Convicted (25 page)

Today, Ms. Bali called and asked me to come in early. Since Claire has been doing well with me bringing her meals—she asked if I’d take her on a walk. Apparently, there was some big meeting regarding her diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment. Everyone associated with her care had to attend. I wish I’d been at the meeting, but Emily was probably there, so it was better I wasn’t.

I know I should write about the walk. That’s the whole point, right? Record my thoughts and comments so that I can later come back and see if any progress was made—have a basis for writing the follow-up to my book. Well, here’s the thing; I don’t want to. Oh, I want to stay with Claire. I want to help her—but for a journalist who’s supposed to be indifferent—I picked the wrong project.

Just in case I don’t remember when I come back to read—on the way home from Everwood, I stopped at the store and bought a bottle of wine. No—it isn’t the normal size—it’s the big one!

I hated it today! I went to her room—and surprise—Claire was sitting in the chair by the window. When she saw me and heard my voice, she went to the table to eat. Keep in mind, she’d just eaten! I explained that I was taking her on her walk. At first, she didn’t budge. I just kept talking about the outside. Finally, she stood. I stepped closer, like I’d seen the other woman do and Emily do. Claire didn’t move. I had to reach for her hand and place it on my arm.

After that, she stayed in step as we walked through the facility. The part that broke my heart was that when we went outside she didn’t look up. She kept her eyes downcast and walked wherever I led. I remember her stories, the ones of her at her lake on the Rawlings Estate. She’d talk about her love of the outside, the breeze in her hair, and the sun on her skin. I think I was expecting to see some sort of recognition or excitement; instead, there was nothing.

I hated that she had to be subdued when our eyes first met in the cafeteria a month ago, but honestly, I’d rather have a negative reaction than none! I think I’m done writing for tonight. I have more wine to drink!

Michael, Nichol, and John finished their dinners while Emily continued to pick at the food on her plate. She heard the chatter, but her mind kept replaying Dr. Fairfield’s words,
No, the patient has been maintained in a static state of comfort—which I believe is the problem.

Indignantly, she listened as Dr. Fairfield hypothesized that Claire’s current provisions were
too
good
. In essence, he blamed Emily’s directives on Claire’s compliance. He went on to discuss Claire’s history of compliance and adaptability.

Emily argued internally,
too good?! Her sister was detached from the world, living in a place that wasn’t real. How could he possibly think that was too good? Besides, Dr. Fairfield’s resources weren’t primary! Wasn’t that an essential element of research—primary resources? The only way he could’ve learned about Claire’s past, from those who knew first hand, those who were there, would be to interview Claire or Anthony. Obviously, that hadn’t happened. He had to have researched not only Emily’s accounts, which she confessed were second hand, or read Meredith’s book. Yes, the book was relatively accurate, but even that had an element of fiction. The blatant truth would be too difficult for the world to read.

So what?
So Claire had survived her ordeal by complying and adapting. That was because if she didn’t, then Anthony would punish her. Claire’s current situation wasn’t even remotely similar.
How could he suggest it was?

That was what he’d said—he said,
the accommodating surroundings worked to mold Claire’s behavior.
By not requiring her to face the consequences of her past, they were allowing Claire to live in her make-believe world.

The way Emily saw it, she was affording her sister the safe haven she’d been denied.

The sound of laughter returned Emily’s thoughts to present. Focusing on the table, she watched Michael giggle as Nichol blew bubbles in her milk.

“Nichol! What are you doing? Don’t teach your cousin those things!” Emily’s unusually harsh tone surprised everyone. She saw the shock in her husband’s eyes.

Nichol’s brown eyes, that only seconds ago glistened with laughter, were suddenly brimming with tears and looking down. “I’m sorry, Aunt Em.”

John stood and reached for the children’s plates. Keeping his voice steady, he reassured, “It’s all right, honey. Aunt Emily’s tired. You’re fine; no mess. How about you two go upstairs and let Becca help you get your pajamas on, and we’ll make some popcorn.”

Peeking her eyes upward, Nichol asked, “Can we watch a movie?”

“Sure we can,” Emily’s voice softened. “I
am
tired; I’m sorry that I snapped. If you two hurry then we can all cuddle in our bed.” As small feet rushed out of the dining room with their nanny, Emily’s head dropped and her tears flowed. It wasn’t until John’s hands massaged her shoulders that she found the courage to speak. “Do you think he’s right?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that we haven’t seen much progress in the last year. I think it’s worth a try.”

“I don’t want her to have to face—I don’t want her to have to deal with—”

John helped Emily stand. “I know what you want. You want Claire well, and her past gone. That’s not going to happen.”

Emily’s cheek settled against John’s chest. She listened as he repeated everything Dr. Fairfield said earlier. It may have been the quiet setting of their dining room, his tender embrace, or the relief from allowing the tears to finally surface—no matter the reason, John’s words made sense. Nodding her head, Emily replied, “I guess I get it, but I still don’t want her to have to deal with memories of
him
.”

Pulling her close, John whispered, “She’s survived more than most. Maybe these past few years have been a well-deserved break. As much as you want to, you can’t keep the truth from her forever. When she’s stronger, she’ll be able to face it, and perhaps this new protocol will help her get stronger.”

Emily conceded, “I’ll call Dr. Brown tomorrow and give my okay.”

