Emily squared her shoulders and knocked on Dr. Brown’s open door. The pretty blonde psychiatrist stood and welcomed her, “Emily, please come in. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited Dr. Fairfield to join us today.”
It was then that Emily noticed the older gentleman sitting off to the side of the room. The fact he was male caught Emily by surprise. “Hello”—she extended her hand as Dr. Fairfield stood and shook it.
Before Emily could say more, Dr. Brown began, “I’ve asked Dr. Fairfield to join us today because he’s a research professor at Princeton, specializing in traumatic brain injuries. I heard him speak a few weeks ago at a conference and believe he could give us a fresh perspective on Claire.”
Emily sat taller. “Research? I’m sorry, Doctor, but I don’t want anyone experimenting on my sister. She’s been through enough already.”
Dr. Fairfield spoke—with a thick English accent, “Mrs. Vandersol, I assure you, I’m only here to offer my opinion. I won’t use any of the data regarding Mrs. Rawlings without your permission.”
“Ms. Nichols, Doctor, I need you to understand that the name Rawlings may never be used in the presence of my sister—No exceptions.”
Dr. Fairfield looked toward Dr. Brown. Dr. Brown smiled and spoke, “Emily, I’ve only shared the medical information with Dr. Fairfield—nothing personal. I promise we’ll review all of that before he examines Claire. Currently, he’s only seen her CT scans and read my notes. I believe there’s something I’m missing. I don’t know what it is; however, Dr. Fairfield has documented cases of spontaneous recovery—”
Emily interrupted, “I’ve done my research. Most recoveries occur within the first year. After that, the likelihood is greatly diminished. Isn’t that right?”
Dr. Fairfield replied, “That’s correct; however, the cases to which Dr. Brown is referring were significantly outside the normal time period for recovery.” Emily contemplated his words as he added, “One case was four years out.”
Four years! Emily thought about that. It’d already been over two. She’d come to terms with the idea that Claire would never recover, but was that a life? “What does this mean? What will you do to Claire?”
Dr. Brown replied, “We need your permission for Dr. Fairfield to examine Claire and possibly perform more tests.”
“More tests? What other tests could you possibly perform which other doctors haven’t already done?”
The doctors spent the next forty minutes explaining Dr. Fairfield’s research. The tests weren’t invasive, and Emily’s rules would be maintained. They may introduce some medications or combination of medications that have been previously untried. First, Dr. Fairfield wanted to determine if the cause of her psychosis was indeed head injury, or if it could be something else.
Emily reluctantly shared Claire’s history. She didn’t like the idea of more treatment. After all, Claire was content. Why make her uncomfortable or uneasy? Then again, if there was even a remote possibility—Emily couldn’t say no.
That night, at home with John and the kids, she watched as Michael and Nichol played. When she looked at her niece, she saw Claire and the same carefree ambition her sister once possessed. She also saw the dark eyes of Anthony Rawlings. There were times she detested those eyes. When that negativity crept in, Emily reminded herself—nurture verses nature. Nichol wouldn’t know the life of revenge that her father had allowed to destroy him and anyone else unfortunate enough to be within his sphere of influence. Her eyes would see the world as a place of endless possibilities where love and forgiveness prevail. Emily vowed that with her and John’s help Nichol would see the world as her mother once had—before—
July 15, 2016
I finally did it, but I don’t know if I’m happy or not...I delivered Claire’s lunch and was able to talk to her. When I entered her room, she was sitting at the window, looking out at the bright skies. Although I spoke and made noise, she didn’t acknowledge my entrance. At first, I hesitated to make eye contact.
What I didn’t realize was that I couldn’t. I stepped in front of Claire, but her expression didn’t change. She continued her gaze, exactly as it had been, as if I weren’t there at all. I tried speaking, quietly at first; then louder. Although she didn’t speak or look at me, she eventually got up and walked to the table where she allowed me to feed her.
