[English] Consequences

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What? That never crossed her mind. There was no way, she couldn’t take that. She glared at him.

*

Tony watched as Claire stood and met him face to face. God, her strength captivated him. Her voice sounded resilient, “Then I choose number two.”

He didn’t respond. The silence grew. He wanted her—he wanted to tell her he was sorry—he overreacted—but that wasn’t him. He couldn’t.

“Very well, undress.”

She didn’t hesitate, she obeyed his command. She started by unbuttoning her blouse, one button at a time. Then she shimmied out of her slacks; she didn’t argue or complain and maintained eye contact the entire time. Tony’s arousal was becoming difficult to conceal. As her body trembled slightly before him, his demeanor dissolved.

“Come here.” She did. He held her shoulders and looked into her green eyes. “Damn you, Claire.” He pulled her close. “I make snap decisions based on the visible evidence. Appearances are important. I assumed you had something planned with Sue—something I hadn’t approved. I was wrong. Your speech,” he lifted her chin, gently this time, as his tone softened, “was very brave”—He watched her expression—“It helped me see I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.” He put his head down on her hair.

*

Claire exhaled at the unexpected revelation—Anthony Rawlings was apologizing. She stood still while he encircled her with his arms, her trembling ceased and she let her face fall against his chest, inhaling the scent of smoke on his shirt. She felt his erection against her hips and the tension began to build within her depths. Tony’s tone, now mellow, eased her stressed muscles, “Up until the moment Sue handed you that note, I was extremely proud of you. You were amazing. Courtney told me that about ten times.” Claire lifted her eyes to see his expression. It was smiling like his tone. Claire smiled and felt her body relax against his. “There’s something I’d like us to do.”

The relief of his apology overwhelmed her. Her body continued its disregard for reason. She wanted him to take her and didn’t hesitate. “Whatever it is—yes.”

“Your hair, smells like smoke. I’d like us to shower.” Claire took Tony’s hand and led him to her shower. Once there, she helped him undress, and he started undoing her braid. Under the warm spray of the shower he wet her hair, added shampoo, and gently massaged. “Your hair is beautiful, but it really needs trimming, and the weather is getting colder, so maybe some highlights. I believe you’ll enjoy the spa. It has a great reputation.”

She turned to face him. “You didn’t cancel my appointment?”

Smiling tenderly he said, “No, I guess I hoped something would change my mind.” After working the cream rinse into her hair, he took the shower gel and began to lather Claire’s back. Wrapping his arms around her, he lathered her breasts and stomach. With each stroke control became more and more difficult for him to maintain. That’s all right, Claire wanted him too.

His tender touch caused an ache deep inside of her. Turning her around he lifted her body as she wrapped her legs around his torso and his mouth excitedly nibbled her breasts. His tongue created intense sensations as it tantalized her hard round nipples. She gripped his wide shoulders and let her fingers run through his wet hair. His strong arms and body kept her pinned against the wall of the shower. His fingers tantalized until her moans brought him to the edge of explosion. The more he enticed—the more she yearned.

As he filled her completely, thunderous convulsions overtook her body. She expected his actions, but the fulfillment made her back arch and sounds escape her lips. Their bodies moved as one, not because of instructions or demands. Instead, the cause was erotic carnal physical instinct. In time the ardent passion moved from the shower to the bed. He received his desires, but only after assuring Claire did also, many times.

At some point during the night, Tony asked Claire what she overheard. She told him. At first, she didn’t want to say anything about her looking for a sugar daddy, but why hide anything now? Tony laughed.

He was happy to learn about MaryAnn, and that Courtney and Sue were so helpful throughout the day. She told Tony how much she liked seeing him in jeans—definitely ***y—Claire told him. He told her he preferred her without jeans—or anything else. That started them again.

Claire’s spa appointment would be the following Wednesday. Initially, she didn’t want to go, but now she thought about Chicago and Tony’s apartment. “How many apartments do you have?”

“As many as I need. I don’t like hotels much.” They both drifted off to sleep.

*

Tony woke before his alarm. Hearing Claire’s soft and delicate breathing, he saw covered only by a sheet and curled into a ball on the far side of the bed. With the pale light of the lingering moon he noticed her chestnut hair fanned around her head, damp and wavy, her body petite, soft, and supple. He carefully lifted the blankets and covered her. As he watched, the warmth of the blankets allowed her to unconsciously relax and settle into a deeper slumber.

