[english] Consequences

Consequences
Consequences Page 100



While wandering the Galleria dell’ Accademia, the museum housing Michelangelo’s David, Claire lost all track of time. The museum was large with a magnitude of amazing exhibits. The art fascinated her. She lingered at the impressionistic paintings. The greatness of the exhibits caused her to forget about everything except the treasures she was seeing and experiencing firsthand.

When she realized the time, an immediate rush of panic nearly knocked her off her feet. It was 4:30 PM and she was supposed to be back at their suite by 5:00 PM. Her minute recollection of Spanish did little to help her navigate the Italian street signs. She’d walked to the museum, stopping at others on the way. The sidewalk cafés and narrow streets all looked the same. Normally, she had an uncanny sense of direction, but seeing the minutes tick away on her watch made her lose any navigational skills she’d previously possessed. She practically ran the streets filled with people, trying desperately to find her way back to their hotel. At 5:30 PM she reached the Relais Santa Croce. Entering the exquisite lobby, she did her best to regain her composure.

With only twenty-four rooms, the staff excelled at name recognition and attention. The concierge immediately greeted her in broken English, “Good evening, Signora Rawlings, your husband—he awaits you in your suite. May I carry your baggage?”

Claire’s heart sank. She knew Tony’s meetings were nearby. Now her fears were realized. At first, she told the concierge no, thank you. Then she decided perhaps having someone enter the suite with her was a good idea. She handed him the few bags she carried and they proceeded to the Rawlings suite. The concierge assisted her by using her key to unlock their door. The double doors opened to the sitting area, complete with fireplace and windows overlooking the historic center of Florence. Tony wasn’t there.

The concierge placed Mrs. Rawlings’s bags on the sofa and thanked her. She reached into her purse for a tip when Tony appeared from the bedroom. He smiled gallantly at the concierge, thanked him, and handed him a generous tip from his money clip.

Thanking Signor Rawlings, the concierge bowed and left.

Claire’s heart began to pound in her ears as she and Tony stood silently for what seemed like an eternity. She’d used all her resolve maintaining her facade with the concierge. She hadn’t witnessed the other Tony in quite a while. She worked diligently day and night to keep him away. But now she was late, she broke his punctuality rule, and there was no need to explain. She knew her reasons wouldn’t matter. So she stood, tall and resolute. Her eyes weren’t full of fury, they brimmed with tears. He just watched and said nothing. The pupils of his eyes were taking over, yet his expression wasn’t keeping up. Claire waited.

*

Tony watched her. He’d been worried. What if something happened to her? He didn’t even know where to begin to look. When he heard her arrive his immediate feeling was relief, she was okay, but then he saw her, knew she was safe, and relief faded into displeasure. It wasn’t conscious, but he felt it happening, and he didn’t want to give in to it. Her expression looked so frightened, yet she stood so strong and proud.

There was a time he would have enjoyed quelling her resolve; but right now, all he wanted to do was make her feel safe. Finally, without speaking Tony indicated they sit on the sofa. Claire sat and waited. He broke the silence. “Tell me what you saw today and what caused your delay.” He didn’t yell or strike. Claire’s obvious relief led to a sudden loss of control. Tony reached for her and she started to involuntarily tremble. “Claire, it’s all right.” His tone comforted her as he pulled her close.

“Tony, I’m so sorry. I was at the Galleria dell’ Accademia—which was amazing—when I realized the time. I immediately left the museum, but I couldn’t understand the signs and the streets all look the same.” Her words ran together with small sobs between. “I knew the hotel was within walking distance—but I suddenly couldn’t remember the direction.”

At first, he didn’t speak, only holding her. Then he said, “It’s a foreign city, mistakes happen. I was worried something happened to you. I didn’t want you to have an accident.” His voice was tender, yet his words…

Their discussion continued to the bedroom. She finally regained her composure. He tried his best to show her she was safe and loved. She showed him her relief at his reaction. Later after they’d soaked in the large marble tub, they dressed for a romantic dinner and walked through the streets of Florence. Although the streets were packed with people, as they walked arm in arm it felt like their private journey. The romantic city, beautiful structures and tepid night breeze combined to enhance the evening.

*

It wasn’t long until they arrived at their next destination, Rome. Tony had meetings scheduled for one of their two days. They stayed at Rome Cavalieri-Waldorf Astoria, in a luxurious suite with a magnificent view of the city highlighted by the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica.

Claire was relieved to learn her tardiness in Florence didn’t cause the loss of her roaming pass. Although Tony continued to allow her to sightsee alone, he reminded her multiple times to keep track of time. She spent the day walking and busing around the city while Tony attended to business. The ancient history that accompanied everything in Rome fascinated Claire.

She visited the Coliseum, the Forum, and the Pantheon. She enjoyed a latte in Piazza Navona and watched as couples threw coins into the Trevi Fountain. The sights were breathtaking and remarkable, but the entrenched fear she felt in Florence affected her. She enjoyed everything, but now it felt tarnished. She didn’t want to feel that way, but sometimes memories and emotions would overcome her. Not wanting Tony to see the change, she dutifully put on her mask and performed to the best of her ability. The sights were still amazing and spectacular.

The next day, at Vatican City, they walked hand in hand through the atrium of Saint Peter’s Basilica. They viewed the Vatican grottoes, Saint Peter’s Treasury, Saint Peter’s Square, and the Vatican gardens. As they walked the steep road back to their hotel, Tony confessed, “With all of my traveling, I rarely sightsee. Today, when you said you wanted to spend the entire day at the Vatican, I thought you were crazy. I expected to be done in an hour or two”—Claire watched as he spoke—“But it was incredible. I just want you to know I understand how you lost track of time in Florence. I get it.”

She didn’t speak; she squeezed his hand. Something from her past came to mind and she smiled. He once said she was trainable, perhaps he was too. It just took longer with him.

The last country on their journey was Switzerland. Tony had meetings, first in Interlaken and then in Genève. They spent one night in Interlaken. The Swiss Alps were the epitome of pure unsullied nature and grandeur. The small town of Interlaken was surrounded by crystal-clear lakes, sparkling streams, and waterfalls. And ever present were the Monch and Jungfrau mountain range of the Swiss Alps. Claire felt like she was in the middle of a postcard.

While Tony met with investors, Claire chose to relish the relaxing scenery and take in the atmosphere. She wandered the streets, enjoyed the cafés, and rested in the beauty of the tranquil landscape. Their two weeks were action packed. She could have spent her time any way she chose, the options were numerous; however, she enjoyed some downtime to reflect on all they’d seen and to relax in the natural splendor.

 

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Her memories overflowed with sights and sounds of ancient cities. She could close her eyes and recall the amazing art and architecture. Inhaling the sweet Swiss chocolate as she sipped her coffee and nibbled on the candy bar, she remembered the amazing cuisine and delicious wines. She thought about her husband. He’d spent the entire two weeks open and understanding. She never anticipated the freedoms she’d been granted. Her stack of books remained unread. Even when she was late, his voice and expression were more of care and concern than of anger. Her thoughts moved from his voice and expression, to his strong, safe embrace. They’d made love at every stop.

She recalled the yacht with the rhythmic rocking from the sea. Smiling, she thought lustfully about wanting him—how on many occasions it was her who initiated their carnal encounters and he who responded appropriately. Claire slowly realized he was doing what she’d asked—filling her with good memories. She finished her chocolate and smiled contentedly.

Early Saturday morning they boarded a train to Genève. Tony had one more meeting. It was his last obligation of their trip. After it concluded, they’d spend the last night in Genève and fly home in the morning. Claire couldn’t believe how quickly the fourteen days had passed. She felt completely exhausted and yet exhilarated. The first time she remembered Tony traveling to Europe he’d stayed for eight days. Claire remembered when he arrived home he had said he was tired. She understood. Being absent from Iowa for over two weeks, she was ready to get home. Their destinations were spectacular; however, Claire longed for the serenity of her own bed and suite.

Before they went out for their final night in Europe, Tony insisted they take some time to visit famous boutiques and shops on Rue du Rhône. Claire repeatedly told him she needed nothing. As if unable to hear or comprehend, he led her to an exclusive jewelry store. He wanted her to have something to remember their time, so he purchased a sparkling diamond watch. She wondered about a possible double meaning.

After a nine-hour flight, they arrived home. She couldn’t remember being more tired. Their flight from Fiji was longer, yet they predominately rested in Fiji or at least spent time horizontal. She felt like she had been literally sightseeing, walking, and hiking for the past seventeen days. Their dinner in New York seemed forever ago—still she knew it was not.

Before they went to bed, Tony brought Claire a large stack of e-mails from his home office; she chose to not look at them. She’d do it tomorrow. They both collapsed into her bed. She thanked Tony repeatedly for the trip of a lifetime and the wonderful memories. She drifted into a dreamless sleep with her head resting on his shoulder, listening to his breathing.

Though exhausted, his arm embraced the soft warm body that nestled against his side. Her steady breathing told him she was sleeping. Closing his eyes he could hear her voice thanking him for the memories. Inhaling the scent of her hair he recalled their unforgettable trip and marveled at the intense satisfaction blooming within his chest.

Before he drifted off to sleep, Tony whispered, “I plan to go into the office tomorrow.”

Stirring only slightly, Claire murmured, “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I plan to sleep through your alarm.” He smiled at her honesty as they both floated into blissful slumber.

It’s not a question of enough, pal. It’s a Zero Sum game, somebody wins, somebody loses. Money itself isn’t lost or made, it’s simply transferred from one perception to another. Like magic.

—Gordon Gekko

Chapter Forty-One

‡

Anton stood silently outside the grand doors of his grandfather’s home office. Even though the double doors were tightly closed, he could hear the voices from the other side. His father insisted Anton be excluded from the conversation within. As far as Anton was concerned, that was ridiculous. Something big was happening, and it had to do with his name and the company he’d been told would be his. Samuel could shelter him from the discussion and knowledge of the business dealings, but Anton wasn’t ignorant. He could read a NYSE ticker. Rawls Corp. stock had plummeted from 79.8 to 56.4 at the close of trading. The news release proclaimed rumors of wrongdoings within the corporation. The four men within the office weren’t drinking beer and playing cards; this was deadly serious. It felt like everything was crashing down around them. Someone opened a dam and the water couldn’t be stopped.

Inside the cherry-paneled, regal office, Nathaniel questioned Clawson, “You said no one would ever know. What the hell happened? Where did these allegations come from?”

“Mr. Rawls, I don’t know. We’ve covered our tracks for almost ten years. You’ve made a bloody fortune. Maybe the feds got nervous because you were making too much profit.”

“What the hell is that, too much profit?” Nathaniel couldn’t sit. He paced every inch of the plush carpet. “Have they investigated Trump or Gates? I’m nowhere close to those men.”

“It doesn’t matter who else has been investigated.” Samuel tried to bring the men back to the task at hand. “What matters is that we get our ducks in a row and meet the investigation head-on.”

Clawson gazed over to his assistant, Cole Mathews. Mathews was busy organizing stacks of paper and utilizing a shredder to reduce the paper overload. Clawson addressed both Rawls men. “Cole and I are making sure there is no evidence linking Rawls to any of the allegations.”

“You said no one would know. Why is Mathews shredding papers? There shouldn’t be anything that needs to be shredded.” Nathaniel watched as Mathew’s green eyes briefly met his. He seemed to be working as fast as the shredder would allow.

Samuel spoke above the grind of the shredder, “Instead of shredding, we need to be open to the investigation. Be honest, take our fines and penalties and move on.” He might as well have been talking to the walls. His father and Clawson were devising a strategy as Mathews shredded without pause.

Cole Mathews entered their inner circle about two years ago. He didn’t talk much, but was a whiz at research. Tell him a stock or a company, and bingo, he would have more insider information than one would believe humanly possible. Suddenly, Nathaniel regretted not having Clawson and Mathews sign some kind of power of attorney or non-disclosure statement, a way to distance him from them.

These two men helped make him mega-wealthy. At this moment, if possible he would hang them both out to dry to save himself and his family. Hell, Samuel wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

Briefly, Nathaniel thought about the recent news. The space shuttle “Challenger” had blown up during takeoff. That was a damn shame. Just maybe that news would overshadow the unfortunate false allegations regarding Rawls Corp.

The sudden disappointment of a hope leaves a scar which the ultimate fulfillment of that hope never entirely removes.

—Thomas Hardy

Chapter Forty-Two

‡

On the day following their return, Claire woke late, relishing the large empty bed. After Cindy brought her coffee and food, she sat on her balcony, ate breakfast, and enjoyed the summer day, truly contented to be home. August in Iowa reminded her of Indiana, and even though the temperature and humidity continued to increase, the summer’s climax was rapidly approaching. Before long, the balminess would diminish and evidence of autumn would materialize.

 

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Claire intended to appreciate the remaining days of summer. She took the folder of e-mails to the pool. Knowing that Tony read them before delivering them, she decided to separate the ones she felt needed responses and expedite her evening request session. Eighteen days’ worth of e-mails took quite a bit of time. She started by removing the ones she didn’t intend to answer. Next, she reread the ones from acquaintances. What did they want? Could she help in any way? If not, they went into the Patricia, please respond pile. If she believed there was something she could do, she put them in a pile to discuss with Tony.

Next, was the pile of friends and family. It was considerably smaller. Most of them knew she and Tony were out of the country. Most of her friends wanted to know about the trip and schedule get-togethers. Courtney wanted to do lunch as soon as Claire recovered from her traveling. MaryAnn’s e-mail apparently went to both Tony and Claire. She invited them to a movie premiere party at their home in Malibu in October. Claire checked her calendar. It was the weekend after the Red Cross silent auction. She added those to the “discuss with Tony” pile. The last few pages were from Emily. She definitely preferred sitting in the sun, drinking iced tea at her pool, in her bathing suit, and reading Emily’s e-mails to doing it under Tony’s glare.

The first one was a note about their get-together. Emily and John enjoyed seeing them and thanked them for dinner. Apparently, John spoke to the waiter about paying the bill prior to their arrival, but somehow it never came to the table. This caused Claire to smile; she hadn’t noticed. Emily wished them a good time on their trip. She anxiously waited to hear all about it. The second came a week later. It began with, “I know you are still in Europe, but I wanted to tell you…” The firm set an arbitrary date of November 1. At that time, there would be a review of the associates’ production, hours billed, and fees recovered. She was optimistic about John’s final numbers. He spent every waking hour working. But cautiously, she said if he didn’t make the cut, it wasn’t the end. He would still be an associate and considered for partnership during the next review process. She asked Claire to call when she got home. The third e-mail was dated yesterday. It began, “Are you home yet?” She asked multiple questions about their trip and talked about her impending school year. Apparently, the economic state of the country was affecting the finances of her school as well as others everywhere. Even though she worked for a private school system there were severe budget cuts which would affect her classroom directly. It made Claire wonder if she could use some of her capital to make a donation. She decided to put these in the Tony pile. She wanted to call and perhaps pursue the donation.

Lunch arrived at the pool. Settling into the lounge chair, with a book that made the trip to and from Europe but never opened, Claire was filled with comfort, peace, and contentment. She was home. Jet lag settled in and soon she fell into a deep sleep, sleeping through most of the afternoon. Catherine woke her at 4:00 PM and she went to her suite to prepare for Tony. At 5:00 PM, Catherine informed her that they would dine on the back patio—her life’s routine had resumed.

