Convicted (Consequences)

by Romig, Aleatha

  Courtney asked, “Do you know how long you two will be here?”

  Claire looked to Tony. She wanted him to be in control. No—she needed him to be in control. She knew, in order for everything to work, he needed to take charge. Finally, he answered, “We don’t. We’ll need to see what happens tomorrow.”

  Courtney kissed Nichol’s head as she handed her back to Claire. Before the Simmons’ left the room, Brent added, “Claire, I can tell you’re scared. I like Roach—he’s good. As long as he and Tony work together, everything will be fine.”

  They all knew there were no guarantees. Too many things could happen in the next twenty-four hours—Claire refused to consider the possibilities; instead, she nodded and smiled at their best friends as they closed the door. Claire laid their sleeping daughter on the soft sheet of a portable crib near the foot of their bed and covered her with a thin blanket. Envying Nichol’s innocence, she knew it was like her glass house from years ago—quietly, she said a prayer, “Please, God, help us all work together and not allow it to shatter.”

  Before Claire walked to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Tony seized her arm and pulled her toward him. “Brent’s right—you were right—Roach is great. His knowledge and expertise has exceeded my expectations, and I’ll listen to his advice. Tomorrow, after I get back, we’ll decide when we’re leaving.”

  Claire nodded. She couldn’t respond verbally if she wanted—the lump in her throat was too big to swallow. Burying her head against his chest, she enjoyed the sensation of his arms around her, a shield to keep all the bad away. For the moment, she could pretend everything was all right and forget about the danger. After all, compartmentalization was her specialty.

  As they settled into bed, Claire asked, “The thing you remembered in the van, about the last time you talked to Brent, is everything settled?”

  Tony wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. Claire’s head rested on his shoulder, she inhaled his musky scent, and listened to his confident tone, “Yes, I believe we’ve reached an understanding.”

  “They didn’t have to help us like this.”

  “You’re right. Someday, we’ll repay them.”

  Nuzzling against his skin, Claire considered pressing Tony to confess the subject of his and Brent’s argument. She wondered if he’d tell her, but then she wondered why she wanted him to confess. After all, that testimony was about another time—another life—a life she had no desire to discuss or remember. Soon, her thoughts faded into nothingness. Traveling had worn her out—sleep would no longer wait.

  A friend is one who walks in when others walk out.

  —Walter Winchell

  Meredith desperately tried to scroll the contacts in her phone. Her trembling hands, combined with the emotion coursing through her veins, made the simple task more complex. Did she want to go to jail? Was that her goal? If it wasn’t, why then did she continually find herself in these precarious situations?

  It had been almost two weeks since Claire came out to her family. With each passing day, she seemed stronger and more resilient. She now engaged in flowing conversation—her one word or phrased responses were a thing of the past. Meredith surmised it was a testimony to Claire’s thoughts. Instead of having fleeting, individual ideas which Claire felt the need to protect, her thoughts now came together in embellished trains—much more conducive for speech.

  There were also marked improvements in Claire’s appearance. Truthfully, it wouldn’t have taken much to enhance the lost vacant expression she’d possessed for so long. Just the addition of recognition to her green eyes made her appear a different person; then add hair color and some light make-up, and Claire Rawlings was back. Of course, no one referred to her that way—she was still Nichols as far as the staff at Everwood was concerned. As long as Emily was in control of her care—that wouldn’t change. Emily’s control was undeniably the cause of Meredith’s trembling hands. Claire was more than capable of making her own decisions, yet Emily’s power of attorney hadn’t been lifted.

  It wasn’t that Claire’s demands were unreasonable—she wanted access to her daughter—to see her—to touch her—and to love her. The pictures of Nichol, that now decorated Claire’s more colorful room, were a blessing upon arrival; however, with each passing day, they served as a reminder of the beautiful young girl who remained two dimensional. Maybe it was too early—that was Emily’s continual answer to Claire. What if Claire relapsed? It wouldn’t be fair to Nichol.