This was not his plan. Things had been in the works for so long and now emotions were wreaking havoc. It was supposed to be easy. Her only purpose was for physical enjoyment, release of energy, and personal pleasure. He’d watched her for so long. He told himself he deserved that, yet somehow, now while at work—in a meeting—on a plane—anywhere—without warning—he would recall something she said or did, and a smile would come to his lips. Tony even noticed strange looks from Brent—a visible sign his thoughts were revealing themselves.

This was wrong. Tony didn’t want to have feelings. The *** was great. It was okay to want her—dominate her—and control her. It was not okay to want to be with her—please her—and love her. Yet, every one of his senses desired Claire. Watching her sleep, he wanted to see her emerald-green eyes that flared when she was upset, her neck that straightened with defiance even when her words accommodated his demands, and her body that filled his every waking thought. He wanted to touch her skin, warm, soft, yet firm, and her long silky hair. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to smell her scent when he first came home—clean and fresh with her chosen perfume and the aroma of her after ***—warm, moist, and exhausted. He wanted to hear her. At this moment, he heard her faint breathing, but he also liked to hear her endless talk. He knew she longed for companionship and camaraderie. He also knew he was currently her only choice. He tried desperately to appear uninterested, but her voice filled him with an intense desire he’d never experienced. That desire had a ***ual component, but it also contained a desire to fulfill her yearnings. Anthony Rawlings never previously considered fulfilling someone else’s desires. His entire adult life had been about his wants, goals, ambitions, and needs.

As his mind pondered these dilemmas, he thought about her just a few feet away. He wanted her again. He knew he could wake her, and she would accommodate his demands. Laying his head back on the pillow he remembered the *** they experienced and wondered when did this happen? He no longer wanted to dominate—but to satisfy.

This situation was completely unplanned. His entire life, business, everything was calculated, how could this happen?

He hadn’t realized until he heard himself apologize. When he entered her suite he knew what he was going to say. It wasn’t what he said. Anthony Rawlings could count on one hand the people to whom he’d apologized. Now this woman—a piece of his plan—was on that shortlist.

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At the Simmons’, she performed beyond his expectation. Then his overreaction almost ruined everything. Claire’s strength—standing up to him—explaining the situation—and then not complaining, yet complying with his punishment—touched him, but when she was relieved by his realization—instead of upset by his overreaction—she melted him.

In reflection, he berated himself. He should have stayed indifferent, dominant, and in charge. The words from his past echoed in his memory, “Only the weak apologize.” He reconsidered waking her, fulfilling the indifferent domineering qualities that would prove he wasn’t weak. Then he saw her peaceful expression and thought of her giving and surrendering herself over and over. Quietly, he got out of bed, put on his jeans, and left her suite. Stepping into the corridor, he decided to workout.

There is something perverse about more than enough. When we have more, it is never enough. It is always somewhere out there, just out of reach. The more we acquire, the more elusive enough becomes.

—Unknown

Chapter Seventeen

‡

Clawson explained one more time. “It’s very easy. Textiles have made you a fortune, a fortune you can now plant and invest to grow a lot more. This is 1977. The real money isn’t in creating. It’s in owning and selling. See these figures?” He handed Nathaniel the reports. “You have capital not only in profit margins, but also in secured retirement plans. That money’s just sitting there, waiting for those employees to get old. Hell, many of them won’t be eligible for retirement for another twenty years. Use that money, invest it. Grow it. Right now it’s just rotting away in these accounts.”

Samuel stayed quiet as long as he could. His father’s dark eyes were starting to flash dollar signs. “Clawson, the problem with your plan is that our employees own that money—not us. They’ve entrusted us to keep that money for them so it will be available when they retire, and it’s growing interest.”

*

“With all due respect, Mr. Rawls, have you seen the interest rates? Your employees will have their money, because you aren’t going to lose it—you’re growing it. Then when the day’s done, they’ll have their retirement and Rawls Corp. will have ad***ional profits.” Clawson spoke to Samuel, but hoped Nathaniel was the one listening.

He was. Nathaniel said, “Jesus—Samuel, have you looked at these reports? Where are the figures on Hong Kong Industrials?”—Clawson handed Nathaniel the reports—“Since the exchange-trade options change of 1973, it’s a cake-walk to manipulate these options. We set our strike price. If the stock price starts to move out of the option near expiration, we set the cap.”

Clawson smiled. The old man was finally getting it. “You have the capital to do that.”

Samuel threw a report on the table. “It isn’t our capital.”

