Authors: Aleatha Romig
It was then she noticed the food behind her.
The man must have had an entire side of pork. His plate overflowed
with bacon. The aroma filled the space around their table.
Although Tony was still talking and Claire
had been attentively nodding, she abruptly stood. “Tony I can’t do
this. I need to leave.”
His shock quickly morphed to irritation,
“What?”
“
No, not this –
us.
This –
here.
I need to go
outside.” With that she grabbed her purse and walked briskly toward
the door -- away from the mound of pork. Each step eased her
discomfort. Nonetheless, it wasn’t until she stepped into the
sunshine and felt the wind once again on her face that she could
truly inhale.
Only steps behind her, Tony reached for her
arm and spun her toward him. His expression changed immediately.
The rage disappeared into a mixture of displeasure and concern.
“What the hell was that?”
“
I don’t know. I think I
must have gotten food poisoning last night. How have you been
feeling?”
“
I feel fine. Is that what
this just was, you not feeling well?”
“
Yes, it was that bacon.
It smelled horrid!”
Tony laughed. “I thought you liked bacon.
Catherine used to have it for you all the time.”
Feeling better, Claire smiled, “I did. I do,
I think. But I was ill this morning. That’s why I thought I might
be late.”
Concern won the race on Tony’s rollercoaster
of emotions. “You were ill? I could have come to you.”
Her eyes narrowed, “No. I don’t want you at
Amber’s. It just isn’t right.”
“
I’ve taken you to
my
friends
. If
that is truly your definition of Amber and her brother, what is the
problem?”
There were so many things
wrong. First
his friends
reminded Claire of Brent and Courtney, people
whom, just this morning, she’d spent over a half hour talking with
on the phone. Next, she thought of Tony with Simon’s fiancée. And
lastly, Harry. At this moment she wasn’t sure how to define him.
But having Harry and Tony together wouldn’t be good, no matter his
definition.
“
Are we done?” Claire
asked.
“
There are a few more
things to discuss. How do you feel?”
“
Better, the fresh air
helps.”
“
I saw a park not far
away. Would you like to walk?”
Claire nodded. Truthfully she wanted to go
home, but walking was better than staying in that cafe. Tony gently
grasped her hand. Conceding the loss of her appendage, their
fingers intertwined. The casual contact radiated familiar warmth
through her body. They began walking toward Bridge Parkway. Across
the small inlet they entered a haven of nature. Trees surrounded a
large grassy plane with picnic tables and benches overlooking a
lagoon. Scattered about were signs indicating a summer concert
season. Everything pointed to warmer weather and blue skies for the
future.
While they talked about their agreement,
they also chatted -- not about anything in particular, just things.
Surprisingly, it felt good and easy. As long as the conversation
avoided Harry, Amber, and her incarceration, Claire found herself
speaking without weighing each word. They laughed at children on
the playground equipment and watched a man set-up a camp to fish in
the lagoon.
Claire tried to remember the last time she’d
spent such a normal day with her ex-husband. It had been a long
time. When Tony looked at his watch and saw that it was after two,
he asked Claire if she were up to eating lunch.
“
I think I can handle it,
as long as there’s no bacon,” she said with a smile.
They walked back to Tony’s
car and drove to a small diner with outside seating. When the
waiter brought the menus, Claire perfunctorily left hers lying on
the table. She couldn’t contain her surprise when Tony glanced her
way and said, “Since you haven’t been feeling well, you’d better
look and see what sounds appetizing.” It was the first time
she’d
ever
ordered her own meal while with him. Maybe things do
change?
By the time he took her back to her car,
they’d made some compromises and found some common ground. In two
weeks she would join him in Chicago for meetings and dinners with
investors.
Standing next to Claire’s car, Tony asked,
“May I kiss you good-bye?”
“
Is it a requirement of
the news release and mandatory to keep my friends safe?”
“
No,” he leaned nearer,
“it is because I would really like to kiss you.”
