Convicted (Consequences)

by Romig, Aleatha

  Claire heard the emotion in his voice.

  Tony continued, “There were two theories as to your condition. One was traumatic brain injury—Emily argued I was the cause. Even though I was out on bail, the courts wouldn’t let me get near you or Nichol. The other theory for your condition was a psychotic break brought on by Catherine, Nichol, the fire—”

  Closing her eyes and shaking her head, Claire pleaded, “Tony, stop! I know the past. I don’t want to hear it or talk about it. I want to move on. I want what we had in paradise—right here.”

  He gripped her shoulders. “Don’t you understand? You can’t keep doing that.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t continually push every bad memory away to deal with later.”

  “Why? I can, and besides, we dealt with our demons in paradise. I remember it all. You’re the one who always said—the past is the past—think about the present or the future.”

  “I was wrong. You need to face it, and so do I. In all those discussions on the island, we never spoke about the things in Meredith’s book.”

  Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Because we were both there. During our discussions in paradise, you told me things I had no way of knowing—I know what happened between us. I also know it was a long time ago and it’s over. I don’t want to rehash it. I want the future.”

  “That’s what I want—for you too. I want you to have a future—free from all of our past. That’s why I built you a new, memory-free house and Claire—that’s why Brent is ready to file for our divorce.”

  Claire couldn’t think—or speak—or move. She stared blankly as even her tears suspended their decent.

  Finally, Tony asked, “Did you hear me? I won’t be the one to hurt you anymore, nor will Emily. You deserve fresh air and freedom. No one will ever be able to control you. Besides the money you still have invested overseas, I’m giving you the estate, a handsome settlement, and child support. With your wealth you can do anything you’ve ever dreamt of doing. You’ll be in control of your and Nichol’s future—I won’t fight you on anything.” He looked down and implored sheepishly, “I do hope you’ll allow me to see our daughter, but I understand if you don’t.” Regaining his authoritative tone, he added, “I think we’ve thought of everything regarding this house, but if there’s something else you want or need—it’s yours. You can have anything you want.”

  Her voice cracked. “You don’t want m—me?”

  Reaching out, Tony lifted her hand and kissed the top. “Don’t ever think that. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  “The reason the judge wouldn’t lift the restraining order and allow me to see you, was because when the judge asked me if the accounts in Meredith’s book were correct, I told him yes. I admitted to everything. He ruled that I was a danger to you and Nichol.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You never would have—nor will you ever—hurt Nichol. Obviously we’re together now, so all that legal drama’s over.” Her voice cracked as she asked, “Why are you throwing me away—now?”

  Tony stood and faced the trees—his knuckles blanched as he clenched the railing. “I’m not throwing you away! I’m setting you free.”

  Claire lowered her face to her chest. “It’s because people think I’m crazy—you don’t want a crazy wife.” Sobs resonated from her chest, separating each statement. “I know I broke your rules.” “I know appearances are important.” “I’m sorry, I disappointed you.”

  Though her eyes were closed, she felt his gentle touch as he lifted her chin. When she opened her eyes, Tony was kneeling before her and the darkness memorized her. She couldn’t look away. Conversely, there was no darkness or disapproval in his voice. Instead, she heard remorse. “No, Claire. I’m the one who’s disappointed you—over and over.” He wiped her tears gently with his thumb. “While I was in prison, I learned you were finally getting better. I tried—but Emily still wouldn’t allow me to contact you. She wouldn’t allow hardly anyone to contact you. Courtney told me she only saw you through Meredith. She also said Emily wouldn’t even let you see Nichol”—The intensity of his eyes grew with each word—“I hated your sister! I was powerless to help you, and she was keeping you prisoner. I couldn’t even talk to you—hell, I heard that even your time outside was monitored.”

  He stood once again and paced the length of the balcony. Claire didn’t know what to say. Everything he said was true, but she knew that Emily did what she did with good intentions—Emily was afraid if Claire relapsed, it would be devastating to Nichol.