August faded into September, and before she knew it October knocked on the door. Claire and Courtney were very busy finalizing their efforts for the silent auction. The donations, facility, caterers, and wine distributors all confirmed; the guest list approved and invitations mailed. Excited about the impending event, Claire felt it was her debut to the philanthropic world. Tony not only participated in this world, he excelled. She wanted Mrs. Anthony Rawlings to be equally synonymous with charity as Mr. Anthony Rawlings. It was the first time Claire informed Tony they would be attending an event. He smiled and told her he would check their calendar.

During the auction planning her hostess duties didn’t cease. Various dinners occurred at various locations. They also attended functions and events together. Her biggest decisions involved wardrobe and hairstyle, and often those choices were made for her. That made the Red Cross function all the more important to Claire. She knew she had more to offer.

Not long before the auction, Tony and Claire attended a forum in Chicago where Tony was the keynote speaker. He was asked to give a speech about success. The theme of the conference was “Risk verses Failure in the World of Business.” He never practiced his speeches or ran ideas by her. So, as Claire sat next to her husband at the head table and he addressed the audience, his words were new to her, too.

When she first met him—really met him—she didn’t like the business Tony. He was the one who used to visit her suite; always professionally dressed—impersonal—methodical—detached—and other adjectives not as complimentary, but now she enjoyed watching and being beside Anthony Rawlings—esteemed businessman—while he shined in his element. He radiated an aura that said I am successful. By some, it might have been perceived as conceit. Claire probably thought of it that way at one time, but now she found it attractive. In the past, she disliked or hated his ingrained confidence and authority, but now she could look at it differently. It was sexy. Watching and listening to him, she comprehended the importance of her role.

Many times following the dinner and speech, the organizers would schedule a question-and-answer symposium. These were informal, with various people approaching Tony and asking him questions. Many of the attendees were young entrepreneurs looking for advice. According to Shelly, Tony’s participation was essential for public relations. According to Tony, his participation was hell. Claire’s duty included politely interrupting participants, so he could move on to the next and eventually leave.

During these Q A sessions, multiple people approached Tony. Claire tried to appear attentive, yet unobtrusive, until it was time for her to interrupt. Honestly, she didn’t pay attention to the individuals. They blended together in her mind. During this particular conference, a question came from one of the participants which caught them both off guard. A man, younger than Tony, closer to Claire’s age, dressed in an expensive suit approached Tony.

“Hello, Mr. Rawlings, I’m pleased to meet you. Your speech was remarkable and inspiring.” Tony shook his hand and politely thanked him, and then the blond man with big soft blue eyes continued, somewhat timidly, “I have an unusual request. May I speak with your wife for a few minutes?”

Claire hadn’t looked at the man until that moment. She was gazing into the crowd. His words made her turn, first to Tony, seeing his surprised expression, and then to the man. Her mask momentarily shattered. She recognized him immediately and suddenly wondered why she hadn’t recognized his voice. The mayhem in her head tied her tongue until Tony’s eyes brought her back to reality. Placing her hand gently on Tony’s arm, she hesitantly spoke, trying desperately for a sturdier voice.

“Oh my,” “Anthony,” “Simon.” Tony watched as she stuttered through introductions. “Anthony, may I introduce Simon Johnson. Simon and I were students together at Valparaiso—a million years ago.” Her speech flowed too rapidly. “Simon, may I introduce my husband, Anthony Rawlings.”

The two men locked eyes and shook hands again. Tony was polite. Claire watched his eyes, as if a switch had been flipped from light to dark. Turning to Claire, he responded, “I believe that’s Mrs. Rawlings’ decision.”

 

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There were other people waiting to speak with Tony. Claire excused Simon and herself, allowing Tony to speak to the others. She and Simon walked away. As they walked, Simon absentmindedly put his hand in the small of her back; she immediately stepped away from his touch. They sat at an empty table.

Simon spoke softly, “Claire, I apologize if I’ve put you in a difficult position. It’s just that I have wanted to speak to you for a long time.”

“Like eight years?” Even she was surprised by her unfriendly tone.

“This is the third event I’ve attended where you and Mr. Rawlings have been present. I finally summoned the nerve to speak to you.”

Remembering a previous reunion , she said, “First, Simon, tell me you’re not a reporter or talking to me for a publication of any kind.”

His blue eyes looked startled and then softened. “No, Claire, I just want to talk to you. It must be difficult not knowing who you can trust.”

She breathed easier. “It is. I’ve made a few mistakes I don’t plan to repeat.”

“It’s a mistake I made that I want to talk to you about, too.”

She looked at him. He hadn’t changed since their freshman year of college, but alas he had—he was older—more mature—and more confident. His blond hair still needed trimming and his gleaming eyes were still as bright. She couldn’t forget the passion she’d witnessed in those eyes.

“I’ve seen your picture so many places recently. I felt that I needed to talk to you at least once and explain what happened during the summer of ’03.”

They met at Valparaiso their freshman year. Simon’s major was computer programming while Claire’s was meteorology. Living in the same dorm, they ran into one another often. Their mutual attraction blossomed into young infatuation and rapidly into romance. They were each other’s first love. The new, unfamiliar emotions overwhelmed them both. Simon proposed to Claire daily. She had other plans for her life, plans of a career and national success which didn’t include marriage. During the summer they visited each other’s hometowns, met the families, and did all the things young lovers do. Claire’s mother commented how plans can always be modified. She liked Simon. Their sophomore year was to include Greek life, parties, studying, and time together, but somewhere between meeting the family and classes resuming, Simon disappeared. He called a few times, wrote a few letters, and vanished. Claire knew college had been a financial strain on his family. That was why when out of the blue, during the summer, Simon had received an offer for a dream internship and he had, had to accept. An opportunity like that was unheard of for a sophomore. His computer talents exceeded many of the older students. The internship was in California, and he couldn’t miss the opportunity. It was supposed to be just one semester. She waited for him to return, he didn’t. Their correspondences became less frequent and then nonexistent.

She moved on. Forgetting him wasn’t possible, but successfully compartmentalizing him was. Over the years life’s challenges and routines filled her consciousness, only sometimes in unconsciousness did he return.

“That isn’t necessary. We have both moved on with our lives.” Claire began to rise. “It was nice to see you.”

He touched her hand gently. “Please, Claire, I need to tell you”—she sat timidly—“Do you remember that I went to California?”—she nodded—“At first, it was an internship, but then they offered me a job. I’m not sure you remember, but college was difficult for my parents to afford, and the offer was too good to pass. I wanted to go back and finish my degree, but there I was, twenty years old, being offered my dream job.”

Claire remembered the letter she received saying he wouldn’t be returning from California. It broke her heart. She wanted to join him, but he didn’t ask. “I’m glad it worked for you. Are you still living in California?”

“Yes, I am, and the company I went to work for interestingly is a subsidiary of Rawlings Industries.”

Claire’s heart started to race. If Tony knew—Simon would lose his job. She saw the darkness, she wanted to protect him. “Are you still there?”

“No”—she sighed with relief—“I was with them for over five years, but I left long before you met your husband. I read the article in Vanity Fair”—she smiled—“I have my own company now.”

“That’s great, I hope you’re happy.”

“With business—I am. I should thank Mr. Rawlings. The start I received from his company made a big impact. Today I create some of the games people play on their phones. I’m doing well.”

“I’m truly happy for you.” She glanced nervously back at Tony. “I do need to get back to Tony.”

“My mother has been keeping up on you, relaying information to me. She liked you a lot.”

“I liked your mom, too. Please, tell her I said hello and to not believe everything she reads.” Claire’s eyes saddened with memories.

“Before you go, I wanted to let you know, even now with my success, I regret not coming back for you.” Claire didn’t speak, she couldn’t. “I thought about it constantly, but the job required a lot of travel. I was in China when your parents died. If I had been stateside I would have been there for you. I just had to tell you. I didn’t leave you because of anything you did or said. Claire, you have remained perfect in my memories. I wish things had been different.” She felt a rush of sadness at what may have been; nonetheless, Simon continued, “I even followed your career. I knew you were in Albany and then in Atlanta. I remembered you wanted a career. I thought maybe after you achieved success we could try again.” Claire looked at the table. This was making her uneasy. She needed to go back to Tony. “But I want you to know I’m happy for you, and I’m happy you’re happily married.”

The increasing feeling of anxiety made her stand. “Thank you, Simon. I wish you continued success. Please give my best to your family. I must get back to my husband.”

“Do you have your phone?” Claire’s expression became confused. Simon smiled.

“I’m making you sad, which wasn’t my intention. I wanted to show you my latest game, it’s fun and I hope it’ll make you smile. Do you remember staying up all night playing video games?” She did, but it seemed like another person, in another life.

“I created this most recent game with someone from my past in mind. Kind of a tribute, I guess.”

“I don’t have my purse, it’s at the table.” She silently berated herself. He was being so open and honest, and she was lying about a phone!

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a smart phone, and started touching the screen. “Here it is, you can download it for a dollar—ninety-nine”—smiling, he added—“Which I believe is within your price range.” Claire looked onto the screen. The goal of the game seemed to be to find something, but in order to accomplish this goal, you had to rummage through clothes, old pieces of pizza, pizza boxes, soda pop cans, etc. She smiled as he explained, “Each level has a new item to discover. It’s very popular with the college and post-college demographic. It’s made me millions.” She really smiled at him. He actually made that kind of money with games. “I’m glad I saw your smile. Claire, you’re beautiful, but I miss the brown hair.”

 

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“Bye, Simon. Good luck to you.” She nodded. He looked like he wanted to hug her or shake hands, some type of contact, but she turned away. Immediately, she made eye contact with Tony. He’d been watching. She resumed her position beside her husband.

Acknowledging her return, he flashed his charming smile, nodded, and greeted her, “Mrs. Rawlings.”

When they stepped out onto the sidewalk, the Chicago lights sparkled in the clear September night air. Tony’s hand gently rested in the small of Claire’s back. The temperature was still warm, but she felt a shiver. Eric opened the door of the limousine and Tony helped his wife into the car.

Lost in her thoughts, Claire watched as the lights of the city passed the windows. Her mind was back at college. The memories of the messy dorm room, the clutter, and now the game brought a warm feeling. She was happy for Simon. He succeeded in accomplishing his goals. She remembered his aspirations, not of wealth, but happiness and family. She recalled he wanted to be able to help his parents. She hadn’t asked if he was married. She hadn’t even looked to see if he was wearing a wedding ring, but with all her soul, she hoped he was.

“Mrs. Rawlings,” Tony was addressing Claire. She turned to face him. He was uncomfortably close. “What is your name?”

Bewildered she just looked at him. He reached for her chin and held it so they were looking at one another. “Your name—what is your name?”

Annoyed and alarmed, she replied, “Tony, what are you doing?”

He didn’t loosen his grip. “I’m asking you a question—one that you seem unable to answer.”

Mystified by his behavior, she answered his question, “My name is Claire—Claire Rawlings.”

Slowly and deliberately he asked, “Explain to me, Mrs. Rawlings, how you can be sitting with me, your husband, wearing the rings I purchased, in the limousine paid for by my hard work, and thinking about another man.”

He still held her chin. “Tony, please let go of my face. You’re hurting me.”

As he released her chin, his hand slid behind her neck, tightly holding her head and pulling the hair hanging down her neck. He continued, “Do I need to repeat every question or do you think you may be able to answer at least one the first time?”

Flashing, her green eyes spoke alarm and the stiffening of her neck spoke resolve. “Seeing Simon caught me off guard. I haven’t thought of or heard from him in eight years. Do you not think that deserves some reflection?”

His grip tightened. “No. I believe the past is just that. It’s done and now it’s time to concentrate on the present.” Her neck hurt. He had her head positioned so their eyes made contact—his shone—black. Hers weren’t apologetic, but full of fury. She didn’t respond. He continued, “At present I believe you need to concentrate on showing me my wife is first and foremost concerned with pleasing her husband.”

He used his other hand to shut the window between them and Eric. Next, he unzipped the slacks of his tuxedo. Shocked and repulsed, Claire started to protest. She soon found speaking impossible. Holding her neck, he silently directed her head, resting his head on the seat, his fingers entwined in her hair. When Claire tried to push away, Tony seized her hand and twisted it back. He did not release the pressure and movement on her head until he was finished.

As they walked through the lobby of the Trump Tower, Claire did her best to appear composed. Tony placed his arm around her waist and tenderly whispered in her ear, “I have more ways you can demonstrate your devotion, Mrs. Rawlings. We’ll review when we reach our apartment.”

The last thirteen months dissolved into nothingness. She wasn’t Claire Rawlings—wife. She was Claire Nichols—whatever he wanted her to be.

Any idiot can face a crisis, it is day to day living that wears you out.

—Anton Chekhov

Chapter Forty-Three

‡

The silence within the limousine intensified with each mile, as Tony and Claire rode from Bettendorf toward home. The silent auction unofficially raised over a half of a million dollars net. The cost of the event had been less than ten thousand dollars due to Claire’s clever procurement of donated services and goods. The noiselessness of the ride was a stark contrast to the convention center.

Before they left the conference hall, Courtney spoke ecstatically about Claire’s ability. “This turned out so well! I just can’t believe the final figures. Honey, together we are going to raise money for every organization west of the Mississippi.”

Although she felt uneasy regarding her future philanthropic activities, Claire hugged her friend and wore her smile. “Oh goodness, we’ll have to see.”

“Well, enjoy this success for a little while, because I have plans!” Courtney’s enthusiasm was contagious. Claire smiled and nodded her head.

Mrs. Rawlings’ more recent hostess duties aided her efforts. She shrewdly mentioned the auction, both for donations and possible attendance, whenever possible. She found it interesting how Tony’s business associates were willing to participate in one or both when personally approached. The fact that they were in her home, eating her food, and receiving her attention didn’t hinder her efforts. The current president of the Red Cross of the Greater Quad Cities thanked Mrs. Rawlings and Mrs. Simmons profusely.

Many of Tony’s associates, from out of town, attended the event. Claire hadn’t realized when she invited them that this had an additional impact on the Quad Cities. These important people needed places to stay and food to eat while in Bettendorf. According to Courtney, the media estimated their event reaped over a quarter of a million dollars windfall to the Quad Cities. Claire hadn’t seen the coverage. She didn’t like television, and any other form of communication was still forbidden.

As a matter of fact, since the Chicago Symposium, Claire had lost many of her newfound freedoms. She still saw e-mails, but only after responses had been sent. No longer a freedom—they were merely a blatant illustration of what was now prohibited.

During the final preparations of the auction, it was undeniable that Claire and Courtney needed to communicate and see each other; however, contact and endeavors with others had dramatically decreased. Tony decided Claire needed time to decide what was really important to her.

The night in Chicago was reminiscent of her first encounters at the estate. Tony was excessively domineering, controlling, and demanding. Even the sadistic, cruel sexual tendencies, from before her accident, reappeared. Once back at the apartment, Claire tried to reason with him. “Please think about what you’re doing.” It was as if his black eyes couldn’t register her voice. She pleaded, “Tony, remember your promise; I’m your wife. Think about what you’re asking me to do.”

Unaffected, his demands continued, “You are my wife; however, I’m not asking.”

When she awoke the next morning, feeling the too familiar aches from a year before, she dreaded his presence. Lying silently, she listened for his breathing. Relieved, she heard the sound of his shower in the adjoining room. Slowly, she sat up and thought about her options. Up until seeing Simon, things were progressing well. Even in Italy when she broke his rule, he responded with kindness—not cruelty—yet on this morning as she listened to the running water, Claire debated leaving him—the apartment—everything.