After Claire ate about half of the lunch, she abruptly stood and walked back to the chair by the window.
Truthfully, I’d been so emotional while she ate that I’d forgotten to speak. When I looked at my watch, I realized I still had ten minutes before I was expected back to the kitchen, so I went back to her. Kneeling in front of her, I touched her knee...
“Claire, can you hear me?” Meredith desperately tried to keep emotion out of her voice; however, with the tears sliding down her cheeks, she wasn’t sure it was possible. Intellectually, Meredith knew the rules regarding Ms. Nichols. Truthfully, she wasn’t thinking. Her heart was breaking at the sight of her friend, now a shell of the vivacious woman she’d once been. “Claire, it’s me, Meredith. Don’t you remember me? We went to Valparaiso together...” Meredith was careful not to mention Anthony, Nichol, or anything else from the last six years. She did, however, ramble on for ten minutes about life as it had been when they were college students.
Never once did Claire’s expression change; although, at some point, she began humming. Undeterred, Meredith rambled about their sorority house and Chicago. It wasn’t until Meredith was out of Claire’s room, nearing the kitchen, that Claire’s tune resonated in her mind. Meredith recognized the song: Take Me Out To The Ball Game—the seventh inning stretch at Wrigley.
July 15th, 2016 continued:
I want to believe she heard and understood. I don’t know; maybe I’m grasping at straws. After all, most of what I’ve read says that if recovery isn’t made in the first year, it rarely happens—but that song! I was talking about Chicago and baseball games. I don’t think I even mentioned the Cubs or Wrigley, but I know I mentioned baseball...
Without a doubt, I know she was humming “Take Me Out To The Ball Game!”
Contentment consists not in adding more fuel, but in taking away some fire.
—Baldwin Fuller
Claire marveled at the shades of blue as the small plane circled over the island, completing the final leg of their journey. Although her mind constantly went back to her honeymoon, Claire reminded herself this was another place and another time. On her honeymoon in Fiji, Tony was with her, and he was in control.
Here, instead of Tony, she had Phil by her side. With each passing day, Claire appreciated his devotion and presence more and more. His honesty exposed her true threat, and his skills freed her from Catherine and the FBI, keeping her and her baby safe. She knew, without a doubt, she wouldn’t be where she was without him, yet despite all they’d experienced, their roles were so different than anything she’d ever known with Tony. In every matter of importance, Claire had control. After all, her money purchased this paradise retreat. Phil presented her with choices, but every decision was hers. At times, that power was intoxicating; at other times, it was daunting. After years of submission, it was a whole new way to live. Surprisingly, there were times she found herself missing the sense of security that accompanies that loss of responsibility.
As the scenes below her—those of a tropical paradise—bright blues, greens, and whites faded from her consciousness, Claire recalled memories of her recent life in Iowa—the one she left, walked away from, or more accurately, the one from which she ran. In the depths of her heart, she knew, for a short time, she had everything she wanted and more. She and Tony had an understanding; he had the control he needed, but so did she. She came and went as she pleased. Yes, she informed him first, but that was it. Claire informed Tony—she didn’t ask permission—nor did she seek his approval. He allowed it because they trusted one another. In the pit of her stomach, Claire knew she’d been the one to break that trust—to break the promise they�
�d made in their meadow of confessions. Perhaps that was Catherine’s plan; by convincing Claire to flee, Catherine successfully broke the trust she and Tony had built. Even if Tony contacted her, Claire wondered, could it be rebuilt?
What they had, before Catherine took it all away, was the perfect blend. Claire knew her sister, Emily, would never understand, and with the recent news of Meredith’s book’s pending publication, the rest of the world would probably never understand. Claire wished she could explain. Thankfully, she didn’t need to. It was one of Phil’s most endearing qualities—he didn’t pry.