  Once he’d calmed, Tony continued, “In order to receive my early release, I agreed to counseling. I didn't want to do it, but if it got me out of there early, I figured what the hell.” He sat back down. “I spoke to this shrink three times a week. It started with me answering his questions. Over time, it became easier to talk. When I told him how upset I was with Emily and what she was doing to you, he asked me why I was upset? I said it was because of what’s she was doing. He told me to think about it more and figure out why I was so upset. I had two days before I saw him again. Throughout those days, I couldn’t stop thinking about his question. It seemed obvious, until I realized...”

  Claire’s mind tried to process, “What? What did you realize?”

  “I was so angry with Emily, because she was doing the same thing to you that I’d done. I didn’t just hate Emily—I hated me!” He knelt before her and bowed his forehead to her knees. “I will not allow anyone to hurt you again—that includes me.”

  Claire’s fingers wove through his hair. “Tony, you were at Everwood—you heard me. I forgave Emily, and many years ago—I forgave you, too. I don’t want to be free from you. I lived almost two years believing I’d killed you. I thought that was why no one mentioned your name. During that time, I fantasized about you and cried for you. Now you’re here. I can touch you! I want my family back together.”

  When he didn’t respond, she babbled on, “Besides, I’m still an outpatient. If you divorce me, they’ll never allow me to have custody of Nichol. If you do this, you’re not freeing me, you’re abandoning me.” The tears were freely flowing once again.

  He stood and squared his shoulders. “You’re right.” His dry and businesslike tone fortified his stance. Nothing she said or could say would change his mind—he’d made his decision. “I don’t want you to lose Nichol. We’ll start with a separation. I rented an apartment near the office. I’ll live there. You and Nichol can have the estate and all the staff you need. With a nanny to help, there shouldn’t be any legal concerns.”

  For an eternity, she sat silently and stared at the man she’d dreamt about. Although their eyes met, there was no connection. No longer did his swirl with emotion. There was no rage or joy—even the sadness had subsided. She couldn’t read his thoughts. It was as if he were staring at a document—a car—or anything else inconsequential.

  The memory of seeing him the first night of her captivity rushed back. She remembered him standing near the fireplace in her suite. His dark glistening eyes frightened and paralyzed her. Suddenly, she longed for that emotion—it was better than nothing and nothing was exactly what she saw.

  Claire stood and straightened her shoulders. She knew from experience this conversation was over. She’d already begged—she wouldn’t do it again. Without verbally replying to his last comment, Claire nodded and walked past him, back into the bedroom. In the attached bathroom, she found tissues and wiped her eyes. Her crying was done. Looking at her reflection, she saw the plain ugly Everwood clothes, very little make-up, and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Swallowing the emotions she refused to show, she walked back into the bedroom. Tony was still on the balcony as the autumn sky beyond him darkened. The earlier light had faded. She momentarily wondered if it would ever return.

  His current stance reminded her of his rejection of her at the Iowa City jail. She recalled begging him to take her home—pleading
for him to make her world right. She couldn’t bear it again. If he didn’t want her, then she’d move on. Claire was done begging—if someone were to truly make her world right—it would be her.

  When she said his name, he turned around. Keeping her voice neutral, she said, “I can’t see Nichol looking like this. I’m going to take a shower and clean up. I presume my closets are full, like Nichol’s?”

  “They are.”

  “Where’s the staff? I’d like something to eat.”

  “I gave them the night off. I’ll go into town and get something. By the time I get back, you should be ready.”

  Claire nodded. Without another word, she turned and walked away from her future ex-husband.

  Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn’t people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?

  —Rose Kennedy

  When Tony returned with Claire’s dinner, she was ready. She hadn’t had more than basic cosmetics at Everwood; however, when presented with an excess of the best, she remembered how to use it. She also found a pair of well-fitting jeans and sweater in the well-stocked closet. Her hair was styled and her face painted. If Tony truly meant what he said about still wanting her, then Claire wanted to make his separation declaration as difficult as possible.