 

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She didn’t know how. Where could she possibly go, where he couldn’t find her? She fell back against the soft pillows and allowed herself a few tears. Momentarily, she had difficulty filling her lungs with a sufficient amount of air and remembered her nightmares. This wasn’t a dream or a nightmare—it was her reality. Although she didn’t want to see or talk to him, she recognized the helplessness surging through her veins. Her only way forward was through the man in the next room. Slowly, she eased back the blankets, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the mirror. The steely determination propelling her feet didn’t come from courage—more from a sense of powerless necessity. The reflection before her had been worse—it’d been much worse—yet seeing the red and blue markings made her stomach twist. She reached for her robe and covered the evidence.

Minutes later, Tony stepped into their bedroom. The man before her seemed completely ignorant of the previous night’s events. He casually kissed her cheek and said, “The shower’s all yours”—she just stared. Who is he? He grinned—“I would have stayed longer if, I’d known you were awake.” Later that morning, he helped her prepare to leave Chicago and kindly discussed daily pleasantries.

The incident forced Claire to recognize that she’d deluded herself into believing the other Tony was gone. He wasn’t gone—in fact—he was incredibly close to the surface. That morning she had no idea with whom she was flying or even with whom she shared a home. Every night, she’d wait as her stomach twisted into knots, wondering who would walk through the doorway.

Claire expected the recent events to increase the frequency of her nightmares—surprisingly they diminished. Her theory—her consciousness now shared the stress that only her unconscious had endured.

After the repercussions and some passage of time, she tried to talk to Tony about Simon. He didn’t care or want to hear her perspective. His only notion remained—at a public event she left his side—her husband—to spend time with her ex-lover. To Claire that was a ludicrous observation. Her interpretation went more like—at a public event—to allow Tony the ability to be accessed by fans—she escorted Simon aside and discussed issues with him for a sliver of time. The dissimilar interpretations didn’t have common ground presently or in their future. The subject was closed.

As they rode home from Bettendorf, Claire wondered what Tony thought of the silent auction and what consequences she’d now endure that her presence wasn’t required in a public venue. It wasn’t until they were almost home that Tony finally spoke—taking her from her thoughts. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“The auction was a complete success.”

“Thank you. I’m pleased. Courtney’s happy. I wanted to make you happy, too.”

“And now you don’t?”

“No. I do.” She was sincere.

“I’ve told you before. You continually surprise and amaze me with your abilities.” And, as an afterthought, he added, “Some more than others.”

Claire didn’t react, that was what he wanted. Instead, she sat dejectedly and thought about the date, October 8. Her thoughts went many different directions. She thought about the auction, someone bid seventy thousand dollars for the two-day use of Tony’s plane and pilot. It was a great donation—he’d thought of it. Other donations like stays in resorts, entertainment packages, NBA, and NFL tickets helped in surpassing their goal.

She also remembered they were supposed to be in Malibu the following weekend for Eli and MaryAnn’s party. She’d been looking forward to it since they received the invitation. The Simmons and the Millers were all going. The film was a thriller. Claire knew of the actors, but she mostly looked forward to seeing their home.

Another thought was her family—John’s deadline was less than a month away. She hadn’t spoken to Emily since before Simon. So many other freedoms had disappeared—the idea of talking to her sister seemed preposterous. Claire didn’t have the resolve or strength to follow through on such a request.

Selfishly, she thought about her upcoming twenty-eighth birthday and contemplated the truth of her life. She rode in her limousine, to her estate, with her wealthy, handsome husband. Amused, she decided that was the Vanity Fair version. For the unabridged version—she was secluded in Tony’s limousine—she would prefer to drive her own car—to his house—her prison on multiple occasions—with her husband who was handsome and cruel—sadistic—manipulative—and controlling. Even Tony’s success as a businessman had lost its luster since talking to Simon. Tony ruined lives, futures, and dispensed consequences to make money. Simon had fun and made games. People spent less than two dollars for one of his games—but with enough people—that added up. The reality saddened her. She didn’t know for sure, but predicted there were forty-six people in Pennsylvania without jobs.

Her life wasn’t worse than that of many others. On the contrary, it was better in many ways. She realized injustice was a widespread problem, yet many of the same questions remained: how did she end up here? How had her life’s goals been so radically modified? When she took the time to think about it, none of it made sense.

On October 14, in a Rawlings Industries jet Claire happily flew across the continent with the Simmons, the Millers, and Tony. A week earlier she would’ve considered the likelihood of their California trip occurring improbable; however, she’d spent the last week at home with her devoted husband. Each evening, the man she married returned home from his office.

The stress of his unpredictability was making her insane. Since the auction, he’d been attentive, loving, and caring. With the weather turning cooler—the days shorter—and the stress of the dual Tonys—Claire believed she was teetering literally on the edge of sanity. A strong wind was all it would take to blow her one way or the other. Iowa had its share of storms, strong winds, and tornadoes, they were all unpredictable—it made an ironic parallel for her life.

Courtney remained true to her observant promise. She knew something was askew with Claire and Tony. She didn’t know what. Claire thought the less she knew the better. Tony didn’t understand their connection. Claire tried to facilitate his misconception by complaining about Courtney, “She’s fun, but she talks so much…”

It was a ploy she prayed would work. She really needed Courtney in her life. Their plane touched down in Los Angeles on Friday night. The party was the following evening. During their flight they shared wine, laughed, and shared stories of Eli’s previous parties. Apparently, the sky’s the limit regarding behaviors with the Hollywood scene. Claire waited anxiously to experience it for herself. The Simmons and Millers were dropped off at a five-star hotel while the Rawlings went to their apartment.

The LA housekeeper met them at the door, while a driver took their luggage to their room. Tony explained they would like a light dinner, as soon as possible. Claire wasn’t hungry—her head ached. She only wanted to unpack and go to sleep. Once alone, Tony assumed his alternate persona. “Tomorrow evening we will be in an overtly public arena. It wasn’t long ago when a glitch occurred in a setting such as this.”

 

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She didn’t want to hear him. “Tony, please don’t start this again.” The flight, wine, and aching head contributed to Claire’s irritability. Her insolent retort stunned him momentarily. Recovery didn’t take long. As she carried clothes to the dresser, he seized her arm and turned her to face him.

“Claire, I do not appreciate your flippant attitude. There’ll be many more journalists present than you’ve experienced at one time.”

His grip hurt. She looked directly into his eyes and stood tall, as he glowered over her. “I assure you my attitude is not flippant. It’s just that you are increasingly repetitive. I know the speech and I know—” She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence. It was the first strike since her accident. She remained standing, but temporarily dazed—more by disbelief than pain.

He spoke again, as if he hadn’t just shattered his promise and her security, leaving her house of glass lying in a pile of shards. “You have a responsibility and I expect you to behave appropriately”—he let go of her arm, walked to the suitcase, and pulled out Claire’s hiking boots—“By the way, would you like to know why these are packed?”

Her mind wheeled as he changed subjects—she was having difficulty keeping up. Refusing to cry—she exhaled and took the bait. “Why do I have my hiking boots?”

“As a surprise for your birthday, I made reservations for Sunday and Monday night at the presidential suite of a very exclusive hotel, inside Yosemite. I thought you’d enjoy the Sierra Nevada Mountains and National Park. After last year, I didn’t want to miss celebrating your birthday”—his tone became stern—“however, instead of surprising you like I hoped—our romantic birthday getaway now rests in your hands.”

Claire tried to follow his words—her hands? What did he mean?

“If your memory isn’t failing, if you can remember my concerns and rules, and if you can obey the few requests I’ve made—then we’ll be able to keep the plans for your birthday. If—however—you’re unable to handle your responsibilities, I’ll have no choice but to cancel the reservations, and we’ll concentrate on ways to help facilitate your memory for the future.” He stared at his wife as she sank to the edge of the bed. “What is your choice? You want to be a partner. Tell me what you want to do—go to Yosemite—or go home—and review appropriate behavior?” This was another of those offers you can’t refuse type questions.

God she hated the dance—a blow to the cheek one minute—and discussing a romantic getaway the next. It was the one step forward—two steps back—waltz. She wanted to scream. Sitting on the side of the bed, Claire allowed herself tears and swallowed. Her voice revealed her distress, yet she tried to sound composed. “I’ve never been to Yosemite. I’ve heard it’s beautiful. That sounds like a wonderful birthday.”

Unmoved by her tears, he stood waiting for a response to his question. Seeing her husband’s stare—feeling a too-familiar twinge of panic—Claire realized she hadn’t answered his question. “I’d like to go to Yosemite—I’ll do as you say.”

He moved closer, took her hands, and helped her stand. Their chests touched as she looked up at his still too-dark eyes—she didn’t look away. “Claire, I don’t want to break my promise, but at the risk of sounding repetitive—public failure is not an option.”

“I understand. I’m sorry for making you break your promise. I’ll do better.”

*

That night while lying in bed next to his sleeping wife, Tony remembered a scene from his childhood. It was one of many that shaped so many of his decisions. His grandfather’s booming voice, “Boy, you will not be joining us at dinner this evening.” Surprised, he noticed the absence of his place setting. Anton asked why. His grandfather didn’t speak, but removed a letter from the breast pocket of his jacket and placed it on the table. Anton retrieved the letter and unfolded the page. It was his grades from the last semester of classes. He’d taken seventeen credit hours—a very full load for a freshman. There were five A’s and one B+—in Calculus. That seemed good to him. He remembered still not comprehending his grandfather’s tone. “You plan to succeed in this world, boy?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Then don’t let this happen again—failure has consequences. Perhaps some time alone, eating in your suite, will help you remember perfection is the minimum requirement for success.” His grandfather then turned his eyes away and took a drink of wine.

“Nathaniel, perhaps he did his—” His grandfather’s dark eyes stopped his grandmother’s plea. She looked down at her plate. The subject was closed. Tony looked at his parents—they too were looking down.

He remembered walking out of that dining room vowing to make Nathaniel proud—it wasn’t easy, but today he believed he’d seized opportunities and created others. If his grandfather were alive—which he should be—Tony believed he would be proud.

*

The following morning, Tony left the apartment early to golf with friends. During her morning shower, Claire noticed tenderness on her right arm. While drying, she saw a large purple hand print. Claire’s concern wasn’t that she endured her husband’s wrath—it was that the physical evidence would be visible. She felt relieved to find Catherine had packed blouses with sleeves. She rationalized if the purple bruise was seen it would break multiple rules—appearances and private information. Most importantly—Tony wouldn’t be happy. Thinking ahead, Claire checked her party dress—sleeveless.

Once the ladies were all together, Claire summoned her brightest smile and asked, “So is anyone up for a little shopping on Rodeo Drive? I think a new dress for the party is in order!” It didn’t take much convincing to entice the others to join her on three blocks of the most famous and expensive shopping in America. Apparently, her mask wasn’t without cracks. Courtney tried on multiple occasions to isolate Claire and ask her what was happening. She said she felt something amiss.

Claire smiled brightly and looked her friend in the eye. “It’s just newlywed stuff. We’re both new at this marriage thing. We’re working on it.” Sensing Courtney’s disbelief, Claire continued, “Really, everything is fine.”

Tony mentioned Claire’s shopping talents had improved, he was right. She found two dresses that her friends adored, one from Armani and the other Gucci from Saks. Of course, each needed shoes and a bag. She reasoned—that two would allow Tony to make the final decision. Claire laid the dresses on the bed, with their shoes and handbags, and enthusiastically asked Tony which one he wanted her to wear. He liked that she shopped with her friends. The reason was never questioned; however, a decision would be difficult without a fashion show. Claire obliged. Tony chose the Gucci deep-blue long-sleeved classic wrap dress. He particularly liked the ease at which it unwrapped.

The six of them arrived at the party to a crowd of celebrities and press. Claire stayed by her husband’s side, as they chatted with people she’d only seen on screen. She was surprised how normal they seemed. Perhaps a few were boorish or narcissistic, but as a whole they were unpretentious and humble and treated Tony with respect. Claire didn’t realize until listening to his conversations that he also capitalized in forms of entertainment: television stations, news stations, and movie studios. This connection was the impetus for his friendship with Eli. She’d thought they made unlikely friends.

 

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Now it made sense.

Claire hadn’t anticipated the grandeur of Eli and MaryAnn’s home. Bev’s design house had been instrumental in the decor. Every inch screamed California—open spaces—stunning views—clean lines—and affluence. Being built into a cliff with a spectacular ocean view, Claire wondered if they ever worried about earthquakes—she decided not to ask.

Aside from a few excursions with Courtney or MaryAnn, who was determined to introduce her to the Hollywood A crowd, Claire stayed dutifully at Tony’s elbow. He amiably included her in his conversations and introduced her to everyone. Anthony Rawlings and his bride—how cute they were—still honeymooners and inseparable—it was the talk of the party.

Following a Sunday brunch with their friends, Tony and Claire flew to Fresno. He had arranged for a rental car—she wondered how many people rented cars valued at over 100 thousand dollars. He said it wasn’t quite the Maserati Gran Turismo, but he liked driving the Corvette ZR1. The man who delivered it, claimed it could go from 0 to 100 mph in seven seconds. Claire said, “Seriously, I believe him. We don’t need to test it.”

Yosemite was as beautiful as she’d heard. The famous stone mountains, waterfalls, lakes, and giant sequoias thrilled her. Her love of nature overpowered her recent unsettled sentiment toward her husband. With the stunning surroundings and his amorous temperament, she could forget his other persona, or at least, she could compartmentalize it away—and focus on this Tony.

On her birthday, after climbing a steep trail to the base of Nevada Falls, Tony surprised Claire with a picnic lunch he’d hidden in a backpack—complete with blanket and bottle of wine. She wanted to hate him, his behavior and rules—at times she could, but other times—he could be so romantic—tender—and affectionate.

After they ate, he handed her a burgundy velvet box, and cooed, “Happy birthday, Claire”—displaying his devilish grin, he added—“I remembered no black velvet boxes.”

She shook her head—thinking damn, he’s good. She accepted the box and opened it, to discover a stunning pair of diamond stud earrings. She had a fleeting memory of earrings long ago—ones her parents had given her for her high school graduation. They weren’t near as big or impressive. Momentarily, she wondered where they were.

“Thank you, Tony, they’re amazing.” Her words were sincere and appreciative. The diamonds glistened in the rays of sunlight and truly were the prettiest diamond earrings she’d ever seen. The only prettier diamond would be the one on her left hand.

Tony tenderly kissed her. “Happy birthday, love, I’m glad we’re here.”

She nodded—so was she.

On Tuesday afternoon, Eric waited for them in Fresno with Tony’s jet. They arrived home late Tuesday night. The time difference worked better traveling west.

Although the clock read after 10:00 PM, Claire decided to press her luck. “Tony, I’ve had a wonderful birthday. Yosemite was beautiful and my earrings are stunning”—she was wearing the earrings, her journey necklace, and her new diamond watch from Europe—“I have one more birthday request.”

He hugged her close. “And that would be?”

The past few days had been good. She momentarily hesitated, but decided to proceed. “I’d like to talk to my sister.” She looked up into his eyes, what color were they?

He sighed. “Let’s go to the office and call before I change my mind.”

She lifted herself on her toes and kissed him. “Thank you.” She was barely able to contain her excitement at the ability to call. The fact it was on speaker was expected. When Emily answered, she sounded sleepy. Claire apologized, told her she had just gotten home from out of town, and wanted to call—Emily quickly recovered. They chatted for nearly fifteen minutes before Claire realized her time had expired. Of course, Claire apologized for not calling sooner—things were so busy with the auction. She told Emily about the Hollywood party and about Tony’s surprise birthday trip.

