than paid voyeur.

  After her time by the pool, Claire went back to her suite and made some calls. A lot had happened with Tony since she’d last spoken with Courtney. Claire told her all about Meredith and the agreement she hoped to secure with her tonight. She also told Courtney about Tony’s surprise appearance the night before.

  Courtney filled Claire in on the progress of Caleb and Julia’s wedding. With it less than a month away, Courtney was trying to be as helpful as possible. Claire smiled, listening to her friend go on and on about dresses, rehearsal dinner, and tuxedos. Claire told her how much she’d like to help. They both knew that wouldn’t happen. Nevertheless, Courtney promised lots and lots of pictures.

  Just before they hung-up, Claire mentioned her other late night visitor. Claire couldn’t tell Amber about what they did. It was refreshing to have a friend with whom she could talk to about Harry. Courtney didn’t judge; she listened. When Claire said Harry did make her smile, Courtney said she couldn’t wait to meet him. Her last comment on the subject caught Claire off guard. Courtney remarked, “Can you imagine if Tony realized his visit was the push to advance your relationship with Harry?” Claire hadn’t thought of it like that. She remembered Harry’s question. If Courtney’s observation was right, was she pushing Tony out, instead of letting Harry in?

  Harry returned to the suite later in the afternoon looking delicious in new jeans and a new black t-shirt. Since he hadn’t planned on staying in San Diego, he was forced to do some shopping. With a boyish smirk, he handed Claire a plastic bag containing a box. She looked into the bag and returned his smile from under her mascaraed lashes. It seemed silly to feel shy about the box of condoms. However, when she noticed the number on the side of the box she exhaled. She didn’t know they were sold by the dozen.

  Her thoughts went back to Palo Alto. Did his bulk purchase mean he intended this arrangement to continue back at the condominium? She wasn’t opposed. It would just be different. This get-a-way was more like a holiday. Another issue requiring more thought.

  Just before seven o’clock, Harry asked Claire, “I was thinking, instead of flying back to Palo Alto tomorrow, maybe you’d be interested in driving?”

  “Driving? How long of a drive is it?”

  “About eight hours.”

  Claire stared in disbelief. “Eight hours?! Why do you want to do that?”

  “Because, Santa Monica is about two and a half hours from here. And a friend of mine, known for his amazing research, tracked down Patrick Chester.”

  Claire contemplated for a moment, “Chester? The neighbor of the Rawls? The man whose house Tony went to, to make the 911 call?”

  “Yes, one and the same. If you want to visit, I’ll call him this evening and see if we can arrange a meeting.”

  Her mind spun. That wasn’t something she’d even considered. Claire thought if Tony was upset about me visiting with Meredith, this would throw him over the edge. But then again, she did have a reservation to fly back to Palo Alto at nine in the morning. If she didn’t cancel, Phillip would once again lose track of her, at least temporarily.

  A knock came on the door of Claire’s suite interrupting their conversation. Looking through the peep hole, she saw Meredith. Just before opening the door, she turned to Harry and replied, “If he’s willing to meet, let’s do it.”

  Harry leaned down and kissed her. His voice sounded huskier than before, “I’ll be back after your meeting. Have a nice dinner.”

  His smile made her pulse increase and her stomach clench. She replied, “You, too. Sorry you’re eating alone.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  With that, Claire opened the door and Meredith entered. Claire made quick introductions, “Meredith this is Harrison Baldwin. Harry this is Meredith Banks.” The two shook hands and made quick pleasantries. Harry excused himself and left.

  When the door shut, Meredith’s eyebrows shot up, “Is he the man I’ve seen you with in the magazines.”

  “Are we off the record?”

  Meredith smiled, “Yes.”

  Claire returned her smile, a little more shyly, “Yes.”

  “My Claire, you certainly know how to attract the good looking men. If I weren’t married, I’d ask your secret.”

  Their easy banter quickly disappeared as Claire explained the loss of Meredith’s blog.

  Meredith stared in disbelief, “I thought there was a problem with the server due to the excessive number of hits. I never dreamt it could be due to Mr. Rawlings.” She sat in silence for a moment and a
dded, “So, is this an example of what he can do?”

  Claire nodded. “It is. Are you sure you want to do this. He was here last night, and I can promise he isn’t supportive.”

  “He was here? So you two are still talking, after everything... the prison thing and all?”