  While Claire’s desire to see Nichol sparked Meredith’s fury, it was Claire’s desire to see anyone that fueled the vehemence to the point of this impending phone call. Courtney Simmons’ number had been programmed into Meredith’s phone for a while; however, since the Vandersol’s were still unaware of her true identity—calling that number was a risk, perhaps even an invitation to a potential jail sentence.

  Closing her eyes, Meredith remembered the tears of her friend only minutes earlier when Meredith exited Claire’s room. For two years, Claire had been unaware of her surroundings, yet content. In two weeks, she’d made phenomenal progress and experienced reoccurring disappointment. Although Meredith hadn’t left Everwood’s parking lot, she decided to throw caution to the wind, yet again. The corner of her phone read—8:57 PM. Swiping the screen, she found Courtney’s number and prayed. She couldn’t guarantee that her current willpower would be present tomorrow or even in ten minutes; Meredith needed to make the call now.

  On the second ring, she heard Courtney’s voice, “Hello, this is Courtney.”

  “Hello, Courtney, please don’t hang up. This is about Claire Rawlings.”

  The momentary silence accelerated Meredith’s heartbeat. Finally, she heard, “Who is this?”

  “My name is Meredith Rus—Banks.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Meredith spoke quickly, “Please, Courtney, I know you know who I am, but this isn’t about a story—it’s about Claire. She’s my friend too—and she needs you.” The words came so fast, Meredith hoped they were separated by enough space to make sense. When the line didn’t go dead, Meredith continued, “She’s doing much better. She’s asked for you.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I’m in Cedar Rapids right now. Will you please meet me? I think it’s better if I explain in person.”

  After what Meredith assumed was cautious deliberation, Courtney replied, “Fine, perhaps I should call John or Emil—”

  “I know Emily hasn’t allowed you to visit. You don’t have any reason to believe me, but I can help you and Claire if you’ll please meet with me—alone. If you call them, I don’t know when you’ll be able to—”

  This time, Courtney interrupted, “All right. Where can I meet you?”

  Meredith remembered to breathe. “Thank you, I can be in Iowa City in...”

  Short’s Burger and Shine was a popular bar, and although Meredith thought a drink to calm her nerves sounded like a good idea, that wasn’t the reason the two women had come to this particular establishment. Basically, it was a matter of convenience; the hour was late, and the small quaint pub on Clinton Street was open. When Meredith arrived, she saw Courtney seated at the last booth. The long, narrow room with the brick walls echoed with the sound of happy patrons; nevertheless, Courtney’s expression, as she watched Meredith approach, told Meredith that Courtney didn’t share the joyous elation of the others.

  “Thank you for meeting with me,” Meredith offered as she eased herself up the platform and into the hard booth.

  “I’m not usually a rude person, but I hated your book, and I guess I’ve transferred those feelings to you. Tell me why I’m here and make it quick.”

  Meredith momentarily looked down and took a deep breath. “I understand. This isn’t about my book, or even a new story, although I admit it started that way.”

  Courtney raised her brow.

  “About three months ago, I asked Emily’s permission to visit Claire. She denied me.”

  Courtney nodded i
n agreement.

  Meredith continued, “My goal was to learn the rest of the story. I guess I wanted to write something that would make Nichol proud of her parents.”

  Courtney continued to listen silently.

  “Since I couldn’t go to Everwood openly, I decided to apply for a job there. I did. I got it. Over time, I worked my way into Claire’s room as part of her dietary team.”

  “I’m pretty sure there’s a restraining order—”

  The waitress interrupted, “Ladies, what can I get you?”

  The thought of that drink was getting better and better. Finally, Meredith asked, “Can I get you something for joining me? Or are you leaving to pursue the violation of that order?”

  Still somewhat stunned by Meredith’s open confession, Courtney answered, speaking to the young girl near the end of their table, “I’d like a glass of white Zen, please.”