Emily thanked them for the donation to the school district. It’d been made anonymously, but she guessed it was from them. She also told Claire she was worried about John. As the deadline approached he spent too much time at the office. He was currently there even though it was after 11:00 PM. He would probably be gone before Emily woke in the morning. Apparently, some auditor reviewed their information: their hours worked, hours billed, fees recovered, etc. John hadn’t disclosed everything to Emily, but she had a bad feeling. Something didn’t feel right. She promised to keep Claire informed if she got the chance to talk to her. Claire told her she would try. She said goodbye and Tony hit disconnect.

Hugging her husband she whispered, “It’s been a great birthday. I might not be as tired as I thought.” Both of their smiles were genuine.

Perspective is the most important thing to have in life.

—Lauren Graham

Chapter Forty-Four

‡

Claire once again had a voice in her e-mails—of course a voice was only one part of the equation. Presentation was also a crucial component. In preparation for her oration, she straightened her three stacks of papers. The first one was her Patricia respond pile—responses that didn’t require a personal touch—rarely was this pile even discussed. The second pile, the one she’d mentally labeled—Ask Tony—was the one which usually dominated their discussion. Often, those were her only two stacks—some days she didn’t feel there were any requests that warranted the stress of the second pile—and then other days—Claire felt the need to include a third category—Correspondence. Most often, this was her written response to someone’s correspondence, but on occasion—like today—it was an unsolicited outgoing e-mail. Sometimes her messages were sent as she wrote them—other times they made changes. It was all part of the intricate deliberation and negotiation.

Today’s unsolicited e-mail was to Emily and had been written and rewritten about six times. Pacing around the suite, Claire wondered if she worded it well and—and more importantly—if Tony would allow it to be sent.

John’s deadline had been November 1. Today was the November 4, and Claire still hadn’t heard from her sister. Claire was hopeful that the message she’d prepared could be sent; after all, Tony was the one who suggested she call Emily on the November 1. Of course, she jumped at the chance—but no one answered. When she didn’t get an answer on November 2 or 3, Claire couldn’t help worry.

With Claire’s revelation that her subconscious and conscious were sharing the same concerns, and her newfound time around the house, Claire continually practiced self-therapy sessions. She entertained the idea that her concern about John was in actuality a defense mechanism—a way for her to think about someone’s situation besides herself. Truly, she didn’t worry about herself—she was mostly concerned about the man she’d married. The loving persona was back in many ways—complimentary, caring, and compassionate. Control continued to be an issue. He expected obedience and submission—as long as she complied—no consequences occurred. She spent endless hours spinning that into a positive paradigm. If it were truly positive, would it require hours of spinning?

Having little else to do, she dressed for dinner and read a book while awaiting Tony’s arrival. As usual, he was expected home at 7:00 PM; however, unexpectedly he entered her suite about 5:30 PM. When she looked up from her book and smiled, Claire immediately recognized something amiss in his expression. Her heart raced as she wondered, what have I done?

 

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He didn’t speak, put some papers on the sofa, and knelt before her. The papers reminded her of Meredith’s interview, but she could sense he wasn’t enraged—distressed would be a better assessment. “Tony, what is it?” As he lowered his head to her lap, Claire thought he appeared as shaken as she’d ever seen him. Lifting his face, she asked, “Seriously, Tony, you’re scaring me. What’s the matter?”

“I came home as soon as I saw the news release. I knew you’d want to know. You probably don’t believe me—but I am sorry.”

Claire looked into his eyes and saw sincerity. With trembling hands she reached for the papers. She had no idea what she was about to read, but it didn’t take a psychic to know it was bad—

TRAGIC ACCIDENT CLAIMS LIFE OF YOUNG GAMING PHENOMENON

Simon Johnson, 28, of Palo Alto, California died Wednesday, November 3, 2011, after a tragic accident.

Claire put the papers down and ran to the bathroom—suddenly ill. She hadn’t seen Simon in eight years, hadn’t consciously thought of him—now he was gone.

The vomiting caused her to tremble. Once she was done, she turned to see Tony standing in the doorway—watching his wife. She didn’t know how he’d respond to her reaction, but she assumed he’d think it was inappropriate. Suddenly, Claire didn’t care. Dejectedly, she sank to the floor and surrendered to whatever was coming her way. Her tears pooled as the cool tile soothed her pounding head. Though she heard Tony’s approaching footsteps, Claire knew she was too weak to defend herself. She closed her eyes and waited for his booming voice.

It didn’t come—instead, Tony silently knelt beside her, helped her stand, and tenderly carried her back to the suite. When he laid her on the sofa, he sat and placed her head in his lap. For the longest time, they didn’t talk. He stroked her hair as she cried. She cried for Simon—not a lost love—she was married to someone else. Claire cried for a life lost too young. The article said he was twenty-eight—she was twenty-eight. Wasn’t that was too young to die?

Finally, she managed to ask, “How did he die?”

“The article said his plane went down in a remote area over the mountains”—her sobs resumed—“The authorities found the crash site, no survivors. It came across my news feed, and I rushed home.”

Claire regained enough composure to sit. Looking to her husband, Claire tried to explain, “He was a friend. I’m not upset because a longtime ago, he and I were involved—he was just too young to die.”

Tenderly hugging her, Tony said, “I really understand. I overreacted before.” He gently moved her hair away from her face. “The article said he was recently engaged.” That news restarted Claire’s tears—she wanted him to be married and loved by someone.

When she calmed, Tony brought her tissues, and she read the rest of the news release:

Officials found the crash site of Mr. Johnson’s personal aircraft in the upper elevations of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range. Mr. Johnson’s flight plan indicated he was on his way home to Palo Alto after a meeting with investors in the Los Angeles area. Mr. Simon Johnson, self-made millionaire, was best known for his gaming creations. His creative start occurred with Shedis-tics, a Rawlings Industries subsidiary in Northern California. Mr. Johnson began his own gaming company, Si-Jo, in 2005. Mr. Johnson, originally from Indiana, was scheduled to wed Ms. Amber McCoy of Palo Alto, California, on April 21, 2012. Information regarding services has yet to be released by family.

Claire put down the pages and laid her head on Tony’s chest. He put his arms around her as she drifted between sobbing, crying, and dreaming. When she awoke, her head pounded, and her eyes felt swollen and tender. Tony was still there, holding her. She got up and went to the bathroom, washed her face, and came back out. “I think I’m done. Thank you for being so understanding.”

He motioned for her to return to the sofa. When she did, he put his arm around her. “Did you know he worked for one of my companies?”

“He told me that in Chicago—saying how strange fate can be. He said he wanted to thank you for the great start.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t have the chance.”

Tony didn’t respond. What could he say?

The next day, Tony worked from home and Claire rested on the sun porch, feeling her emotions teetering between sad and empty. Despite the recent drop in temperature, merciful sunshine made the porch comfortable. The trees were once again bare and the grass had resumed its winter gray cast. Claire thought the entire situation seemed unreal and wondered about Amber McCoy and Simon’s parents. She couldn’t imagine what they were going through.

Hoping the sunlight would improve her mood; Claire lay on the loveseat and contemplated life and death. Death seemed peaceful and predictable. She was pondering similar thoughts—thoughts she hadn’t entertained in over a year—when Tony found her staring into space. His tone was sympathetic and tender, “Claire, there’s a private memorial for Simon on Sunday, in Madison, Indiana.”

Claire turned to her husband. Her make-up was done and her hair styled, nevertheless, her eyelids were swollen and her eyes were distant. “Okay”—she contemplated his statement and weighed her response—“We should send flowers.”

“No—we should attend.”

Claire sat up. “No! We shouldn’t”—tears once again threatened—“Tony, I haven’t been to a funeral since my parents died. I can’t go to Simon’s.”

For the second time in two days Anthony Rawlings knelt before his wife. His tone was incredibly sweet and supportive. “I have his parents’ number. I really think you should call—I’m not telling you to—I’m saying it would be a good idea. The service is private. If they invite you or us—we should attend.”

Claire shook her head. Speaking without crying wasn’t an option. He handed her the telephone number, kissed her gently, and went back to his office.

It may have been half an hour—it may have been three hours—time had temporarily lost its meaning. Eventually, Claire knocked on Tony’s office door. Together they made the call. The person who answered her call hesitated before putting Mrs. Johnson on the line. “This is a difficult time. May I ask who’s calling?”

“My name is Claire—Claire Rawlings.” She remembered Simon had a younger sister and wondered if she was who was speaking. The voice asked her to hold. Soon Simon’s mother was on the line. Claire began, “Mrs. Johnson, I’m not sure if you remember me.”

“Of course I remember you. Thank you for calling.”

Claire offered their condolences. Although Claire had prayed Mrs. Johnson wouldn’t extend an invitation to the memorial service—she did invite both of them. Before the conversation ended, Mrs. Johnson added, “Simon and I were very close. I know how much you meant to him. If possible, could you and Mr. Rawlings arrive early?”

Claire looked at Tony, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Claire replied, “If you’d like us to—we will.”

“Thank you, the service will begin at 2:00 PM, but the family is having a private viewing at noon. I’d appreciate it if you and Mr. Rawlings could arrive at 1:00 PM.”

Claire said they would and Tony disconnected the line.

 

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The flight to Louisville, Kentucky was quiet. Being incredibly supportive—Tony didn’t work—read his laptop—or do anything—that wasn’t focused on Claire. His excessive attention added to her discomfort. Once they arrived in Louisville, a driver took them to Madison, a small quaint town on the Ohio River. It was Claire’s first visit to Indiana in years.

The funeral home resembled a colonial mansion—brick with large white pillars. Arriving early, they sat in the car and waited. Claire knew she was fidgeting—she couldn’t help it—the entire scenario was unnerving. Finally, Tony grabbed her hand and squeezed. Claire exhaled and looked at her husband. Astounded by his sensitivity—considering this was Simon—she vocalized her thoughts. Her words came unfiltered; she didn’t have the energy to consider the possible ramifications. “Why are you being so supportive?”

“Because I wasn’t able to support you when your parents died.”

Her mind spun. “What? I don’t understand.”

He held her hands. “Claire, you had to go through your parents’ deaths alone. Emily had John, but you didn’t have anyone. You said you haven’t been to a funeral since then. I couldn’t comfort you then, please let me do it now.”

She did. Not because he wanted her to—but because she needed him to. She needed the feeling of love and support he described and melted into Tony’s embrace. When the time came, they walked into the funeral home hand in hand.

Claire recognized Mrs. Johnson immediately, a lovely blond-haired woman with Simon’s big blue eyes. Realistically, she wasn’t much older than Tony. Claire tried to act resolved, but her emotions were too fresh—too near the surface. The two women embraced and wept. Mrs. Johnson then directed them to a private room, where they were joined by Simon’s father, sister, and another woman. Claire assumed the slender pretty brunette with brown puffy eyes was Amber McCoy.

Being incredibly resilient, Mrs. Johnson asked them to sit. Once they did, she spoke, “Thank you for coming today, Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings, I know Simon would be pleased.”

They both acknowledged her with pleasantries. Claire immediately added, “Please, call me Claire.”

“Claire, Simon told me he spoke with you a few months ago. I asked you here early, because I wanted to let you know how important that was for him”—she reached for Claire’s hand. Claire nodded as Mrs. Johnson continued—“You had no way of knowing how much and how long he’d pined for you. There was a time he believed if he left you alone—until you achieved your career goal—you would be ready to see him again, but seeing you—talking to you—and learning that you weren’t what they say”—she hesitated—“well, just learning you are still the Claire he remembered—and most importantly—that you’re happy”—Mrs. Johnson smiled at Tony—“he was finally able to move on.”

Claire listened, both with concern for Simon’s mother and Tony.

Mrs. Johnson motioned toward the slender brunette. “This is Amber. She and Simon were recently engaged.”

Claire and Tony both said hello.

Simon’s mother continued, “Simon loved Amber very much, but he had to let you go. I want you to know, you’ll always be special to our family because our son loved you”—Claire’s chest heaved as she silently wept. Tony comforted her—“You had no way of knowing his feelings—he never conveyed them. Don’t ever think we have ill feelings toward you. How could anyone hold something against someone, when they didn’t even know it was happening?”—once again, she squeezed Claire’s hands—“I just thought you should know the importance of your short talk. He walked away knowing you were happily married, and knowing he could move on. Thank you.”

Claire tried to smile. “I’m thankful we had the opportunity to talk.” For the first time since her consequences—she truly was.

Then, Mrs. Johnson addressed Tony, “Mr. Rawlings, God is so funny.”

Tony replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“Mr. Rawlings, if there was one man my son idealized—besides his father—it was you”—Tony’s eyes reflected the appreciation she sent his way—“He received his start, at his dream job, in one of your companies. When he first started working for Shedis-tics, you made a few visits to their office. You probably don’t remember, but on one occasion you spoke to Simon about one of his projects. He talked about it for months. He aspired to be like you. Now you and Claire are happily married. I just think God has a sense of humor”—she looked lovingly at both of them, introduced them to the rest of the family, and added—“Please sit toward the front—it would mean a lot to Simon—and it means a lot to me.”

They did.

Throughout the memorial, Tony held Claire’s hand. Later when she tried, she couldn’t remember the service. Between Mrs. Johnson’s words and memories of her parents’ funeral, her energy went to appearing composed—fighting the pounding in her head—and not fainting.

On the flight home, Claire thought about Mrs. Johnson’s words—Simon aspired to be Tony. She thought about her assessment of Tony—he ruined lives with his business decisions—he wanted complete control over everyone and everything—and he could be incredibly cruel. She wondered if perhaps there wasn’t more to her husband; maybe there was a part of him she hadn’t been seeing. If Simon aspired to be Tony—maybe there was something to aspire to.

With her head on his lap, she looked up at his face and recognized his expression—she knew he had thoughts in a million different places. She watched his strong jaw—clench and unclench—his dark brown eyes—furrowed brow—and perfectly combed hair—

Perhaps Tony helped lives—too. After all, Mrs. Johnson believed he did. Maybe Claire needed a different perspective. Grandma Nichols once said, “Sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees.” Could she be too close? She knew Tony—intimately knew his flaws. Was he a different man from a distance? The voices in her head debated—other people thought that Tony was a kind, wonderful, and generous—a benevolent businessman. Claire knew he was capable of being loving, tender, sensual, and lavish. She also knew a side of him that didn’t fit either description. Looking up, she saw her husband absently staring into space, as he continued to stroke her blonde hair. Claire appreciated his efforts over the last few days—he was trying. She exhaled deeply and closed her eyes.

*

Tony remembered Claire’s expression during the funeral—so overwhelmed with grief—the kind of emotion that was only visible with the loss of someone you dearly loved. Of course, she had lost two someones.

In his mind, he saw the church overflowing with people. Even though Officer Jordon Nichols’ death had not been in the line of duty—he received full police honors. There were uniformed police everywhere. Apparently, Shirley Nichols was also well loved and had many bereaved friends and students. Blending into the crowd wasn’t difficult. Now as Tony stroked Claire’s silky hair, he realized that was the day his plan had taken a turn. Originally, he had different designs—but watching Claire flanked by her sister—Tony knew he needed to know her; actually—reminiscing—he knew, before then, that he didn’t want anyone else knowing her.

 

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The internship was an easy ploy to rid her of Simon. Watching the sadness from Claire and Simon Johnson’s family, there was a part of Tony which hated what happened, but it was Simon’s fault. He should have just left Claire alone—but no. His actions in Chicago resulted in the consequences today in Madison.