  She was in the kitchen setting two places at the breakfast bar when he arrived. She didn’t hear him enter, but she knew he was there. It was a feeling—a connection—alerting her to his presence. Looking up from the silverware, she saw him in the doorway. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but his eyes were as black as the country, moonless night, beyond the glass wall. Helplessly, she stood before him. Time momentarily stood still as his gaze devoured her. It wasn’t just her appearance as he scanned her up and down—it was her soul. With each tick of the clock it slipped further and further away. He already owned it—he’d taken it years ago. She waited to see if he planned to keep and treasure it, or discard it—like yesterday’s news.

  When he didn’t speak, she walked toward him, drawn by an invisible pull. Her body ached for his touch. From the look on his face, she believed the feeling was mutual. When she was mere inches away, he said, “I got you a salad. I forgot to ask what you wanted.”

  Her heart sank. His voice didn’t match his gaze. Dejectedly, she replied, “A salad is fine,” and turned away.

  Claire had thought the years of separation while in Everwood were unbearable. That was nothing compared to the pain of having him in front of her, yet—inaccessible.

  During the drive to Emily’s, they calmly—too calmly—discussed their separation. After some debate, they both agreed to keep it temporarily concealed. The Vandersols wouldn’t understand, and the charade would be easier on Nichol. They planned to ease her into it, after she moved to the estate. Claire’s hands began to tremble as they pulled up to the Vandersol’s home. Surprisingly, Tony reached over and covered hers with his. It was the first contact since the balcony. His tone was kind and reassuring, “It’ll be all right.”

  She didn’t move or attempt reciprocation; instead, she enjoyed the sensation of his warm touch and replied honestly, “I’m scared, what if she doesn’t want us?”

  “She will.”

  Turning toward him, she asked, “I haven’t even asked, have you seen her?”

  He shook his head. “No, pictures are all. I was just released yesterday, and she was never brought to me. It was probably better—a little girl shouldn’t be visiting her father in a federal penitentiary.”

  Claire looked at him in surprise. “Yesterday? And you’ve accomplished all of this?”

  “Like I said—I had help. I’ve been planning my release for some time.”

  She looked back down at his hand on her lap as her neck straightened. “And our divorce—how long have you been planning that?”

  Pulling his hand away, he rebuked, “Claire, not now. Let’s not go back there.”

  A new thought came to her mind. With it came fire that instantly dried her once moist eyes. She suddenly needed to know the answer to a burning question. “Is there someone else?”

  “What?”

  “Is—there—someone—else?!”

  “No!”—his volume rose—“I told you, I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

  “Well, you obviously don’t want me! And you’re Anthony Rawlings. You were in prison and your wife was crazy; nevertheless, you’re still Anthony Rawlings. You would eventually get out of prison, but your wife would always be crazy. I bet there were letters of devotion, propositions, and proposals.”

  “Claire, our daughter is waiting.”

  Sudden rage boiled within her. While she’d been living in a fantasy world, was he communicating with another woman or women? The intensity of her stare grew as she asked again, “I’ve already asked this once, don’t make me ask again. Is there someone else?”

  “Claire, calm down.”

  Her hand contacted his arrogant expression. Tony stared in disbelief as he seized her fingers. “What the hell was that?”

  “You never answer my questions. Tell me, were there letters? Did women write to you promising anything you wanted, all for the chance to take my place?”

  “You’re getting yourself all worked up. Calm down; Nichol is waiting.”

  She glared as her voice lowered. “I deserve to know.”

  “Yes.” His eyes glowed in the illumination of the dashboard. “Are you happy?” His growl deepened as he continued to painfully hold her seized hand. “There were letters—I didn’t respond. I don’t give a damn about anyone—anyone but you. Hell—I even—”

  Claire’s heart raced. She waited for him to finish his sentence; instead, he released her hand and turned away. She prodded, “You even what?”