  Meredith added, “Make that two.” When the girl walked away, Meredith leaned forward. “Thank you, I knew it was a risk to come to you. You could turn me in to the police, to Everwood, or to the Vandersols, but if you don’t, maybe I can help you see Claire.”

  Courtney nodded. “I’ve been trying to see her since she was first admitted. Each time I ask, I’m met with comments about not having visitors for her own good.”

  After the wine arrived, Meredith walked Courtney through her three month journey—she shared everything. When she spoke about Claire’s original condition, Courtney was unable to suppress the tears. “I’d heard she wasn’t talking, but I had no idea it was that bad.”

  Meredith told her about the recent change. “She wants to see you. I think she’s trying to put the pieces back together. She’s trying to recall what happened to get her where she is today. She also wants Nichol, but I can’t do anything about that. I thought maybe if you spoke with her. Maybe you could help her with some of the details. I mean, you were at the trial, right?”

  “I was. What does she remember?”

  “I’m not sure. One of her therapists told her to journal. She’s supposed to write about her feelings and things that happened. I haven’t read them; she hasn’t offered. Claire did say she’s writing about Tony.”

  At the mention of his name, Courtney looked into her near empty glass. “I was told that if I were ever to get the opportunity to visit then his name couldn’t be mentioned.”

  “As was I—it’s a documented means for immediate dismissal, but, well”—Meredith shrugged—“I broke that rule too. He was the topic that I believe brought her back. Oh, it was the medications that helped her hallucinations go away, but it was his name that pulled her back. She said she missed seeing him, and when I started recounting the stories she’d told me, it helped her remember.”

  “I want to go”—Courtney’s blue eyes smiled—“I’ve been known to break a rule or two myself. Thank you for including me. I’m sorry I was so rude when you first arrived.”

  “I understand. Despite all that the book has done for me and my family financially, if I could do it again, I wouldn’t write it.” After Meredith took a drink, she rephrased, “Maybe not. I mean, that knowledge helped me to help Claire, so I understand where you’re coming from, but it might have been written for this reason—who are we to know the grander scheme?”

  Courtney shrugged. “How can we do this?”

  With the animosity gone, the two women worked toward a common goal and brainstormed ideas. During their second or third glass of wine, Courtney and Meredith devised and tweaked their plan. Though it was almost October, the days were staying warm with a sunshine whose rays shone until early evening. Meredith would take Claire on a walk, and Courtney would join them at the far west end of the grounds. It would be a short hike for Courtney to park and meet them undetected, but she didn’t mind. As long as it didn’t rain, they planned a visit for the next evening. When they left the restaurant, Courtney hugged Meredith. “I can’t tell you how excited I am. Thank you for all you’ve done.” Still gripping her shoulders, Courtney’s speech slowed and she added, “And, if you use any of this to write another book, I will personally come after you.”

  The late afternoon September sun glistened through the trees. Claire didn’t know why Meredith rushed her dinner. It wasn’t that she minded, but she could tell something was different. It wasn’t until they were away from Everwood’s immediate grounds and into the paths through the woods that Meredith finally explained, “I have a surprise for you. I hope you’re all right with it.”

  Claire eyed her friend suspiciously. “I trust you; however, I’m just not a fan of surprises.”

  “I think you will be this one time. I know Emily has made it difficult for you to reconnect with anyone.”

  Claire exhaled. “Difficult is a nice word. I mean, I understand her reasoning with Nichol—I do. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to see her. I think about her constantly. It’s just that I want to see others. It almost feels like—”

  The squeeze of Meredith’s hands stopped Claire’s words. She saw a figure up ahead, through the darkening forest. Unconsciously, her steps slowed. Claire could tell it was a woman. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the numbers—suddenly, she realized she was counting her steps—twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five—She worked to block out the numbers and concentrate on the person ahead.

  Claire continued walking.

  Slowly, the figure came into view—the person took shape and her face became clear. Gasping—Claire realized it was Courtney—merely yards in front of her. She dropped Meredith’s hand and ran to her friend. By the time they embraced, tears covered both of their cheeks.

  Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.

  —Mahatma Gandhi

  Claire woke with a start. Blinded by the sunlight streaming through the unblocked window, she tried to focus. The split second of disorientation faded as she remembered they were at the Simmons’ home. Reaching for her husband, she found only an empty bed. Claire crawled to the end of the mattress and peered into the empty crib. Her eyes searched for a clock while questions bombarded her thoughts: How late had she slept? Why hadn’t Tony brought Nichol to her to feed? Was he still here or had he and Phil already left?

  Panic boiled through her veins as she wrapped a robe around her nightgown and rushed toward the kitchen. By the time she reached her destination, tears teetered on her lids and breathing required thought; then all at once, the tension severed—her world was right. Tony was seated at the table, coffee in hand with Nichol in his arms. Phil was seated across from them as Courtney stood by the stove. The wonderful aroma of coffee and fried food filled the room as Courtney’s voice chatted on about nothing. Despite the worries of the world, Claire had entered the calm in the midst of a storm.

  Hearing Claire enter, Tony looked up. Immediately, his expression darkened. “Claire, what’s the matter?”

  Shaking her head, she exhaled the breath she hadn’t realize she’d been holding. “Nothing”—going to him and Nichol, she kissed his cheek and reached for their daughter—“I was afraid you’d already left for the estate.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he answered. Petting Nichol’s head, he straightened the fine strands of brown hair, and his tone lightened. “We were going to need to wake you soon. Someone was becoming impatient.”

  Claire’s breasts ached as she settled into the nearby sun porch with Nichol. The windows offered a bright spring view. The earth had yet to wake from its winter nap, but the blue skies and warm rays of sunshine were promises of a greener world to come. The porch offered Claire modesty while keeping her close enough to hear the men discussing the logistics of the upcoming day.

  Emily and John were due to arrive in Iowa around 3:00 PM—Eric filled Phil in on the itinerary, would keep them up-to-date, and promised to get them into the house unnoticed. While they talked options and scenarios, Claire had visions of a bad spy movie. Tony knew every inch of the estate—he explained entrances and exits while di
scussing security. For the first time, it seemed as though Tony wished he hadn’t installed the finest in security software.

  Phil assured him, he’d check everything first. There wasn’t a security system he couldn’t disable or manipulate. With Tony’s intimate knowledge of the surroundings, Phil promised he could have it figured out in no time. Tony wanted to get to Catherine before the Vandersols arrived. His plan was to talk with her and stop anything from happening—before it even started. He had a valid concern that the Vandersols wouldn’t understand his presence, and, therefore, contact the authorities. Early intervention was safer for everyone.

  Claire liked their confidence. For a plan that sounded like James Bond meets Inspector Gadget—they actually made it sound plausible. By the time she joined them at the table, she began to feel more confident herself. Hadn’t Phil once told her about his military career? Hadn’t he mentioned his history with the special ops? Surely, he’d dealt with enemies better trained and more frightening than Catherine London; besides, Tony had the element of surprise on his side. As long as Eric was truly trustworthy, Catherine should be caught unaware.

  It was nearly noon when Phil’s phone buzzed and everyone stared. “It’s Eric, excuse me a second.” When he stepped from the room and walked down the hall, the room where they sat was, once again, taut with tension. The earlier calm evaporated with the sound of Phil’s fading steps. Even Courtney remained silent as they waited for Phil’s return.

  From out of nowhere, a forgotten memory returned to Claire. The room where Phil now stood—talking on his phone—was the same room where Marianne and Bonnie stood years ago. She remembered the cattiness in Bonnie’s voice as she discussed Claire’s clothes and undeserved devotion from Tony. At that time, Claire’s world was a lie. Every move she made and every word she said was solely to pacify the man Bonnie deemed as her sugar daddy. Looking at Tony now, she recalled the man he’d been and remembered the fear of disappointing him.