Tony beheld his wife’s sleeping face on his leg. That day—so many years ago—she’d been all alone. Today, he did what he wanted to do then—it was him—not Emily and—not John. Claire needed him. This wasn’t an occasion for smiles, but knowing she was asleep—he grinned.

*

As they landed in Iowa, Tony gently woke his wife. It was only 6:00 PM, but the sky was dark and spitting snow. They hurried from the plane to the warm waiting car. Once they were within the warm confines of the BMW, Tony asked Claire a question, “Where would you like to go for our anniversary?”

Obediently, she replied, “Some place sunny and warm.” The desire she didn’t say aloud was—alone.

Anyone can give up. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that’s true strength.

—Unknown

Chapter Forty-Five

‡

November fluctuates between autumn and winter. Technically, winter doesn’t begin until after the winter solstice, but as it approaches, the days dramatically decrease in length and the darkness increases. Some days in November include brilliant blue skies and crisp, intense sunshine. The contrast and fluctuations in weather and life created the unpredictable pressures defining Claire’s existence. She stressed when Tony was good because she knew it may not last. She worried when he was bad because she knew how bad he could be.

During a private girls’ lunch, Courtney approached the subject again. Since the completion of the silent auction, the frequency of their lunch dates had decreased. Claire desperately missed them. Therefore, following Simon’s memorial, she was elated to receive another invitation accompanied by Tony’s eagerness for her to accept. He said, “I think you need some fun.” She couldn’t have agreed more.

The two ladies spent the afternoon in Bettendorf eating, shopping, walking, and talking. Courtney knew about Simon. She knew an old friend of Claire’s had approached her at one of Tony’s speaking events and that Tony wasn’t pleased. She didn’t know the entire story. She also knew about Simon’s sudden death and Tony’s remarkable support.

Courtney made Claire laugh—and in Claire’s precarious state of mental health—that was monumental. Courtney talked about the impending holidays. She expectantly waited for her children to return home from their points of interest and settle in for holiday celebrations. Claire liked the Simmons children—who weren’t really children. They were in their twenties—one still in graduate school—the other beginning a career as an investment banker in St. Louis. Neither was married, but their son Caleb had a steady girlfriend. Courtney liked her and hoped Caleb would propose soon. She and Brent wanted to be grandparents. It seemed strange to Claire that she was only two years older than Caleb and yet, Courtney was her best friend.

Another exciting topic for Courtney was her impending trip. It seemed that Tony finally recognized Brent’s hard work and awarded him a substantial Christmas bonus. He told Brent before the holidays so Brent could plan a nice surprise for Courtney; however, Brent didn’t want to risk Courtney’s disapproval, so he included her in the planning from the beginning. They were to going to go to Fiji—a trip similar to Tony and Claire’s honeymoon. Refusing to miss Christmas with their children, Brent and Courtney weren’t leaving until after the first of the year. Courtney asked Claire a lot of questions about Fiji. Courtney’s excitement was contagious—Claire told Courtney everything she could remember—mostly the destination equaled paradise and don’t worry about packing too many clothes—they didn’t seem to stay on in paradise.

Courtney understood Claire’s privacy issues. Most of their confidential discussions occurred while walking or driving. Claire couldn’t risk someone overhearing. “Honey, I’m really worried about you. I know losing a friend is hard, but it just seems like you have been going down since before Simon’s death.”

Claire didn’t even try to act fine. “I just don’t know. I feel empty and tired all the time.”

“If there is anything I can do for you”—she squeezed Claire’s hand—“I’ll do it.”

“I think afternoons like this are the best medicine.”

Courtney agreed laughter would help—so they laughed. They walked in shops—read funny cards and plaques—and had fun.

When Claire returned to the estate that night, she felt lighter. She tried with all her might to continue the feeling into her home and her suite. The fact Tony tried to help, wasn’t lost on Claire. He immediately showed her an e-mail from Emily and volunteered, “She wants you to call early—before John gets home. I think you should call before dinner.”

Together, they went to Tony’s office and Claire tried again—she’d been trying to reach Emily since the first of November. It had been nearly two weeks. This time Emily answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

Talking on the speaker phone, Claire replied, “Hi, Emily, it’s Claire. We’ve been worried. Is everything all right?”

“I don’t think so. I asked you to call early so I could talk before John came home.”

“I was out with Courtney today. I called as soon as I got your e-mail.” That was all true.

“John isn’t home yet. Is Anthony there?”

Claire hesitated, should she lie or be truthful? “He is. Do you want to talk to him?”

“I don’t know, maybe he can help.” Tony looked at Claire and raised his eyebrows.

Claire offered, “I could put you on speaker phone—so he can hear too.”

Emily said that would be a good idea. Tony pushed a button to create an audible change and said hello. When Emily said hello, they heard her voice crack.

Claire enquired, “Emily, what’s wrong?”

“You know the deadline for partnership decisions was the first?” Claire said she did, Tony acknowledged her audibly too. “Well, it’s been extended,” Emily added.

Claire broke in—always the optimist, “So, that’s not necessarily bad, they’re still undecided.”

“But now the auditor, the person verifying all the accounting information, is questioning John—a lot. John has been asked to verify everything. He’s rummaging through old records and spending hour after hour documenting and authenticating his previous work”—Claire and Tony were engaged in concerned eye contact.

Tony responded first, “Emily, I’m sure it’s some kind of formality—John works for a very prestigious firm. They just want every T crossed and every I dotted.”

“Anthony, I hope you’re right”—they could hear her sniffles—“He pretends to be unconcerned, but I can tell that isn’t the case.”

Claire offered, “He’s probably sick of the controlling procedure and stress”—she could relate—trying to rationalize and validate every move you make can become tiresome.

“I believe he’s offended. Claire, you know John. He’d never do anything that wasn’t completely honest and honorable.”

 

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Claire debated her response. She feared adding to John’s fan club. Nevertheless, before she could formulate her answer, Tony replied, “We did our research prior to offering John a job. I know he’s one of the most honest and honorable attorneys anywhere.”

Claire scanned her husband’s expression. She only saw sincerity. She added, “I second that—Em. It’ll be okay. Let them scrutinize John’s records, there’s nothing dishonest or deceitful to discover.”

“Thank you—really—both of you. John didn’t want me telling you. That’s why I haven’t answered your calls, but I really wanted you to know.”

Claire felt her internal time clock ticking. “Emily, please keep us posted—”

Tony interrupted, “If I can be of any assistance—perhaps we can get together for Thanksgiving again this year”—Claire watched her husband with astonishment as he continue speaking—“We could meet in New York City or, maybe closer to Troy, if that’d be easier for you.”

Emily thanked them both—she’d think about Thanksgiving. She appreciated Anthony’s offer of help. It was nice to just talk with them. “I promise to keep you updated. I better go in case John gets home soon. Thank you.”

They hung up.

Claire had been upset with Tony for almost two months. She despised him for his reaction in Chicago. His behavior that night had repulsed her. She detested the way he treated her in California. On some level, she even loathed the fact Simon idolized him, yet he had tried on numerous occasions to make amends. Only superficially had she accepted his pleas. Those shallow recognitions were mainly a form of self-preservation, a ploy to pacify him, but at that moment—as he disconnected the line—she overwhelmingly, without reservation, appreciated and cherished her husband.

The realization almost immobilized her. Every ounce of her being had been opposed to him—similar to like ends of magnets. Her self-therapy suddenly realized that all of her energy had been consumed continually fighting the repulsion and forcing herself to be near him. No wonder she was so drained; however, as he hung up the phone—her magnet flipped—suddenly—instead of repulsion—she felt attraction. The relief engulfed her and her mask evaporated; Claire’s expression became sincere. “Thank you, Tony.” She went to him and hugged him.

He seemed to recognize the difference in her touch as he looked down into her green eyes, and said, “I need to keep working.”

She didn’t understand—thinking he was saying he had work to do. She pushed away to let him continue his business, when he gently pulled her back into his embrace. Claire looked up into his soft brown eyes, as he said, “No, Claire, I need to keep working to be a man you’re proud to call your husband.”

Claire buried her face in his chest. Without a doubt, there would be mascara on his very expensive suit. He lifted her chin. “I need to work to be the man Mrs. Johnson thinks I am.”

Later that night, they laughed, cuddled, and talked. Their interaction hadn’t been playful for months. Claire was giddy from the release of tension and stress. For the first time in ages, her head didn’t pound. She wasn’t worried about John; he was beyond reproach. Everything there would resolve itself. The looming question had been here. Unexpectedly, she believed it too had been resolved. Realistically, the resolution wouldn’t be permanent, but she would enjoy the reprieve.

Emily e-mailed them the following week, declining Tony’s Thanksgiving invitation. She sincerely appreciated his offer, but John barely took time to eat. He worked continually to rectify the inquiry.

Tony saw Claire’s disappointment and offered a trip anywhere for the holiday. Claire decided she’d rather stay home and celebrate an old-fashioned Thanksgiving with her husband. She wanted to cook him a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. He looked concerned, but agreed with one stipulation—she would allow him to plan a getaway for their anniversary and Christmas. Claire agreed.

Giving the entire staff the day off, they lived through Thanksgiving dinner and even survived the carbohydrate overdose. Claire cooked turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, yams, yeast rolls, pumpkin pie, and vegetables. Tony obligingly ate some of everything, saying he liked it all; however, the exorbitant amount of calories contained within the meal far exceeded their usual diet. They both feared they would explode before the pumpkin pie with whipped cream was served.

Although she enjoyed cooking, Claire forgot how much she disliked cleaning. Tony encouraged her to leave it—the staff would take care of it the next day. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Claire heard her mother and grandmother—leaving the mess for someone else, was unacceptable. Claire told Tony to watch football, and she’d take care of the kitchen. To Claire’s surprise, Mr. Anthony Rawlings joined his wife in their kitchen and scrubbed pans, counters, and stove tops. Watching him, Claire decided—he was even sexier washing dishes than he was in blue jeans.

After Thanksgiving, the house burst with Christmas decorations. Catherine told Claire that prior to her presence there hadn’t been any decorations. Claire found that hard to believe. She hadn’t asked for them; nevertheless, she did enjoy them.

This year’s display wasn’t as extravagant as it had been for the wedding—but it was festive. It was the perfect setting as they entertained friends and some of Tony’s business associates. Claire was happy to open the house for others to see its merry charm.

On the Saturday before their anniversary, they boarded Tony’s plane, and flew west. This time Hawaii was their destination. On their trip to Fiji, Tony had promised Claire the opportunity to enjoy the Hawaiian Islands. Being a man of his word, they had a ten day trip planned. Reminiscent of their honeymoon, they stopped in Los Angeles to refuel and continued another six hours to the island of Oahu, landing in Honolulu.

The difference with this trip was Claire knew her journey’s end. She understood that when they landed in Honolulu they needed to board an inter-island flight to take them to the island of Lanai. It was a romantic getaway—not as secluded as their private island in Fiji—but an island paradise nonetheless. Tony had asked Claire what she wanted—she’d said sunshine and warmth—Tony delivered.

Claire hadn’t told Tony—or anyone—that she wanted to go alone. Nevertheless, Lanai was as secluded as you could get, and Claire was happy to be alone—with her husband.

This time they had an exquisitely spectacular suite in a resort, complete the panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean. Without a doubt, Claire’s favorite amenity in Hawaii was their large private lanai which included a cabana bed, an intimate dining table, and lounge chairs. Tony explained that they’d have the suite for the entire stay, but they would also spend a few nights on other islands.

Since Tony now understood that Claire enjoyed sightseeing, he planned excursions for Kauai, Oahu, and the Big Island. Kauai’s spectacular cliffs, canyons, rainforests, and picturesque beaches took them two days and one night of exploration. Claire treasured being on Lumahai Beach, the place where South Pacific was filmed. In her mind, she could see Mary Martin singing. Tony also arranged a private sea tour. They saw spinner dolphins, monk seals, green sea turtles, as well as natural wonders, the Na Pai Coast, open ceiling cave, and Honopu Valley Arch.

 

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The day they spent on Oahu, they arrived early on an inter-island plane, rented a car, and Tony drove them around the island. They reverently visited Pearl Harbor—walking hand in hand and reading plaques and names. Tony drove them up Pali Highway through trees and dense forest vegetation until the city below disappeared, and they found themselves in the clouds. It was Nuuanu Pali Outlook. They could see the Koolau Cliffs, amazingly lush coastline, and mountain peaks all from the stone terrace one thousand feet above the Oahu coast. The view was spectacular.

That evening, they returned to Lanai for more private and sensual explorations. Neither of them moved fast or needy. Instead, they both were thorough, sensual, and loving. The sea breeze and sound of the surf provided the ultimate aphrodisiac, and their lovemaking went on and on.

On the Big Island they enjoyed a two-hour helicopter tour of Volcano Park. This was a first-time experience for both of them, and they found the process of creation and destruction thrilling. Claire couldn’t help remembering the volcano on Mount Etna in Sicily, also active. In one year she had witnessed two active volcanoes erupting violently, yet without peril. Something told her she was pushing her luck. The pilot explained to them that Pele, the Volcano Goddess who lives in the volcano, was very unpredictable. It could continue to erupt for another one hundred years or it could quit tomorrow. Claire nodded her head; she understood unpredictability.

After the helicopter tour, they spent a few hours hiking trails which took them directly into volcanic craters, scalded deserts and rainforest, and a petroglyph. She had read about them, but to be in a volcanic tube exhilarated her. Another Big Island activity Tony insisted they complete was to walk on the Black Sand Beach. Claire didn’t think she would like black sand, sand, after all, is supposed to be white, but it was unusual and magnificent. Removing their shoes, Claire felt the warmth of the black sand under her feet. She’d expected it to be hot. Actually, she’d experienced hotter white sand in Florida, another unpredictable conclusion.

Christmas day they spent on Lanai in their suite. Claire was prepared for the holiday this year. She had a gift for Tony, an exquisite d. Freemont Swiss watch which she’d purchased on Rodeo Drive in October. If he’d seen the bill—he hadn’t said a thing. On Christmas morning, he acted surprised and delighted—Claire knew how he appreciated punctuality.

Also planning ahead, Tony had a gift for Claire; however, his gift wasn’t as extravagant. Actually, it was very basic and left her speechless. He placed his surprise in a slightly larger black velvet box, the kind that might contain a necklace. At first, she thought he forgot her comment about black velvet boxes, but his grin told her otherwise. Slyly he said, “It isn’t jewelry, so I thought I could use a black box, but if you don’t want it—” He started to pull the box away.

Smiling, she replied, “No, I want it.” She grabbed the box—her curiosity getting the better of her. She lifted the lid to reveal a basic calling and texting only—cellular telephone. In times past, she’d opened velvet boxes to lavish diamonds and gold which hadn’t moved her like this inexpensive cellular phone.

With her emerald eyes glistening, Tony decided the accompanying lecture could wait.

Claire felt like she received the milestone of liberties. It was a wonderful Christmas. That night, lying on the cabana bed under the stars, they listened to the sound of waves in the distance. Completely relaxed, spooning in front of her husband, Claire’s mind went back to a snowy afternoon in Tony’s suite. That afternoon she’d made requests. She’d also made a request as they lay upon a rug in Lake Tahoe. Tonight, she realized, they’d all been granted. As her mind started to slip into sleep, she heard Tony say, “Merry Christmas, my love”—she hugged his strong arms—“What are you thinking?”

Claire turned to face him. “I was thinking that I have everything—everything I asked for. Thank you”—she kissed his lips—“I love you.” They drifted off to sleep.