Darkness restores what light cannot repair.

—Joseph Brodsky

Madeline and Francis met Claire and her guests on the lanai. Francis shook Phil’s hand as the two men exchanged familiar greetings. Still holding Tony’s hand, Claire introduced him, “Madeline and Francis, let me introduce Anthony Rawlings.”

Madeline’s smile lit the room. “Monsieur, we’re so happy to have you with us before your fille arrives.”

Claire smiled. She’d never mentioned Tony to Madeline; she wondered how she knew he was the father of her baby. Looking up at Tony’s expression, Claire realized what Madeline had just said and squeezed his hand. “No, I haven’t learned our baby’s sex; however, Madeline seems to believe we’re having a girl.”

Tony bowed his head. “Madeline, Francis, I too am happy to be here before the arrival of our bébé—fille or fils; either is fine with me.”

The smiles coming from Madeline and Francis warmed Claire’s heart and continued her inner peace. She hadn’t considered that they might not be receptive to him. After all, they weren’t married. They had been, but Madeline and Francis didn’t know that.

Claire said, “I know dinner’s ready and I’m sorry, but first, I’m going to show Tony to our room. Could you please show Phil to the room he didn’t take before?” Her eyes sparkled teasingly toward Phil.

Phil replied, “That won’t be necessary; I remember.”

Madeline announced, “I’ll have dinner ready for you. After you’re done, Francis and I will eat at our house.”

Although Claire and Tony had started to walk toward their room, Claire turned back. “Oh no, I don’t want you to do that. We’ll all eat together—all of us. I’m so happy to have everyone here, and I want everyone to get to know one other. Please, give us a little time. We’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

No one argued with
the lady of the house
as Claire led Tony down the hallway. When they reached their suite, Claire entered, expecting to show him around. The sound of the closing door surprised her. When she glanced back toward Tony and saw his expression, the deep yearning she thought was forever gone—ignited. The heat immobilized her; she couldn’t move toward him or away. Her only option was to stare into the dark, velvety depth of his gaze. For seconds or days, Claire was lost in his eyes. The black penetrating stare no longer filled her with fear; instead, it was a beckoning, a desire that only she could fill—truly an overwhelming and exhilarating responsibility. Within seconds, his strong arms surrounded her and their lips united.

Once again, her world was no longer her own. He didn’t take it—on the contrary, Claire relinquished it willingly. Not the control of the island or the money—those were truly insignificant. What belonged to Tony, probably before she ever knew him, was her heart and soul. As their bodies touched, her growing breasts pressed against his chest and his hands caressed her skin; Claire was totally and completely lost. Any thought of life outside their suite disappeared as the scent of his cologne and the taste of his kiss took on life giving power. Eventually, his deep, baritone voice penetrated their world while each word, each syllable dripped with desire. “God, I’ve missed you. I thought I’d never hold you like this again.”

Claire couldn’t respond verbally. Not only because her mouth was preoccupied—which it was—no, she couldn’t respond because the overwhelming sense of relief that was washing over her had removed her ability. It drained her and set her hormone-filled emotions into a new and terrifying cyclone. Tears fell from her eyes as she broke away from his kiss and buried her face in his wide chest. When her shoulders began to shudder from the sobs she couldn’t contain, Tony led her to the sofa. His sultry expression turned questioning. “Do you want me to leave? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Claire shook her head and wiped her eyes. “No! I don’t want you to leave. This is
exactly
what I want”—she sniffled—“I can’t believe you’re really here. When you hung up—”

Tony knelt before her, his sad eyes a stark contradiction to the passion she saw moments earlier. “I was wrong. Everything was overwhelming.” She heard the restraint in his voice as he tried to subdue his shock and anger. “I had everything planned; how I was going to get the money and look for you.” His volume rose with each phrase. He shook his head. “I’ve told you before that you’re the only person in this world, who can keep me on my toes. I
never
imagined you’d access the accounts before me. I was totally blindsided! When I saw the signature of Marie Rawls, my gut told me that something was wrong! I still wasn’t sure until I called the number...” He exhaled and waited. Finally, he took her petite hands, surrounded them with his own, and reigned in his tone. “I wasn’t even sure it was you. I couldn’t fathom how you could possibly gain access—and then, when I heard your voice—”

The hint of anger faded into a sadness Claire couldn’t identify. She’d never heard so much pain in his voice. With all her heart, she wanted to make his world better; however, she couldn’t take away his sense of betrayal—initially from her and then from Catherine. He needed to say what he was thinking. While tears silently overflowed her eyes, Claire kept her gaze locked with his. Even with his visible pain, his dark eyes completed her world.

He continued, “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to believe you, but to believe you meant admitting that Catherine deceived...” His head bowed to Claire’s lap.

When he didn’t speak, Claire ran her fingers through his hair and waited.

Swallowing his emotions, Tony looked back up to her eyes. Dark windows of remorse matched the anguish she heard in his tone.

“I put you in harm’s way,” Tony said. “Since Roach explained everything, that’s all I‘ve thought about. I took you away from California and put you in the worse place possible. Tell me—tell me—you know—I didn’t know. I never would’ve—never thought—she was capable—of hurting
you
or
me
or”—he touched Claire’s stomach and rubbed, causing Claire to smile—“
our
child.”