She found herself on the precipice of a very
slippery slope. Her figurative footing was difficult to maintain.
While her mind debated, her body leaned into his chest, and her
face tipped upward. His strong arms encased her, his hands found
their way to the nape of her neck, and his fingers entangled her
hair. They may have been in a parking lot, or perhaps the moon. At
that moment, neither one knew. The rest of the world
disappeared.
Driving toward Palo Alto, she couldn’t
remember who finally pulled away from the embrace. Whoever it was,
the other conceded. She did remember the sensual allure emanating
from his eyes. Even in the car, the image reddened her cheeks.
Oh shit! What have I
done?
Claire asked herself as she
contemplated her next assignment.
Perseverance is not a long
race;
it is many short races one after another.
- Walter Elliott
Chapter
39
Text message sent: May 25: 4:41PM – To:
Anthony Rawlings
MS NICHOLS RETURNED SAFTLY TO HER PARKING
GARAGE. MS MCCOY NOT HOME. NO SIGN OF ANYONE ELSE
Phil waited for a response. Either he would
spend the evening monitoring Claire Nichols, watching the front
door and parking garage, or he’d be done for the night. After the
late night, last night, watching Harrison Baldwin drive the 101
toward San Francisco and turn around and go back to Palo Alto, he
hoped this night was done. After so much time on Mr. Rawlings’
payroll, could Phillip Roach be getting soft?
*****
After her afternoon with Tony, Claire
returned to a quiet condominium. She wandered from room to room
looking for Amber; instead she found a note on the kitchen
counter:
I’m running errands – will be back
soon.
I’m having dinner with Keaton. Maybe we can talk
tomorrow? Hope you’re feeling better. There is a
message on the house voice mail for you – Amber
It gave Claire hope. Optimistically they
would all work this out. She still didn’t know what to think about
Harry. While out with Tony, Claire checked her phone a couple of
times -- not one call or text message from Harry. Of course, he
knew where she was and who she was with.
Thinking about Amber on a
date with Keaton made Claire happy. Amber may argue the term
date
, but Claire
recently listened to the
Rawlings
Dictionary.
According to that very
reliable source, a date was the term used to define the act of two
people going out into public together. She shook her head and
rolled her eyes. It was so ridiculous. Somehow she would need to
modify his definition.
Claire picked up the
telephone receiver in the kitchen. With cellphones, they rarely
used this telephone. Yet, Amber maintained SiJo needed a way to
reach her, if something happened to her cellphone. Pushing the
appropriate buttons Claire waited for the message.
Who would call me on this number?
Claire wondered
.
The voice came through the receiver: “You
have one saved message -- saved message.”
“
Claire Nichols. Do I have
the right number? I remembered something else. Call me back:
442-555-7732.”
Claire listened to the message a second
time. The man’s voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she wasn’t sure
who or why? It was probably a reporter. Heaven knows she’d been
making the news lately. Whoever it was would call back, if whatever
he remembered was truly that important.
It was only a little after
five, but with her stomach full of what
she ordered
(Claire smiled while
adding that last part to her thought), she was tired. These past
had two days worn her out and down. The idea of a warm bath and an
early night sounded heavenly. Honestly, she thought about calling,
texting, or going over to Harry’s, but she didn’t have the strength
for another confrontation.
Walking toward her room, Claire thought
about her afternoon with Tony. She was incredibly thankful it
didn’t include overt arguing. Her emotions have been working
overtime and despite their blackmailing topic of conversation, the
calm afternoon was surprisingly therapeutic.
As she opened the door and
tapped the switch illuminating her bedroom, Claire stared in shock.
The sweet aroma permeated her senses. On her dresser, desk, and
bedside stand were large bouquets of long stemmed red roses. Tears
fill her eyes as she made her way to a card propped against one of
the glittering vases with
Claire
penned on the outside of the small
envelope.