They arrived back to Iowa on December 28 where snow blanketed the estate and the decorations glistened. Tony had a meeting in Chicago on December 29. Worn-out from their trip, Claire decided to stay home. She told Tony she’d try to appreciate the Midwest winter until he returned.

Sometimes it’s the smallest decisions that can change your life forever.

—Keri Russell

Chapter Forty-Six

‡

Tony’s lecture regarding his gift came on the plane ride home. It started as operational instructions, which Claire considered this futile; she’d received her first cell phone in middle school and knew how to dial a number, answer a call, send a text message, and receive one. Nevertheless, his lessons did contain useful information—her telephone was linked to his computer and iPhone. If she received a call or text—he received a notification. If she sent a text or made a call—he received a notification. He even had an application allowing him to access telephone numbers and the entire content of text messages. Claire told herself—compartmentalize—she had a cell phone.

He instructed her to only answer calls from numbers programmed into her phone with an asterisk. Examples—*Tony Cellular—*Home Private—and *Eric. There were other numbers programmed into her phone—Emily cell, John V. Cell, Vandersol home, Courtney S., MaryAnn F., etc. They could leave voicemails or texts and then, together they’d listen or read and decide appropriate responses. Claire obediently listened and sighed, this is ridiculous!

“You asked for me to be able to contact you directly. This will accomplish what you asked.”

She pressed her lips together, he’s right—I did and it will. She wanted more! Deciding to capitalize on the Christmas spirit, she pushed, “Maybe I could at least text Courtney and Sue back immediately—I mean—after all—didn’t you say you can read the texts in real time from your iPhone?” Her husband made a fortune with the Internet, he had technology which allowed him to watch, listen, and monitor her every move—she knew that.

He contemplated his answer. “We’ll start with my rules. After a time, we can revisit them.”

She submitted. He hadn’t closed the subject. It was a minor victory—or a minor defeat. Either way, it wasn’t the end of the war.

They celebrated New Year’s Eve at their home with friends. The Simmons, their son Caleb and his fiancée Julia, Tim and a six-month pregnant Sue, and Tom and Beverly all had a wonderful time. Together, they spent most of the evening in the lower level, playing cards and pool, drinking champagne, talking, and laughing.

Courtney couldn’t contain her enthusiasm regarding their son’s engagement. Julia appeared overwhelmed by her overly zealous future mother-in-law. Claire couldn’t help herself. She offered Julia some advice, “Smile and give in. It makes life a lot easier.” Although the young couple hadn’t set a date for their wedding, Courtney told Claire she may have more charitable responsibilities this year. Courtney planned on helping Julia as much as possible with the wedding. Claire read Julia’s expression and whispered in her ear, “I promise to talk to her later.”

Julia smiled. “Thank you.”

Tim and Sue’s baby was due March 20—all the women oowwd and ahhhed at Sue’s growing midsection. It made Claire think, she and Tony had never discussed children. About six months before she met Tony, she had the birth control insert implanted. In hindsight, that’d been fortuitous; however, considering Tony’s age, maybe it was a subject they should discuss.

 

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Together, they all welcomed the New Year with enthusiasm. “To another great year for everyone and for Rawlings Industries!” Everyone tapped glasses. Claire and Tony both told the Simmons how fantastic Fiji would be. Claire added, “We can’t wait to hear all about it”—then she smiled—“Well, not all about it.”

Courtney blushed. Tony embraced Claire—she’d filled him in on her packing advice—they kissed. Brent looked at Courtney questionably. She grinned. “I’ll explain later.” That made them giggle some more. The year began with a bang.

Although Tony contacted Claire directly each evening, she didn’t feel like she’d gained any liberties regarding communication. Emily had her number and would leave text messages and voicemails. Claire could read them or listen to them, but she couldn’t respond until Tony’s input was added. She learned deleting texts or voicemails was strictly forbidden—apparently, it implied hiding. She didn’t ask, but wondered why? If Tony had access to every text, why did he need to see it—on her phone—before she deleted it?

The Simmons left for Fiji, and Tony missed Brent. Claire found it amusing. He would never admit Brent’s full worth, yet his absence left Tony lacking. She planned to share this secret knowledge upon their return. Courtney asked Claire to fill in with her multiple charities during her absence. Being January—the heart of her winter blues—Claire happily agreed to the additional tasks. Unfortunately, Claire agreed to help Courtney without first consulting Tony.

“I agree they’re admirable charities. I don’t think you need to be gone that much.”

“It’s only for two weeks, and I already said I would help.”

“You agreed without discussing it. Did you forget about your responsibilities here? I certainly hope you’re not having memory problems—again.”

“I didn’t forget, and I’m sorry. I just wanted to help a friend. I promise nothing will go undone here.”

“You’re right, because you won’t be going, or do you not feel taking care of your husband is important?”

Claire knew her pleas were useless. “Tony, I’m sorry.”

She called each organization—“I’m truly sorry I won’t be able to attend your meeting. It seems that I’ve double booked my calendar. If you could e-mail the information, I’ll forward it to Mrs. Simmons.” Those calls were made on the speaker feature of her new phone with her husband present. Suddenly, her calendar was open to Tony’s whims.

Although Tony would never admit it, Claire believed these consequences resulted more from Brent’s absence than from her insubordination. Her attraction toward her husband was waning. Experience taught her it was a cyclical process—it would wane and then it would wax. She encouraged herself to be patient for the wax.

This January was less snowy than the last, which helped Claire’s disposition. Less snow meant fewer clouds, and more sunshine. The Iowa air still registered below freezing, but the view from her suite wasn’t of frozen white tundra. The winter, combined with the feeling unpredictability was predictably returning, giving her the teetering on the fence sensation from before. Continuing her personal self-therapy, Claire reminded herself Courtney would be back in another week and spring was only three months away.

Admittedly, more of an attempt to pacify than an act of devotion, she tried desperately to alleviate Tony’s concerns. She obediently waited for him each evening, dressed appropriately for his arrival, attentively listened to his day and concerns, discussed her e-mails, texts, voicemails, and expressed her undying affection. She even chose to not pursue the e-mails and text messages from Emily. That was, until she heard a recent voicemail. The distress in her sister’s voice was unnerving. She respectfully asked Tony if they could call.

They did, from Claire’s telephone. Having her cell phone saved the long walk to his office. They tried three times and didn’t receive an answer. Tony willingly agreed to try again later. When they finally reached Emily, the information from the call was difficult for Claire to fathom—John had been accused of fraudulent billing. The Vandersols were devastated.

The next morning, Claire opened her eyes and realized she was waking in Tony’s bed. The feeling of disorientation came more from her concern over her family, than from the dark surroundings. She rolled toward him, but he was gone. The clock read 7:03 AM. If she hurried to the dining room, she might catch him before he left for work. She wanted to thank him again for the ability to talk to her sister during this difficult time. Truth be known, she hoped her gratitude would facilitate her opportunity to support Emily in the future. She put on slippers and her cashmere robe and walked to the dining room. The rich aroma of coffee met her halfway down the corridor. Tony was at the head of the table, drinking coffee, his plate empty, and his laptop open. When Claire entered the room, he looked up. “Good morning, my dear. You look beautiful this morning.”

She made a face. “I think you need an eye exam”—she gave him a kiss, and continued—“I just wanted to catch you before you left.” Claire sat down at the table and Catherine poured her coffee. “I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated talking to Emily. It’s a difficult time for them”—she added some cream and watched the ivory liquid swirl into the black abyss. Then she looked up into his eyes, wondering if they were the color of the coffee with or without the cream, and added—“And I wanted to let you know I’ll miss you.” Claire smiled at his cream filled eyes as she spoke.

“Good news, I’m working from home today.”

Claire’s heart sank, she really wanted alone time to contemplate the John thing; however, her smile never faltered.

Tony continued, “So you won’t need to miss me.”

“That’s great! Do you have a lot of work?”

“A few web conferences and phone calls, but don’t worry, I know your schedule is free. I have some ideas for us too.” The smile and the way his eyes shone made Claire question his ideas. She would be glad when Brent returned. This Tony made her uneasy. She detested the dual personalities.

Sipping her coffee, she replied, “All right, I need to work out and clean up. I came down here in a hurry to see you.”

“When you’re dressed come to my office,” he said. As he stood to leave, he paused to touch her shoulder.

Obediently, she replied, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He kissed her cheek. “Or you could visit before you dress?” his tone, suddenly playful.

She touched his hand. “If I do that, you may not get your work done.” He reluctantly agreed and went to his office. She smiled at his attire: shirt, tie, NYU sweatpants, socks, and slippers. That comment to Vanity Fair had been truthful.

Claire’s thoughts wandered as she sipped her coffee, ate her breakfast, and looked out the tall windows. For January, the sky was an amazingly clear sapphire blue. Suddenly, she longed to be outside and in the sunshine. The John situation had her heartsick. Maybe some fresh air would give her a new perspective and some ideas to help her family. The beautiful scene outside the window beckoned her to walk, roam, and get away—if only for a few hours. The snow of the last few weeks had melted, yet today it was cold enough to keep the ground solid. Perhaps she would have time for a hike before Tony’s ideas. Maybe she could entice him to walk, too. He might have some ideas to help John.

 

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Thinking about her walk, Claire finished her shower and left her bathroom considering the appropriate attire—jeans, a sweater, and hiking boots. Her plans didn’t matter. She saw her clothes were laid out. Claire hated that. The assistance with her clothes occurred without predictability since her accident. On her bed were jeans—dressier than she would have chosen—and a blue snug-fitting V-neck sweater—not exactly perfect for hiking—but with the addition of a coat and scarf—it could work.

Then Claire noticed her jewelry on the dressing table. Seriously, it’s morning! Who needs diamonds in the morning? Avoiding an unnecessary confrontation, she did as she was bid—dressed in the clothes and put on the diamond journey necklace, diamond stud earrings, and diamond watch. Her new watch from Switzerland was beautiful, but it sat on her wrist as a constant reminder of punctuality. She’d been late twice—she didn’t need a watch to remind her of Tony’s appreciation. The first time taught her a lesson she’d never forget.

Luckily, there were no shoes set out. She could put on the hiking boots and hope for the best. Although she was pretty sure Tony’s ideas didn’t include shoes—hers did. Maybe he could find his hiking boots, too.

It was almost 10:00 AM by the time she reached his office. She knocked and waited for his permission to enter. She didn’t hear him, but the door opened. When she entered, she saw him seated behind his desk with a shirt and tie, looking so professional, she smiled and quietly sat on the leather sofa away from the webcams and waited for the web conference to finish. It had something to do with a company in Michigan that was losing money. The local government wasn’t willing to give more tax breaks. Were they going to close it or keep it open? The discussion revolved around the potential for future profits. Claire didn’t want to think about it—it would probably result in more unemployed people. She picked up a magazine and began quietly ruffling through the pages.

At 10:45 AM he finally finished. She waited for him to complete whatever he was doing on his computer. Once he was done, she heard his chair turn toward her. “Ahh, blue, my favorite color,” he said eying the sweater, as she walked toward him. “You’re beautiful in any color”—his eyes were appreciative of what he could see and what he couldn’t—“or in no color.” He grinned and reached out to put his hands around her waist. “I have one more web conference at 11:00 AM and then two lunch phone calls. I’d like you back after that.” It sounded like a request—it wasn’t.

“It’s so nice out. I’d like to go for a hike while you are working.” Wording was such an intricate part of her negotiations.

“No. The phone calls may need to be postponed depending on the outcome of the next web conference. I’d like you here if I’m done earlier. We can lunch and discuss our possible afternoon activities.” He’d turned back to his computer screen and read while he spoke.

Claire took a breath, leaned down, and gently kissed his neck. She’d been good—he knew she was upset about her family—she hoped she could press a little more. “Well”—purposely exhaling on his neck—“then may I just go out back? The sky’s so clear and I could really use some fresh air.”

He was obviously engrossed with his computer, but her approach earned her a seductive grin. “Okay, just be back by noon, and could you get me some coffee before you go?”

Claire started to ask where Catherine or another member of the staff was, but deciding that it would delay her trip to the backyard. She kissed his neck. “Yes.”

In the kitchen she found coffee still warm in the pot. She added cream, carried it back to his office, and waited. It was now 10:57 AM.

Tony rummaged through some papers and simultaneously spoke on his iPhone. Hanging up, he said, “Tell Eric there are contracts at the Iowa City office. I need them here before 1:00 PM. He needs to get them immediately.” Claire thought about how Tony was trying to keep her busy at home. She really didn’t mind; however, she wanted to go on her walk. He must have read the question in her eyes. “And after that, go for your walk, just be back by noon.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Okay. I’ll tell Eric and be back.” She hurried off to find Eric. Claire asked Catherine about Eric’s whereabouts and explained she’d be in the backyard or gardens if Mr. Rawlings needed her before noon.

Catherine directed Claire to Eric’s apartment, attached to the main garage. Claire started back toward the garages, a walk she rarely took. She didn’t drive, and when she went anywhere Eric or Tony picked her up at the front door. The walkway between the main house and garages was beautiful. The windows on both sides continued the full length of the hall and were so clear they seemed invisible.

She looked at the sky and thought about her sister and brother-in-law. Emily sounded so distraught on the phone last night. The fact Tony reminded her to call was a miracle in itself. The fact she spoke on speaker phone was expected. Claire couldn’t believe John was actually in jail. The charges of embezzlement and fictitious client billing were ludicrous. John would never cheat on a test; much less do any of these things. That was what made John such an amazing attorney—he was honest to a fault. Claire had tried to reassure Emily. She wanted to go to her and help; however, Tony would never allow that. Perhaps she could send money for John’s defense. After all, wasn’t Tony telling her all the time how much capital she possessed? If money wasn’t good for accomplishing what you want—what good was it?

Her thoughts quickly changed to the beautiful cars as she entered the garages. Tony definitely liked his cars. Claire knew they’d multiple new ones since her arrival. It was too bad she didn’t drive. Sighing, she thought, it has been almost two years.

Light filtered from under the apartment door as Claire knocked. Eric immediately answered. What she could see of his apartment looked like a nicely decorated living room with an attached dining area.

“Yes, Mrs. Rawlings, may I help you?”

“Eric, Mr. Rawlings said there are some contracts at his Iowa City office which he must have by 1:00 PM. If you go immediately you’ll be back in time.” As Claire spoke, Eric grabbed his coat and hat. He unlocked a cabinet on the wall containing keys to all the cars, took out the keys to the BMW 7 Series, and shut the cabinet.

Hurriedly, Eric looked at his watch. “Ma’am, tell Mr. Rawlings I’ll be back before 12:30 PM.” He got into the car.

“I will, drive safely.” Claire figured it could wait until she saw him at noon. As Eric pulled out of the garage, Claire noticed the key cabinet—it hadn’t shut properly—revealing the keys to multiple cars. Suddenly nervous, Claire contemplated the keys. She should shut the cabinet and go out to the backyard for air, or she could take a set of keys and drive to as much air as she wanted. She wasn’t thinking air for a lifetime, only enough air to breathe.

The decision took only seconds, yet it seemed like an eternity. She reached in, grabbed the first set she touched, and hit the clicker. The lights on the Mercedes Benz flashed. In the midst of unpredictability, she’d done her best to be stable and obedient. This sudden impulsiveness filled her with excitement and fear. Before she could change her mind, she sat in the car, smelled the new car aroma, felt the leather steering wheel, and turned the key.

 

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Her motivation wasn’t to leave Tony—forever. It was just that she felt smothered. The constant monitoring, censoring, and controlling added to her sense of psychological instability. The dual Tonys added another dimension to her suffocation. A brief reprieve—or a momentary freedom—would help her sanity. Besides, she told her husband a year ago she liked to drive. That was all she wanted to do—drive.