Looking first to the suddenly disorganized stacks of papers, then to his son, Nathaniel’s brown eyes darkened. “Like hell it isn’t. It’s my Goddamn company. I built it from nothing. Do you think those employees you’re so damned concerned about would have a job if I didn’t work my ass off thirty years ago?”

Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh air is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies.

—Erich Fromm

Chapter Eighteen

‡

A week after the barbeque, they flew to Chicago. Tony absorbed himself in his work and his laptop as Claire sat quietly and thought about the city. It had been a frequent haunt during her college days, with Valparaiso being only an hour and twenty minutes from the Loop. She and her sorority sisters would spend entire afternoons or evenings enjoying the sights. They’d shop, dine, or go to the theater and knew their way to all the best deals.

Claire recalled the fun as they rode the L or the train around the city. Sometimes they’d go with guys to a baseball game—usually the Cubs. Since she’d never really been a baseball fan, she liked warm evenings with a group of friends, enjoying hot dogs and cold beer and watching people at Wrigley Field. They would all pile into someone’s vehicle and road-trip. It really didn’t get better than that. They were even known to blow off classes for a day at Wrigley. Claire rationalized it as academic research—her major was meteorology and baseball was outdoors—it all made sense.

Friends made Chicago and baseball fun. To Claire, the guys, all from the same fraternity, were more like brothers. After a brief romance her freshman year, she decided to concentrate on school instead of love. Suddenly, Claire realized her reminiscing made her sad. She wondered where those friends were today. She’d become so busy concentrating on her career that she lost touch with most of them. Maybe if they’d stayed connected they would have noticed her missing last March.

As the jet approached the private airport, Claire saw the skyline against the blue of the lake. She told herself to put the sadness away. Compartmentalize. She wondered—when driving there in an old minivan, she knew fun times were ahead—now leaving the private jet and entering the backseat of the leased limousine—what was in store?

Eric chauffeured the limousine as they drove toward the lake at 7:30 AM. Claire could see the buildings, smell the exhaust, and feel the vibration of the road as the car turned north on Lake Shore Drive. She felt more at home than she had in months. She wanted to talk about everything they passed: McCormick Place, Soldier Field, and Grant Park. As they approached Millennium Park, she thought about the concerts which took place all summer long.

Despite her new enthusiasm, she didn’t speak. Tony was occupied on his cell phone. He’d been in a conversation with someone ever since they landed. His voice sounded amicable, but she could see his body language. It told another story. Listening to Claire give a tour of Chicago wouldn’t help his disposition. She also worried he may not approve of her comfort level with Chicago. Originally, she didn’t want to join him on this trip, now she couldn’t wait to enjoy the city.

The limousine pulled up to the Reliance Building and Tony gathered his briefcase, laptop, and cell phone. Eric came around and opened the door. Still talking on his phone, Tony nodded to Claire and got out. She found herself in the familiar situation—being chauffeured to a completely unknown destination.

Before the jet arrived, Tony informed Claire she could rest at his apartment. He hadn’t mentioned the location or when he’d return. She took a deep breath and waited while Eric moved the car through the crowded streets. In a short time, the limousine idled in a line approaching the front entrance to the Trump Tower.

Eric lowered the window separating the two compartments and gave Claire the first information on her destination. “Ms. Claire, Mr. Rawlings’ apartment is the eighty-ninth floor of Trump Tower. Security has your name and will allow you access. As you enter the main doors, walk to the left. You’ll see a security desk. They’ll help you reach the apartment. I’ll park the car and bring your and Mr. Rawlings’ bags up as soon as I can. The staff of the apartment will be available to assist you once you reach the eighty-ninth floor. Do you have any questions, miss?”

“No, thank you, Eric, I’ll be fine.” Then she waited while he stopped the car and came around to open her door. After only having five hours sleep, Claire felt like a mouse placed in a maze. Would she be able to find the cheese?

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The cool lake breeze hit her legs as she stepped from the car and proceeded into the Trump Tower. She thought about her appearance—the blouse, skirt, sophisticated heels, and hair pulled up and back. She didn’t resemble the college girl who used to roam these streets with her friends.

Today, doors opened and the bellman nodded as she passed. She looked like she belonged in a limousine. The guard at the security desk didn’t question her as she spoke with confidence, “Hello, I’m Claire Nichols. Please show me to Mr. Rawlings’ apartment.”

“Yes, Ms. Nichols, we’ve been expecting you. We hope your flight was enjoyable. Please follow me this way.” The guard tried his best to make small talk, but Claire’s mind lingered six years behind.