Understandably, she never gave Phil the word for word, action for consequence, reminiscence of her life with Tony—At least, not like she’d done with Harry; nevertheless, Phil’s job involved knowing. If he hadn’t been good at his job, then he’d never sent the note in San Diego. Phil knew her past and never once had he questioned Claire about it; instead, Phil encouraged. He encouraged her to stay strong, protect her child, and trust her instincts. Right now, although she longed to hear from Tony, her instincts told her that she was finally safe. They reassured her that the trust she’d bestowed on Phil wasn’t misplaced. For once, she’d made a right decision.
As the plane’s pontoons touched the surface of the shimmering water, Claire pushed her memories and desires away. This was her experience, her new life, and the future she was choosing to have with her child. The sound from the plane wouldn’t allow them to converse; therefore, Claire straightened her neck and squared her shoulders as she touched Phil’s leg. When he turned to acknowledge her, Claire smiled.
She wanted him to know that she enjoyed the view outside of the plane—she was content. Phil probably realized her expression was forced; nevertheless, as far as Claire was concerned, it was real. She was tired of compartmentalizing—her new theme was fake it until you make it. Maybe in reality it was a bluff, but she had a lot riding on this bet—she’d secure her poker face and see it through.
As Phil helped Claire out of the plane, she held onto his hand for stability, and looked all around. Below their shoes was a white, sand lined beach, and behind them was the shimmering lagoon which opened to an endless horizon of blue sea. Waiting patiently on the shore were two people.
Phil’s research of possible destinations included staff members’ biographies as well as complete histories of the locations themselves. On this island, the main house was built in the late 1970’s by a wealthy Englishman who arrived with his staff of two. Francis and Madeline were married in Haiti prior to traveling to this destination. When the Englishman died, they stayed, and over the past thirty plus years, they’ve maintained the estate and cared for multiple families. Claire’s new house had many bedrooms and would have more than enough room for her and her child. Apparently, some of the previous owners had multiple children and grandchildren.
The isolation of this retreat was one of its most appealing aspects. There was a time when Claire didn’t like being alone; however, she was tired of unknown threats. This retreat would provide her child with the security that only comes from seclusion. For her child, Claire was more than willing to accept the loneliness that came with an island that was only accessible by boat or plane. Civilization—or something close—could be reached by a thirty minute boat ride; weather provided. This region boasted 363 days of sunshine a year; however, the lush vegetation required rain. Though usually short in duration, Phil’s research reported storms which could be intense. Deluges of rain followed by powerful sun created the perfect combination for a sultry, humid climate. After nearly a month in cloudy, cool Italy, Claire was ready for the warmth.
As they stepped toward the warm smiles of the caretakers, Madeline, a large woman with dark skin and a deep, rich voice, was the first to speak, “Welcome Madame el and Monsieur Nichols! I am Madeline and this is my husband, Francis.”
Claire looked at Phil and grinned. She liked the sound of Madeline’s voice; it added to the warmth in the air. Offering her hand in greeting, Claire said, “Hello, thank you. I’m Ms. Nichols, but please call me Claire, and this”—she looked to Phil. How could she possibly explain who he was? His definition had changed so drastically over the last year—“This is my friend, Phillip Roach. He helped me find your wonderful island.”
Francis shook Phil’s hand. “Madame el, but this is your island, and we are so very happy to help you with anything you need.”
Placing her hand over her midsection, Claire sighed. “I’d love to see the house.”
Madeline nodded and led Claire toward a path. Her smile shone brightly as she said, “Why of course, let me show you your home, and I’ll get you something to drink. We cannot let you dehydrate. The sun here, it is very strong; even now, before noon.” After a few steps, Madeline asked, “Your baby, Madame el, when is she due to join us?”
She? Claire didn’t know the sex of her child, but she’d always referred to it as he—the dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy who would look like his father; however, the little boy in her dreams would never know the sadness his father did. Her little boy would grow up with love and support; then, one day, he’d become the man his father finally became. “Oh, I don’t know if I’m having a girl or boy.” Madeline didn’t speak, but her deep brown eyes sparkled knowingly. Claire continued, “And my little one is due the middle of January; a New Year’s baby.”