Do not bite at the bait of pleasure, till you know there is no hook beneath it.

—Thomas Jefferson

Chapter Forty-Seven

‡

The dashboard in front of her looked more like something from a helicopter, dials and lights came to life. Claire tried to remain calm—telling herself driving hadn’t changed in twenty-two months. She just needed to put the car in gear and push the accelerator. Trembling at the prospect of the simplistic task, Claire almost ran into the garage door; however, she remembered to push the button, waited for the door to lift, and concentrated on breathing—slowly inhaling and exhaling. The door opened, and cautiously, she proceeded down the driveway. Claire prayed if anyone saw the car, they’d assume it was Eric. At the gates, she again pushed a button—the one she’d seen Eric push many times. At first, the gates seemed to hesitate, but then the iron fence swung wide.

Claire drove toward Highway I-80 and inhaled. It was the sweetest air she’d smelled in almost two years. The clock on the dashboard read 11:16 AM. She knew in forty-four minutes, Tony would expect her in his office. She reasoned perhaps the web conference would go long and he wouldn’t notice her absence—or maybe, the phone calls would start, and he’d be preoccupied. She knew the truth—Tony could do ten things at once. Come 12:00:01 PM he’d be irritated—by 12:15 PM—he’d be fuming. Feeling her heart beat intensify, she wondered what would happen when they reunited. What kind of punishment would he decide was appropriate for this behavior? Feeling her wet palms slide on the leather steering wheel, Claire chose not to linger on the possibilities. The Mercedes was now headed east on Highway I-80. Her mind searched for possible destinations. Courtney—no—she was out of town. Emily—no—that would be the first place Tony would check. Utilizing her therapy skills, she convinced herself this was a deserved break. She also instructed herself to relish the overpowering sensation of freedom, a feeling she hadn’t known in twenty-two months. Slowly, she felt her senses awaken: the countryside looked brighter, the leather seats emitted a stronger aroma, the wheels on the pavement created a soft hum, and the vibration responded to her movement of the wheel—it all invigorated her.

The brilliant dash indicated a full tank of gas. Silently, she thanked Eric—momentarily worrying he’d suffer because of her actions. She concentrated on the majestic world outside the windows and watched the traffic which consisted mostly of large semi-trucks. At first, this made Claire uncomfortable, but the Mercedes could weave and pass easily. Before moving to Tony’s, she drove a Honda Accord. It was a good car, but the Mercedes felt like driving a cloud. Then, the clock caught her eye, 12:11 PM. She started to wonder what was happening at home. Would he be looking for her or sending someone else to look? All Claire could do now was drive and think. She loved him, but the constant pressure was wearing on her. She just needed a break.

Taking the bypass around Davenport, she decided to go south on Highway 74, away from New York City. At 3:30 PM she passed Peoria, Illinois. The emptiness in her stomach reminded her she hadn’t stopped driving since she left the estate. She desperately needed a restroom and some food. In the distance she spotted golden arches—french fries sounded wonderful.

She hadn’t eaten fast-food in almost two years. Claire turned the wheel and eased into the McDonald’s parking lot. Contemplating her order, she realized she didn’t have money. Oh well, the restroom was free. If she had planned this excursion, she would have grabbed a coat and her purse. More than likely Tony had her ID and credit card, but for appearances, she usually had cash in her wallet.

The overpowering aroma of fries, from the inside of the restaurant, lingered on her clothes as she got back into the car. Wondering about money, she saw her wedding rings. Of course—she wore hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry. She just needed to sell some. How does one sell jewelry? And where?

Back on the interstate, Claire decided to take Highway 155 South to Highway 55. That wasn’t a good decision, Highway 55 traveled slowly. When she finally reached Highway 55 the signs said to Springfield and to St. Louis. It had been so long since she actually made decisions. She was lightheaded with independence—or perhaps hunger.

Time passed. The sun started to fade and dusk loomed on the horizon. The loss of sunlight produced a similar effect on Claire’s mind. Her lightheadedness dissolved into reality. She knew without a doubt she needed to turn around. Tony would be upset and there would be a punishment—a consequence for this action, but she couldn’t keep going. First, she needed cash. Second, what would the press say? Tony wouldn’t be happy if her leaving became public. Trepidation filled every ounce of her being as she watched for a place to turn around. According to the sign, there was another exit two miles ahead.

Suddenly, questions swirled through her mind. Was there enough gas to get home? What will Tony do? Whatever punishment he chose, Claire decided—she deserved. She’d been impulsive and broken his rules. The small break was exhilarating, but it was time to face the consequences—there wasn’t another choice. If she had her cell phone, she would’ve called and told him she was on her way home. She planned to beg for his forgiveness and plead temporary—impulsive stupidity.

Lost in thought, she didn’t see the flashing lights until they were directly behind her. Once she noticed them, Claire assumed they’d pass. She wasn’t speeding, but the police car didn’t pass. Did Tony send them after her? How did they find her? Pulling over, she remembered the GPS—had she really thought she could go unmonitored? She appeared casual as the policeman approached her window.

“Ma’am, please show me your registration, proof of insurance, and driver’s license.”

“Officer, I believe I left my purse at home, by mistake. I can show you the registration and proof of insurance.” She handed him the documents from the glove compartment.

“Ma’am, your name please?” the officer asked, while reading the registration and insurance card.

“My name—my name is Claire—Claire Rawlings.”

Handing her back the registration and insurance card, the officer said, “Ma’am, I need you to get out of your car.”

Claire didn’t want to get out of the car. She wanted to go home. Her decision was made, and she needed to get home—soon. “Officer, was I speeding?”

“Ma’am, get out of the car—now.” The policeman stared at her as he mumbled into his shoulder.

“Officer, I’m in a hurry. I don’t have my purse, but I do have this watch. Perhaps your wife would like a very nice diamond watch.” She was desperate to return to Iowa—to Tony—but not in a police car.

Retrieving his gun from its holster, the police officer repeated his demand, “Mrs. Rawlings, I need you to get out of the car, and keep your hands where I can see them.” Holding his gun in one hand, he leaned toward her door. “Unlock your door; I’ll open it. Let me see your hands.”

 

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Claire couldn’t believe this was happening. She just wanted a moment of freedom and this policeman was treating her like a criminal. Had Tony accused her of stealing his car? That didn’t seem like Tony—he wouldn’t want the public scandal.

Claire unlocked the door and swung her legs out. Officer Friendly roughly grabbed her wrist and pulled, handcuffing her wrists behind her back. It made her shoulders and wrists ache. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this? I didn’t steal this car—it belongs to my husband. I have every right to drive it!”

“Ma’am, I have orders to take you into the station for questioning.” He walked her to his car, steering her with her hands.

“What about my husband’s car? He’ll be very upset if anything happens to his car.” Claire’s voice sounded as desperate as she felt.

“Another officer is on her way, she’ll drive your car to the station. It’ll be kept in impound until it’s picked up or you’re released”—he kept listening to his shoulder—“The other officer will be here in a few minutes.”

“We better not leave until she gets here. I’m serious about my husband—he can become very upset. You don’t want to be the person he gets hold of if anything happens to his car.” She didn’t want to be that person either. Sitting in the backseat of the patrol car, she heard the door slam and had the sensation of a popping balloon—once full—now completely deflated. Freedom was sweet and gone.

When they pulled up to the Illinois State Police Station 56, Claire watched the Mercedes drive around the building. Worrying about the car was silly, but she didn’t want to give Tony more ammunition for his punishment. The officer directed her into the station. Multiple uniformed and plain-clothed officers met them at the door. She was then directed to a dingy room where the smell of stale coffee and perspiration filled her senses. The only furniture was a steel gray table with two metal chairs. Claire sat in one of the cold chairs as the officer removed the cuffs. Rubbing her wrists, she looked at him and sounded convincingly resilient. “Sir, I am Mrs. Anthony Rawlings. I’m sure you have heard of my husband—or at least had contact with one of his companies. I recommend you release me right now, and I won’t tell him about this incident.”

He didn’t respond and left her alone, where she waited. Feeling the twisting within her stomach, she knew what was coming. Tony was probably on his way. Flying would get him there in less than an hour. The next time the door opened, she would see his dark eyes. The only sound within the small room was that familiar pounding within her head. As she waited, she resolved herself to the consequences she’d face at home.

She broke the most important rule—many times—and now it was public. There was no way this wouldn’t be on the news. She waited. The door opened. A female officer entered. “Mrs. Rawlings, would you like a drink, water, or diet soda?”

“Thank you, I’d like some water.” Then she waited—some more. The next time the door opened, she looked toward the table. Enough time had passed—this had to be Tony.

“Mrs. Rawlings, I’m Sergeant Miles and this”—pointing to the man on his left—“is FBI Agent Ferguson.”

“Hello. I’m confused, why is an FBI agent here?”

“We would like to ask you some questions about today”—Claire nodded—“Ma’am, you must speak. Our conversation is recorded and movements can’t be heard on an audiotape.”

Claire hated recordings—audio or visual. “Yes, please go ahead and ask me anything. I was just driving my husband’s car and forgot my driver’s license.”

“Ma’am, what time did you leave your residence outside of Iowa City?” Agent Ferguson asked as Sergeant Miles took notes.

Claire wondered if the audio recording wasn’t thorough enough. “I left at 11:15 AM.” That was easy. She’d looked at the dashboard clock.

“Did you see your husband before you left?”

“Do you mean—did I ask my husband if I could leave? No.”

“No, ma’am—I meant what I asked. Did you see your husband before you left your residence?”

“Yes, I saw him just before 11:00 AM. He was in his office about to start a web conference.”

“A web conference?” Sargent Miles asked.

“It’s a conference that’s live on the Internet, you know, on the web.” The officers continued to ask questions about times and people. Claire told them the house staff were all present, except for their driver, Eric. He left before her, going to Mr. Rawlings’s office to retrieve some paperwork for her husband. Had Claire told anyone she was leaving the house? She shook her head, then remembered the audio tape, she answered, “No.” Why would she drive over five hours without her purse or telling anyone where she was going? She really didn’t have a good answer. She couldn’t tell them she didn’t have access to her own ID and she wasn’t allowed to go out by herself. If she did, she’d be breaking his rules, and when Tony arrived he’d be livid. Suddenly, she realized he was probably watching from behind a window right now. She felt her stomach twist. Her only choice was ignorance. “I don’t know—the sky was so pretty and Iowa can get so gray. I guess I just wanted to go somewhere warmer.”

“Mrs. Rawlings, you should know your husband will survive.” Agent Ferguson’s tone was flat.

Claire didn’t understand, survive? Like he would crumble because she left him? “I’m not sure what you mean. Why wouldn’t he survive?”

“Mrs. Rawlings, someone tried to kill your husband today. He was poisoned at approximately 11:15 AM this morning.” Agent Ferguson answered as Sergeant Miles observed Claire.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of his words, but they didn’t make sense. Tony was fine when she left, same as always. “You’re mistaken. Mr. Rawlings had a web conference at 11:00 AM, where he was speaking with many people from his corporation.” Her speech quickened as did her heart rate.

“Yes, he was supposed to be; however, after the web conference began, his associates witnessed him take a drink from a mug and suddenly slump to his side. Many of the viewers attempted to reach him via cell phone, but he didn’t move. Luckily, one of the house staff heard the phones ringing and entered the office. They were able to fly him by helicopter to a hospital in Iowa City. His vitals are good, although he has yet to regain consciousness. The doctors believe he’ll make a full recovery. I’m here representing the FBI, because this is an attempted murder investigation which has crossed state lines.” Agent Ferguson spoke as if he was addressing a suspect.

“I need to get to him immediately.” Claire stood as she spoke. Sergeant Miles directed her back toward the chair. She was dumbfounded. “I’m sorry—are you accusing me of murdering my husband?”

“No, ma’am, your husband wasn’t murdered. You are being questioned regarding an attempted murder investigation.”

She was stunned. “You’re accusing me of hurting him? You should know—no one hurts Anthony Rawlings. If anything he’s hurt me—numerous times.”

“So, are you claiming self-defense?”

Claire’s neck stiffened, her voice became defiant, “I’m not claiming anything—I did nothing that needs claiming.”

 

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“Mrs. Rawlings, do you have any idea what was in the mug that your husband drank from?”

She knew exactly what was in that mug: coffee, made by her. “Yes, officer, I would assume the mug contained coffee. Just before I left, I took him a cup of coffee.” Her stomach was now a tangle of knots.

“You and your husband don’t have household servants who usually prepare the food and drinks?”

“We do, but he asked me to get him coffee.” Claire definitely didn’t like how this was going. “I believe I need an attorney.”

“Ma’am, you haven’t yet been charged; however, asking for representation is your right. Be aware your husband’s legal counsel has sent word that representing you would be a conflict of interest. You’ll need to secure your own counsel.”

“I would like to call John Vandersol, my brother-in-law”—as the words left her mouth she remembered John’s incarceration—“No, wait—I can’t.”

Another officer entered the room and began to talk with Sergeant Miles. After the two whispered, Sergeant Miles spoke. “Mrs. Claire Rawlings, my commanding officer has informed me the prosecuting attorney of Iowa City believes there’s enough circumstantial evidence to hold you in this facility overnight and transport you back to Iowa City in the morning. The chief prosecutor of Iowa believes he will have an official warrant for your arrest signed by the judge by the time you arrive.”

Claire heard the words but couldn’t comprehend their meaning. Her internal voice tried to replay the day: I dressed in what I was told, was in Tony’s office at the time he told me to be, and asked like a five-year-old if I could go outside. This morning I poured my husband a cup of coffee, the coffee he asked me to get. Now, I am about to be charged with attempted murder?

Another officer directed Claire to a cell. It was small, clean, and had a door that locked. Worried about Tony—she couldn’t sleep. There was no one at home that morning, except the two of them and the regular staff. Everyone on the staff had been with Tony for years, and he implicitly trusted them. None of them would hurt him. She worried, had he regained consciousness? Was the poison in the coffee in the pot? Maybe it was in the cream?

Claire wanted them to try to find the real criminal before he tried to hurt Tony again. Claire knew, when Tony regained consciousness, he’d tell them she didn’t—couldn’t do this—and take her home.

No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.

—Eleanor Roosevelt

Chapter Forty-Eight

‡

Yesterday, Claire drove in a luxurious Mercedes Benz to St. Louis. The trip back to Iowa City—riding in the back of a police wagon, wearing handcuffs and accompanied by a uniformed officer—wasn’t as comfortable. When they arrived, the county courthouse steps were filled with reporters and photographers. Claire tried to shield her face as people took pictures from all directions and shouted questions—“Why did you try to kill your husband?” “Did you do it for the money?” “Did you think you would get away with it?” Thankfully, the police rushed her through the crowd and into the building.

She couldn’t believe what she heard. How could they possibly be asking such questions? Claire worried about Emily. First John and now her—what must she be going through? Claire reassured herself, once Tony wakes, he’ll take care of everything.

The officer took Claire to another room with a table and Marcus Evergreen entered. She recognized him immediately. He attended her wedding, and she accompanied Tony to one of his fund-raisers. Claire thought Tony donated to his campaign. “Mrs. Rawlings, I’m Marcus Evergreen, chief prosecutor for Johnson County.”

“Yes, Mr. Evergreen, I believe we’ve met.” Claire held out her hand. Mr. Evergreen didn’t accept.