Once the elevator reached the eighty-ninth floor, Claire tipped the guard, thanked him, and entered the open door to the apartment. Immediately, a charming gentleman greeted her, “Hello, Ms. Claire, my name is Charles. I’m very pleased to meet you.” He showed her to Mr. Rawlings’s room. “Miss, would you be interested in some breakfast, coffee, or anything else?”

Tony’s room reminded her of his apartment in New York, more of the masculine natural colors. The shades were drawn and the room felt dark and dreary. She knew on the other side of the shades the sun shone brightly and asked Charles to open them. The view, as he opened the drapes, took her breath away. The windows faced north toward the lake. Far above most of the city, she stood close to the window and looked down at the buildings. Just a little to the left she saw Navy Pier and out on the lake she saw boats. The beautiful vista hypnotized her. She loved Chicago—and there it was—eighty-nine stories below.

“Ms. Nichols, will you be staying or going out?”

Pulled from her trance, she knew her desire and reality differed. She and Tony hadn’t discussed her activities. “I believe I’ll be staying here—for now—and I’d like some coffee please.”

Charles returned with coffee and their luggage. If she were back in Iowa, she could be on her way to her lake; instead, she was sequestered in Tony’s apartment. She lay down on his big luxurious cold bed, covered herself with blankets, and fell asleep. When she awoke the clock said 12:30 PM. Tony might not be back for at least five hours. If only she could contact him, find out his plans. Instead, she investigated his apartment.

Not surprisingly, it was magnificent and apparently took the entire eighty-ninth floor. Like his New York apartment, there were floor-to-ceiling windows throughout the dwelling. She found an office that contained computers and telephones, no doubt Tony’s home office in Chicago. She opened the office door, looked around, and closed it. Under no circumstance was she permitted in his home office without him. There was no reason to believe the rules would be different here.

It occurred to Claire that perhaps Eric would be able to contact Tony and find out his expectations. Charles informed her that Eric was with Mr. Rawlings. He didn’t know when they planned to return.

Next, Charles served lunch, which bore a striking resemblance to her everyday lunches in Iowa. Knowing there were restaurants with various delicious foods only an elevator ride away, Claire’s appetite disappeared. She settled onto the sofa in the living room with a book; however, the stunning view and the undeniable yearning to be in the city made concentration difficult. Finally, at 4:30 PM, Charles announced Mr. Rawlings called and the two of them had dinner reservations for 6:00 PM and tickets to the 8:30 PM show of “Wicked.”

Preparing for the evening, Claire opened her garment bag to a Nicole Miller taupe strapless dress with sequins. She’d never seen the dress before, but knew it’d fit perfectly. The matching Gucci shoes and handbag completed the ensemble. There was even a small jacket with matching sequins, just right for an autumn evening. She piled her hair on top of her head with large spiral curls dangling down her neck.

As she completed the finishing touches to her make-up, Tony entered the bedroom, greeted Claire, and went to the adjoining bath for a quick shower. She smiled at his chatty tone. It was as if other people were near, and his eyes were milk chocolate. When he emerged from the bathroom, the aroma of aftershave filled the bedroom, and he was clean-shaven, with wet hair, and a towel around his waist.

Watching him, she momentarily thought about an ongoing conversation she’d been having lately with herself. It usually started with thoughts of him—pleasant thoughts. Then she’d think about the way he made her feel or how much she liked to see him happy. Then it would turn to questioning, something like: Are you completely crazy or only unstable. She didn’t know how she could feel this way about him. After all, he kidnapped her and hurt her—but when he was good…Claire tried to remember—there was a song or something that said—when he is good—he is so good—and that summed it up.

She pondered the many puzzling sides of his enigma as she watched him in the mirror. First, looking at him as he removed the towel, her pulse quickened and she forgot about her primping. No one could deny his incredibly handsome physique. Hell, he was gorgeous. Despite the almost twenty-year age difference, she observed his defined muscles, broad shoulders, and firm abdomen. Momentarily, she fantasized about the feel of his skin against hers. Second, he was undoubtedly an extremely successful businessman who desired to keep his personal life private. Third, he utterly and completely believed in appearances. Fourth, he had an insatiable *** drive. In that arena Claire had come to terms with his varying approaches—anywhere from tenderness to domination. The side of Tony that bothered Claire the most was his unpredictability. His temperament could shift without warning—making an Indiana tornado seem docile.