“We love babies. Francis and I—we were never blessed with children of our own; however, we’ve shared our hearts with babies who now live all over the world. Thank you for bringing us another baby to love.”
Although Claire hesitated to trust anyone ever again, she instinctively liked this woman. It wasn’t just what Madeline said, but it was her whole aura that pulled Claire near and filled her with promise. When they passed the threshold to her new home, Claire exhaled. For the first time in ages—she was home. Her home was beautiful, light, and open—everything she’d always desired. Claire walked to the open doors, inhaled the sea breeze, and listened to the sound of the surf. Madeline’s voice refocused Claire’s thoughts. “We like to have everything open; there’s usually a refreshing breeze, but if it’s too hot for you Madame el, we do have air conditioning.”
Although the perspiration dripped between Claire’s breasts, and she needed to lift her hair off her neck, she grinned. “It’ll take me a while to get used to it, but I will”—Adapting was one of her specialties—“Please don’t use the air conditioning. I love the fresh air and the heat.”
Her heels clicked on the shiny bamboo flooring as they entered the master bedroom suite. “This is your”—Madeline hesitated—“and Monsieur Roach’s room?”
Claire placed her hand on Madeline’s arm. “No, Madeline, Phil is my friend. He and I are not—together. He isn’t the father of my child.”
“He loves you. I see that in his eyes.”
Claire stared. They were friends—but love? She’d have to think about that another time. “He’s helped me a lot.”
“It’s not my business. I simply work for you.”
Claire wanted to explain that her baby’s father would hopefully be coming to the island; however, she didn’t know if that were true. Besides, her story was so complicated that she didn’t have the energy to share; instead, Claire nodded and walked beside Madeline as she learned more of the amenities of her new home. The master bedroom also had a wide, closable opening to the lanai. When they stepped back outside and peered around the drape of flowered vegetation, the view took Claire’s breath away. The sea below was multiple shades of blue. Staring at the water, Claire wondered if depth influenced the hues. As she scanned toward the horizon, the waves blended seamlessly into the crystal blue sky. Walking further out into the sunlight, Claire realized the lanai wrapped around the house. It was the same porch she’d seen from the living room, the one with the large infinity pool, umbrella covered tables, lounge chairs, and groupings of chairs all perfectly arranged.
When Claire entered the kitchen, she couldn’t contain her grin. They were in the
middle of paradise, not even a dot on most maps, yet she was in the middle of a high tech, state-of-the-art kitchen. “Wow!” was all she could say.
“Oui, the last family loved cooking. The previous owner, she had the kitchen rebuilt, making it even bigger than the original.”
“I love it! She did a great job, and so have you. Everything’s amazing!”
Madeline’s eyes brimmed with pride. “There is so much more. Francis and I have a home too. You may see it, and there are gardens, paths, orchards, and so much more.”
“I want to see it all; however...”
Madeline nodded. “Oui, Madame el, you’ve had a long trip and need to rest. Let me bring you some water and maybe some fruit?”
“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.” Turning to return to her suite, Claire said, “I’m not sure where Phil is.”
“He is with Francis, Madame el.”
“When he returns, can you please show him to one of the other bedrooms?”
Madeline agreed and promised to bring Claire some water and a snack soon. Once Claire was back in her private suite, she decided to investigate her surroundings a little further. The attached bathroom was modern and bright with a skylight above a large, sunken tub. There were two other doors she hadn’t yet opened. The first one led to a small, private office. Nodding approvingly, Claire knew it would make a perfect little nursery. Fleetingly, thoughts of the nursery in Iowa came to mind; instead of compartmentalizing them away, she stared at the office and imagined it filled with a crib and changing table—the new thoughts overpowered the old. Her cheeks rose as she focused on her future.
Convicted (Consequences) Page 12