  Claire nodded, “Honestly, I don’t know if I’d call it conversation. I’m speaking, he’s speaking... well you get the picture.”

  Meredith nodded affirmatively.

  “He set some boundaries.” Claire explained briefly, “At this time I’m inclined to respect them. It’s a quid pro quo thing.”

  Meredith laid her purse on the table, pulled a small laptop from her bag and turned it on. “All right then, lay it on me. What are the rules?”

  Claire snickered, “Oh, you have no idea.”

  She and Meredith discussed the new rules: They would continue to meet, Claire would tell her story, it could be written, but it would only be published if Tony failed to keep Claire and her close friends safe. During the conversation, Claire realized Meredith needed compensation for lack of publication. Claire could help with some of that, but decided if Tony wanted to keep this quiet, he could help float the bill.

  After dinner, Claire gave Meredith a small sample of what she could expect. It began with the story of a twenty-five year old woman working at a local news affiliate in Atlanta, Georgia. After ten, Claire decided she was done talking for the night. Their story ended with that same woman waking in an unknown room. Claire didn’t begin to describe the woman’s physical condition, just the terror of a lost day and the unknown.

  Meredith typed feverishly and conceded, “I want this story. I’m willing to do anything and follow any rules to be the one to write it.”

  They agreed to meet again in a week. This time Meredith would travel to Palo Alto.

  Claire’s airline reservation required her to leave the hotel early. Even though she wouldn’t board the flight, Harry and Claire chose to stay on schedule. It would help their illusion with Phillip Roach. Their night hadn’t been as late as the night before. Nonetheless, Harry’s trip to the drug store wasn’t for naught.

  When Harry and Claire arrived at the airport, they traded Claire’s Mazda 3, for a Mustang Convertible. As Harry lowered the roof on the bright blue muscle car, Claire secured her hair in a ponytail. She smiled and chose not to respond to Harry’s comments as he put Claire’s luggage in the car. He mumbled something under his breath about how happy he was he didn’t have luggage. Claire’s suitcases seemed to fill most of the trunk. Shaking his head he repeated, “It was only a three day trip.”

  The ocean breeze helped disperse the clouds and create bright blue patches high above, matching the paint of the Mustang. Harry eased the rental car into the light Sunday traffic of I-5N. Claire laid her head against the seat and enjoyed the sun and wind on her face.

  She didn’t often allow herself to think about prison. It was easier to keep it compartmentalized away. Nevertheless, sometimes the isolation and incarceration came rushing back. The memories of days, weeks, and months with limited interaction, fresh air or sunshine would infiltrate an otherwise happy day. It happened as she listened to Led Zeplin sing about a stairway to heaven. Closing her eyes behind the Oliver Peoples sunglasses she relished the warmth and tingling on her cheeks. It was all such a contrast to those dark months. Claire didn’t even realize she was lingering on her own sad memories until she felt the tears slip from her eyes. Harry reached for her hand and squeezed, offering comfort.

  He turned down the music and leaned toward her, “Are you all right? If you don’t want to do this, I understand. Amber told me the police reports upset you.”

  Claire took a tissue from her purse. “It isn’t that. I really haven’t given this whole meeting a lot of thought.”

  “What is it?”

  She exhaled. “I just love the sun and wind.”

  Harry smiled and squeezed her hand again. “Well, if it makes you cry, maybe we should avoid things you love.”

  Claire grinned through her tears, “How about I try not to cry, and we enjoy lots of sun and wind.”

  “You don’t need to try anything.”

  A few minutes later, Claire volunteered softly, “Sometimes I remember what it was like to only see the sun for an hour a day.”

  Harry exhaled. His grip intensified upon the steering wheel, “I forget about your time in prison. You never talk about it.” She shook her head. His eyes screamed compassion as his blonde unruly hair blew in the wind. “You can cry, laugh or scream, anything that helps. Go for it.”

  She squeezed his hand, laid her head against the head rest, closed her eyes, opened her mouth and screamed! It was like nothing she’d ever done before. She didn’t look at Harry; her eyes stayed closed tight. They were traveling at approximately seventy miles per hour, with the wind blowing wisps of her tied back hair and the sun bathing her cheeks.

  Although her first attempt was weak, Claire didn’t quit. She pictured her cell, the cement block walls, and sparse furnishings. She tried again. This time she felt the sound begin in her diaphragm, travel up her throat, and explode through her lips.