“Yes, I believe we have; however, this is a different situation and different circumstances. Mrs. Rawlings, I’m currently holding a warrant for your arrest recently signed by Judge Reynolds. Just so you know, before we reach the district courtroom for your arraignment, you’re being charged with the attempted murder of your husband, Anthony Rawlings.”

“I want you to know I didn’t do such a thing—I wouldn’t do such a thing. How is Tony?” When Claire added the last question, Mr. Evergreen’s eyes dropped to the table. Claire’s heart sank. Oh my God, he’s dead! No—then he would have said “murder” not “attempted.”

“He’s awake and conscious. He’s given a statement to the police, but he won’t be here today.”

Claire was relieved to hear he was conscious, but she needed him to be here. He would help and take her home. She wanted to explain things to him. There was no doubt, he’d be upset about her leaving and driving and there would be consequences; however, Claire was confident he’d know she would never try to kill him.

“I’m very happy he’s better. Can you tell me what evidence there is against me?” Claire didn’t know how this worked, but she thought she needed to find out.

“It will be discussed with you and your attorney after the arraignment.” He left the room.

With her wrists once again in handcuffs, Claire was led into the courtroom. She watched the proceedings from a distance—seeing it all—yet not comprehending it as reality. Judge Reynolds spoke—asking questions of Mr. Evergreen. He explained how the state believed it had sufficient evidence to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Mrs. Claire Rawlings did willfully and maliciously attempt to murder her husband—Anthony Rawlings—in an effort to profit financially. Furthermore, Mrs. Rawlings fled the scene of the crime and was found near St. Louis. Mrs. Rawlings has access to a passport and the financial ability to flee. Mr. Evergreen asked the judge to suspend bail.

Judge Reynolds said, “Mrs. Rawlings, do you understand that you’re being charged with a felony—attempted murder? And if convicted, you could be sentenced to a federal penitentiary for a length not to exceed 162 months?”

“Yes, Judge, I understand.” That wasn’t true—she didn’t understand.

“Are you aware that you have the right to an attorney? If you cannot afford one, one can be appointed for you. You also have the right to a trial by a jury of your peers. You also are presumed innocent. It is the burden of the state to prove your guilt. Do you understand your rights?”

“Yes, Judge, I understand.” Claire maintained eye contact with the bench—she had a lot of practice maintaining eye contact in difficult situations.

“Mrs. Rawlings, do you have an attorney?”

“No, Judge, I do not, and I can’t afford one.”

“The court will appoint one to you following the arraignment.” Judge Reynolds reviewed the file before her. “Due to the publicity and significance of the victim, I’m setting bond at five million dollars. I’m also scheduling a preliminary conference for eleven days from today, Tuesday, February 1. Next case…” Her gavel struck the bench, echoing throughout the courtroom.

A guard escorted Claire to a holding cell. She sat in the ten-by-seven cube waiting for her attorney. The seclusion should have upset her, but she was too confused to focus. They told her once her attorney arrived, her bond could be posted, and she could leave. Claire knew that wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t have enough money for a sandwich at McDonald’s—much less 2.5 million dollars for bond.

 

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It was after 3:00 PM before she was once again taken to the small room with the table. A short while later, the door opened and a young man, Paul Task, entered—carrying a briefcase, laptop, and wearing a cheap suit. Claire’s first thought was that he looked more like a high school student than an attorney. “Hello, Mrs. Rawlings, I’m your attorney Paul Task. I just want you to know that I’m so honored to work on your case. Mr. Rawlings has long been an inspiration to us in Iowa. Everyone has so much respect for him. Why did you try to kill him? Was it because you didn’t have a prenuptial agreement? I mean, for the money?”

“No! I didn’t do this. It’s a terrible misunderstanding. I know once my husband is better he’ll help me. He knows I wouldn’t do this to him.”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Rawlings—”

After Mr. Task informed the court that Mrs. Rawlings wouldn’t be able to post bond, she was officially charged with a felony. They took her personal property—her jewelry and clothes. They took her picture—her fingerprints—and did a chemical test on her hands. A female officer offered her a prison jumpsuit, underwear, and a bra—Claire accepted it all.

For the next five days Claire waited and responded appropriately to her counsel. She met daily with Paul Task and his associate Jane Allyson. They asked questions and she maintained her innocence. She told them repeatedly the events of the morning in question. She never broke Tony’s rules. When he came to save her, she would be able to tell him she maintained his confidence. She would explain to him—she drove away, but she had decided to turn around. She hadn’t left him—only left the estate—for a while. She would apologize—accept his punishment—and life could resume.

She spent untold hours wondering who poisoned Tony. The answer to that question could save her from 162 months in prison. Unfortunately, all the evidence pointed to Claire. She’d given Tony the mug of coffee at approximately 11:00 AM—in plain view of fifteen people via a Rawlings Industries web conference. He took a drink from that mug and suddenly lost consciousness. The video footage from their home security showed Claire pouring coffee in the kitchen and carrying the coffee to his office. The desk area wasn’t covered by cameras, but Claire was seen walking away from the desk without the mug.

To make this evidence worse, there was video from the garage of Claire telling Eric to go to Iowa City to get paperwork from Mr. Rawlings’s office. Anthony’s secretary, Patricia, provided a sworn statement that she didn’t have contracts for Mr. Rawlings, and furthermore, she hadn’t spoken to him that morning. Being Tony’s primary source of transportation, having Eric gone would help ensure that the poison would have time to work. The same camera in the garage captured Claire taking the keys to the Mercedes and hurrying to the car. The significance of this car was that it was the only car in the garage registered under the name Claire Rawlings.

Claire was shocked. “It can’t be registered in my name. I don’t drive.” Paul showed her a copy of the registration. The same one she handed to the policeman but hadn’t read. According to the dealership, Mr. Rawlings came in himself last December and paid cash. It was his wife’s Christmas present and had less than a thousand miles on it.

Her statement regarding no valid driver’s license also proved erroneous. Apparently, she did have an identification card with the name Claire Rawlings, but her driver’s license from Georgia under the name Claire Nichols was still valid. Paul couldn’t understand how Claire wouldn’t know.

She tried to explain, “Tony did everything.”

Paul didn’t understand and told her it would be difficult to convince a jury.

With the court ordered preliminary conference six days away. Iowa furnished Claire with clothes for a preexamination conference—a meeting that would set the tone and direction for the preliminary conference. The preexamination was usually attended by the prosecuting attorneys, the defense attorneys, and the defendant, Claire; however, unbeknownst to the defendant, the victim requested to make an appearance. The judge agreed. The goal of this meeting was to determine if a trial could be avoided, and an agreement made. The victim convinced the judge, he could help facilitate that end.

Mr. Evergreen and two of his associates sat opposite Claire and her team, Paul Task and his co-council, Jane Allyson, at a large table covered in documents and laptops. The conference was about to begin when her heart skipped a beat. She saw him, through the window of the door. She saw his profile—strong, handsome, and inflexible. She watched as he spoke to someone in the hall, turned the door handle, and entered.

Although Mr. Evergreen and Paul were talking, when the door opened everyone became silent. The entire room turned to acknowledge the entrance of Mr. Anthony Rawlings. Mr. Evergreen stood. “Mr. Rawlings, I thought we discussed this, and you weren’t to attend this conference.”

“Mr. Evergreen.” As the two men shook hands, Claire involuntarily trembled. If only she’d known he was going to be there. “I appreciate everyone’s concern for my safety. I’ll repeat what I told Judge Reynolds, I don’t believe my wife is a threat to my well-being. I believe if we can have a few moments alone, we can save the taxpayers of Iowa the cost of a lengthy trial, and this court, some time. Judge Reynolds has agreed to my request.” Tony’s command of this situation was obvious. It sounded as though he just asked the others to leave the room, but in reality it was a mandate.

Mr. Evergreen and his team began to move their chairs and stand to leave. Paul and Jane whispered to one another as Paul stood. He leaned to Claire. “I’ll confirm that this has received Judge Reynolds’ approval.” Then speaking to Tony and doing his best to appear professional; however, obviously intimidated by Tony’s mere presence. “Mr. Rawlings, I’ll need to confirm that Judge Reynolds has indeed approved this visit. In situations such as this—”

Tony’s height loomed over Paul as he interrupted and handed Paul a paper from his breast pocket. “Of course, Mr. Task, I would have expected no less. Here’s the good judge’s written approval.”

Paul took the paper and scanned its contents. “Mrs. Rawlings, it appears to be in order.” The men started to walk toward the door. Jane didn’t move. She was the only member of either team to notice Claire’s physical reaction. She sat, looking at her notes, at Claire, and at Tony. The silence intensified.

Finally, Jane rose and met Tony’s eyes. “Mr. Rawlings.”

“Ms. Allyson.” They nodded.

“Mr. Rawlings, this is unexpected. I would like to speak to our client for a few moments and determine her desire regarding this meeting. If you would please step into the hall with Mr. Evergreen and his team, Mr. Task and I will discuss this new situation with Mrs. Rawlings.” Tony started to speak, but Jane continued with conviction in her tone. “And then—if Mrs. Rawlings agrees to your meeting—it may proceed under her conditions.” Claire felt a newfound appreciation for her young co-counsel.

Mr. Evergreen placed his hand on Tony’s arm and nodded. Tony looked directly at Claire. His dark eyes took her breath away. She hadn’t seen those eyes in almost a week. They filled her with intense emotions, both love and hate. Slowly, his grin broadened. Claire knew immediately he was amused. “Why of course Ms. Allyson.” Everyone, besides Paul, Jane, and Claire, left the room. When the door shut, Claire remembered to breathe.

 

Consequences
Consequences Page 119



Paul spoke first, “Claire, you don’t have to do this, but if you don’t, it’ll look like you’re not interested in the taxpayers”—she wasn’t—“It isn’t just that. The fact he’s willing to talk to you—the person accused of his attempted murder—makes him appear honorable and forgiving. If you refuse…” Claire listened, but her mind whirled. She believed Tony knew she wasn’t guilty. Maybe he wanted to take her home, drop the charges, and forget the whole thing. If she left with him today—she would be out of that cell—she’d be home!

Jane touched Claire’s arm, and Claire turned to her co-council’s concerned expression. “Claire, I think it’s completely up to you. Everything Paul said is true, but none of it matters. You started to shake when he walked in the room. If you want, Paul and I”—she looked at Paul, who didn’t appear as strong as Jane—“or just me—would be willing to stay in here with you.”

Claire found her voice. “That isn’t what he said. He wants to talk to me alone.”

“Claire, what he wants isn’t the issue”—her voice was strong and supportive—“What do you want?”

She looked into Jane’s eyes. “I want this to be over—I didn’t do it.” Jane didn’t speak, but lifted her brows. Claire straightened her back, stiffened her neck, and lifted her chin. “I want to talk to him.”

Paul said he would get Mr. Rawlings. Jane leaned close. “Do you want me to stay?” Claire exhaled, she had kept his secrets, she hadn’t told people what she went through, and she needed him to know that.

“No, I want to talk to him alone.”

Jane smiled and squeezed Claire’s arm. “It’ll be all right. Just know, you must discuss any deal with us before it can be initiated. We’ll be right outside the door.”

Claire said she understood and suddenly thought about her appearance. Her defense counsel exited as Tony entered. They nodded to one another. Tony shut the door and turned to Claire. She watched as he walked to the table. He looked handsome, fit, and healthy. Relief filled her soul, seeing that the murder attempt hadn’t caused him harm.

“Tony, I’m so glad you are all right.” She reached across the table. He took her petite hands in his. Claire continued, “You know I would never hurt you?” His eyes showed only the smallest amount of brown.

“It certainly appears you did.” She shook her head and felt tears. He continued, “You handed me the coffee. There was poison in the coffee.”

“You told me to get you coffee. I’ve thought about it a million times. There must have been poison in the coffee already—or in the cream. I just don’t know.” She felt his stare as she continued to speak, “I don’t know who would do this. The only other people at home were staff—staff you’ve employed for years, but it should be on surveillance. You have cameras in the kitchen—”

He interrupted, “All evidence points to you. Then, there’s the way you ran to the car and drove away.”

She lowered her eyes; she had disobeyed him. She knew not to drive. “I’m sorry.” The tears teetered on her lower lids. “It was impulsive. I knew not to take one of the cars, but I saw the keys—I hadn’t had the opportunity in so long—the sky was so blue—and you’d been—well—life had been unpredictable. I felt like I was suffocating and just needed a reprieve—a small break. Honestly, Tony, I was about to turn around to come home. I want to be home—I want to be with you.”

He lifted her chin. “Claire, how are your accommodations?” The tears slipped off the lids and onto her cheeks. She didn’t reply. Her thoughts were again spinning. His voice was low, no one else could hear. “Consequences—appearances, I thought you’d learned your lessons better.”

“Tony, please take me home. I promise I’ll never disappoint you again. Please tell them you know I wouldn’t—couldn’t do this”—his black eyes penetrated, but she pushed on—“I know there’ll be consequences and punishment. I don’t care, as long as you’re all right. I just want to go home. Please—” Begging wasn’t part of her plan, but Claire wanted to be home. “Please, Tony, they’ll listen to you.”

Expecting his expression to contain compassion, she was disappointed.

“The entire thing seems to be a colossal accident; however, I’ve done some research and it seems you can plead insanity and receive treatment instead of incarceration.”

She sprung from her chair and started to pace. “What are you saying? I’m not pleading insanity! That means guilty and crazy—I’m neither!”—she turned to look at him—“And this wasn’t an accident. I didn’t try to kill you!”

He stood and moved very close, looking down at her. “I’ve found a mental hospital which is willing to accept you. I’ll pay the expenses so the taxpayers aren’t responsible for your lack of judgment.”

“I have been here for over a week. I’ve been questioned over and over. I haven’t divulged any private information. I have followed all the rules. The only rule I broke was driving a car. That’s it!”

“This plea will avoid a trial. The entire unfortunate incident is understandable. You came from a modest background. The life we shared had pressures and responsibilities—with entertaining, charities, and reporters—it’s understandable. You just couldn’t handle it.”

Claire sat down, feeling increasingly ill.

Tony walked over to her. He bent down to maintain eye contact, “I should have recognized the signs. Perhaps, I was too busy with work. When you recently canceled your charity obligations, I should have realized how overwhelmed you felt”—Claire listened as he spoke and experienced an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. It was his expression—a grin—one she recalled from a masquerade dinner almost two years ago. His expression spoke louder than his words—“You wanted out, and in a moment of weakness—no—in a moment of insanity, you decided the only way out was to try to kill me”—she watched and realized, this was a prepared speech. Oh my God!— “I’m only thankful you underestimated the amount of poison needed or you may have succeeded.”

The confusion in Claire’s mind began to dissipate, the fog cleared, and she saw Tony—his expression and his unspoken meaning. His speech continued, “If you’d succeeded, I wouldn’t be here to help you now”—she suddenly realized he was done with her. It was like the workers in Pennsylvania, she no longer mattered. He didn’t need her anymore! Tony pulled out a chair and sat facing Claire—“Aren’t you glad I’m able to help you?”

The bewilderment turned to a reality which hit her hard—not a physical slap—but it might as well have been. He wasn’t going to help her, instead of overwhelming sadness—two years of obedience and submission caused an overpowering rush of hostility. Tony’s words continued, “And, Claire, I hear the rooms at the mental facility are larger than the cells at the federal penitentiary.” His grin broadened.

She straightened her neck and met his eyes. No longer did tears flow—her eyes sparked with anger. “Yes, Tony, I’m so thankful. Would you like me to show you how thankful I am?” Her insincerity and sudden animosity came through loud and clear.