  “We’ll finish this discussion another time.” It wasn’t debatable. He’d said more than he’d wanted, and he wasn’t saying any more. That conversation was done. “Now, do you plan to join me, or do you plan to sit in the car all evening?”

  Rubbing the fingers of her right hand, she replied, “I plan to join you.”

  When Emily met them at the door, they wore the masks of the perfect smiling couple. It was all right—Emily wore a mask too. “We told Nichol she had some special guests coming to see her.” Despite Emily’s show of strength, Claire heard the sorrow in her sister’s voice.

  Walking into the living room, they both stopped when Nichol came into view. Without thinking, Claire grasped Tony’s hand. Once she realized her action, she quickly let go, thankful that he hadn’t pulled away.

  The last time they saw their daughter, she had been less than three months old. The little girl before them was nearly three years old, and the most beautiful child Claire could ever recall seeing—even prettier than her pictures. Her wavy, brown hair, held back with barrettes, framed her beautiful face. Her thick dark lashes fluttered as big brown eyes peered upward. She’d been sitting on the floor playing with a dollhouse when she turned to see Aunt Em’s friends.

  Claire knelt to the ground, afraid to get too close, afraid of scaring her daughter away. Mustering her confidence, she said, “Hello, Nichol.”

  Their daughter stood and stared. Claire marveled at her perfect, petite body. Finally, John stepped forward, and Nichol reached for his hand. “Nichol,” John said. “Can you say hi to the friends we told you about?”

  “Hi.”

  Tony knelt beside Claire. Is it possible for a heart to melt and break at the same time? Claire reached out and Nichol’s small fingers shook Claire’s hand. Their daughter asked, “Who are you?”

  Tony laughed. “Direct, isn’t she?”

  With a snicker, Emily replied, “Very, I can’t imagine where she gets it.”

  “Nichol, my name is Claire”—she hesitated—“but you can call me Mom.”

  Nichol’s eyes grew wide as she peered from Claire to Tony. Finally, she asked, “Are you my daddy?”

  “I am.”

  They all waited. Dropping John’
s grasp, she stepped forward and touched a small hand to each of their cheeks. Claire closed her eyes and savored her daughter’s touch. Instantly, Claire understood their daughter’s actions. It was the same thing she did when Tony arrived at Everwood—touching him—verifying that he was real. Claire reached up and covered Nichol’s hand with hers. “We’re really here, honey, and we’re so sorry we’ve been gone.”

  Nichol smiled, her big brown eyes lightening. “I knew one day you’d come. Aunt Em said you were sick, and when you got better, you’d be here. Are you better?”

  Fighting back the tears, Claire answered, “Yes, I’m much better. Nichol, can we hug you?”

  Lowering her little hands to their shoulders, she nodded. For a few seconds, their family was whole; then without warning, Nichol released her parents and rushed to her cousin. It was the first time Claire had noticed the little blond boy hugging Emily’s legs. She was about to say something about Michael when Nichol announced, “Mikey, know what? I have a mommy and daddy too!” Looking up to Emily, Nichol asked, “Does that mean they’re Mikey’s aunt and uncle, like you and Uncle John?”

  Emily and Claire’s eyes met. Emily replied, “Yes, honey, it does. Michael, this is Mommy’s sister, your Aunt Claire.” She hesitated as Tony and Claire stood. “And—your Uncle Tony.”

  The children couldn’t hear the anguish in Emily’s voice—at least, Claire prayed they didn’t, but she could. They all knew what a long road this had been. Claire put out her hand. “Hello, Michael, I’m so glad to meet you.”

  Michael took her hand and smiled bashfully. John’s voice filled the otherwise quiet room. “Kids, if it wasn’t for your Uncle Tony, we wouldn’t be here.”