Gingerly opening the flap, Claire removed
the small rectangle piece of card stock. Relief filled her
consciousness and her tired muscles relaxed as she read the
words:
If you’re reading this, you didn’t move
away... and I’m a jerk.
Now you know why I don’t drink—much.
It makes me an ass! I hope we can talk again – soon...
I promise to be more open. Can you forgive me? Harry
She immediately reached
for her iPhone and sent the text:
THANK
YOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS! EXCESSIVE, BUT I LOVE THEM. YES, I
CAN FORGIVE... IF YOU CAN? WE CAN TALK TOMORROW? I’M TIRED AND
GOING TO BED AFTER A BATH. TOMORROW?
Claire inhaled the jasmine from the
dissolved bath salts, as her shoulders submerged under the warm
water. Laying her head against the incline of the tub she closed
her eyes and let her mind wander. There was too much to process,
too many things to think about. From the distance of her room, she
heard the sound indicating a received text message. The warmth
enveloped her as the salts moisturized her skin. Claire slipped
away to the serenity of sleep.
She recognized the room. With each breath
the familiar stagnant air filled her lungs. As her eyes adjusted to
the pale light, she saw the dimples on the painted cinderblock
walls. Claire wrapped the thin blanket tighter, trying to fend off
the chill permeating deep into her soul. It wasn’t from the
controlled temperature of the small cell, but from the solitude.
When she stared up she saw all four corners of the small room
without turning her head. Only the grid of an air vent disturbed
the monotony of the dirty white ceiling. Each wall looked the same
-- same color, same height and same length. Pulling her from the
intolerable seclusion, the buzzer sounded. Tentatively she moved
toward the door with the small window. People could only be seen
through the small glass opening if they stood directly on the other
side. Her heart beat quickened. Could it be a package or a
visitor... someone to talk to? Lifting herself to her tip toes she
peered through the pane...Her vision filled with his eyes, only his
dark penetrating eyes....
Claire woke with a start. Her heart beat
rapidly as her quick movement caused tepid water to splash about
the tub onto the tile floor. She must have fallen asleep. Her eyes
scanned the luxurious tile, plush towels, and dimmed sconces
framing the mirror. The view blurred as tears filled her eyes. Did
the tears come from her dream or her relief? She momentarily
submerged her face under the now cool water. Lifting her face above
the water the aroma of jasmine lingered, reinforcing her current
location. She inhaled deeply as her muscles relaxed. She wasn’t in
prison; she wasn’t alone. It was only a nightmare.
The fog dissipated both from the Palo Alto
sky and from the sleeping recesses of her mind. Sunshine
facilitated the process, as Claire’s eyes adjusted to the morning
light. She remembered the food poisoning of the day before and
evaluated her current condition. The only possible ailment she
could identify was hunger. Rolling tentatively toward the clock her
eyes widened at the number before her: 9:53.
When Claire checked her
phones she found the response from Harry.
I’M GLAD YOU’RE HOME. GET SOME REST. WE’LL TALK
TOMORROW.
It made her both happy and sad.
She wanted them to work it out. But she dreaded telling him about
her public arrangement with Tony.
On her other phone she had
a text from Courtney. It was received at 9:17 and said:
FYI -- TONY IS HERE. HE WANTS TO TALK TO US ABOUT
YOU! I SLIPPED AWAY TO TELL YOU. I WILL TEXT WHEN HE’S GONE.
Claire closed her eyes and shook her head, poor
Courtney and Brent. Caleb’s wedding is in less than a week away and
they have Tony on their doorstep. Narcissistic as ever, Claire was
sure Tony believed his issues were more important than anything
else in their lives. Curiosity grew as Claire contemplated the
conversation occurring 2,000 miles away.
Amber entered the kitchen as Claire finished
the final stages of preparing her breakfast feast. She had two
fried eggs, two pieces of toast, a banana, and a cup of yogurt.
Amber’s voice sounded light as she asked, “Did you forget how to
make coffee?”