  Without thinking she felt the smile creep onto her face. Despite the memories, the outlet filled her with hope. When had she last screamed? Really screamed? There were plenty of opportunities, but she’d never done it.

  Feeling the release, from her toes to her eyebrows, Claire scrunched her eyes tighter and gave the scream one more try. This one lasted longer, going on and on. Her eventual silence came only due to the deflation of her lungs. Nevertheless, once they inflated again, the sound morphed to a giggle, starting as a lonely chuckle and propagating. By the time she opened her eyes, tears leaked from her lids, not from sadness, but from the rush of release.

  Harry tried to maintain his focus on the highway. There were other cars as well as big trucks. The lack of roof made the rush of wind and sound so much louder than it’d be normally. However, the woman beside him filled him with awe. When he’d said to scream, he never expected her to take him up on it. But there she was head back, emerald eyes hidden behind lids and sunglasses, with her mouth open wide.

  His peripheral vision refused to release her image, even for one second. The second scream was louder. The third was beyond belief. For a moment he thought about Claire in a prison cell. In that instant his chest filled with angst for her plight. Yet, that thought was but a flash. Claire started to laugh. Yes, Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Her chuckle grew becoming infectious. His expression of disbelief changed, as if his lips started at below zero and within seconds became zero and soon forty-five degrees. When she finally opened her eyes, he couldn’t contain his own laughter.

  Never could he remember feeling the admiration for someone he currently felt for Claire Nichols. How could anyone let her go?

  At that second, Harry realized, no one could. Anthony Rawlings would never let her go. If Claire were to be part of his life, so would Anthony Rawlings. He forced a smile and glanced toward her hidden eyes.

  Claire’s voice transcended the rush of air, “Thank you. I really do like the car and the drive.”

  “You’re very welcome, anytime.”

  With her cheeks still raised and her lips turned upward, she moved her glance to the right. He thought about the woman who arrived at Amber’s apartment; would that woman have screamed at the top of her lungs, on highway 5-N? Would she have joined him in their activities over the last two days? Harry wasn’t sure. He knew the petite brunette at his side was a mass of contrary emotions and actions. Beyond anything, he longed to explore every one of them.

  Claire glanced back at Harry as he suggested, “I know this great place in Oceanside for Sunday brunch. Are you up for stopping on our way to Santa Monica?”

  “Yes, it sounds great.”

  All secrets are deep. All secrets become dark.

  That’s in the nature of secrets.

  - Cory Doctorow

  Chapter 28

>   With the wind in her hair, Claire’s thoughts disappeared into the ribbon of white sand and rolling waves. She watched as a few lone souls, in wetsuits, walked the shore carrying surfboards in search of the perfect wave. The table she shared with Harry at the Beach Break Cafe was covered by a blue umbrella. Under that same table, Claire’s sandaled feet rested upon a carpet of sand. Inhaling the salty surf she relished the perfect atmosphere for Sunday brunch and sipped her coffee.

  Harry remained uncharacteristically quiet as Clair enjoyed the glowing vista. The glistening sun reflected off the waves creating silver caps rolling upon the turquoise blue ocean. Wistfully she remembered other sandy beaches. She loved the soft gritty sensation as she wiggled her sand covered toes under her chair.

  After the waitress refilled their cups of coffee, Harry’s soft voice penetrated the sounds of the sea, “If this is too difficult for you, I can go to Patrick Chester’s house alone. I’ll just call and reschedule.”

  Claire looked up. Despite his concerned expression, it was his long unruly blonde hair moving in the ocean breeze that made her smile. Only once had she seen it controlled, the night they’d met at the restaurant and he’d used gel. She remembered he’d also worn a jacket, a sexy look, but not as sexy as his jeans and well-fitting t-shirts.

  “No, I can do this. Honestly, I haven’t allowed myself to think much about it. I guess I’m torn.” Harry lifted his brows, and Claire clarified, “I’m curious, but apprehensive. The police reports were upsetting. I’m not sure I want to hear more gory details.”

  “That’s not why we’re going to see him.”

  Claire listened.

  “I asked a friend, who works at SiJo, to help me with research.”

  Claire interrupted, “Harry, please don’t do that. I feel bad enough with all Amber’s done for me. She doesn’t need to be paying people to research my vendetta.”