Due to his position, his desire for privacy and appearances were understandable. It was the swiftness with which he could go from serene to furious that concerned her. Nevertheless, as Claire watched him dress, smelled his cologne, and heard him chat, her body tingled in anticipation. She looked forward to being on his arm and enjoying Chicago’s nightlife.

Their dinner reservations were for Sixteen a fine restaurant on the sixteenth floor of the Trump Tower. They were escorted to a premium table with an amazing view of the Wrigley Clock Tower. Tony ordered their wine, appetizers, and meals. The reputation for outstanding cuisine proved true; everything tasted delectable. They chatted throughout the meal, mostly about Chicago and its many possibilities. Claire didn’t complain about spending the day in the apartment, but she mentioned that after the spa she’d like to do some shopping. After all, wasn’t it Tony who kept encouraging her to shop?

After dinner, Tony suggested they walk the short distance from Trump Tower to Cadillac Palace Theater. Having wanted outside all day, Claire thought his idea was fantastic and enthusiastically agreed. Feeling the warm city breeze, walking arm in arm down South Street through the crowds of people, gave her a rush of anonymity. They talked and laughed as the evening faded into night. Claire’s deprived senses filled with sounds of traffic, the feel of a crowd, and visions of buildings transforming into monuments of architecture as darkness descended and lights illuminated.

Claire could have walked forever. Even the sensation of her shoes hitting the hard concrete delighted her, but their journey ended too soon. Upon entering the theater, she saw the show bill high above their heads. She’d long been a fan of the “Wizard of Oz” and immediately became excited about watching the performance of “Wicked.”

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Of course, they were seated in prime seats. Claire remembered seeing shows in the same theater, years earlier, sitting somewhere near the top of the balcony. Currently, they had an excellent view of the stage and orchestra. For the next few hours, Claire became lost in the performance: the acting, dancing, and singing. When Elphaba sang “Defying Gravity,” Claire was absolutely mesmerized. Her life disappeared into the performance. Every now and again she would notice Tony watching her—not the show. She chose to ignore his gazes and enjoy the show. She believed her behavior was appropriate and knew—without a doubt—if it weren’t—he would let her know.

After the show they walked back to Trump Tower. Tony talked about Claire’s appointment scheduled for 9:00 AM. She had a massage, facial, and hair services scheduled, but if she wanted more she only needed to let them know. Everything would be billed to Tony’s apartment. Her only concern would be generous tipping, and he would give her all the cash she needed. The spa was actually in the tower and Charles would be available to help her find it. They would provide lunch if her services took that long, and they probably would.

That night Tony’s bed wasn’t cold like it had been earlier in the day. Claire believed his business in Chicago must be going well. That night he was generous, demonstrative, sensual, and erotic. Perhaps he felt apologetic for his quick judgment the week earlier. Whatever the motive, Claire loved the results!

In the past, during the nights Tony stayed in Claire’s bed, it seemed like they slept on polar-opposite sides. Tonight’s finale concluded differently. They fell asleep with Claire’s cheek on his chest, his arm around her bare shoulder, and her arm over his tight abdomen. She felt his warmth as his chest hair tickled her nose. Her head rose and fell with each of his breaths, and the sound of his heartbeat in her ear. She inhaled his intoxicating scent and drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The next morning, she awoke alone. Due to the heavy draperies, the dark room made it difficult for Claire to assess time. The clock read 7:10 AM. She hadn’t heard Tony get out of bed, shower or dress, and had no idea how long he’d been gone.

Putting on a robe, she went to find coffee. At home it would have been brought to her immediately upon waking. Then she thought—no, hoped—perhaps this room didn’t have the quality surveillance of her room in Iowa. In the dining room Charles poured coffee and informed her that Mr. Rawlings left thirty minutes earlier for his Chicago office.

Sipping the rich bold liquid, Claire’s mind recalled the pleasures of last night. Not just the ***—which was great—it was the memories of his voice and expressions. Blissfully walking back to the bedroom, Claire told Charles she would wait until after she dressed for breakfast.

Back in Tony’s room she found his note:

I am sure you remember that your appointment is at 9:00 AM, don’t be late. I plan to be back to the apartment by 6:00 PM You mentioned shopping last night at dinner. I have left you your cre*** card and ID. There’s also ample cash for tipping and incidentals. After your spa day, Charles will help you with transportation to shopping.

Do not forget my rules—I trust you know better than that.

He never began his notes with a salutation or signed them. Claire looked in the envelope under the note. It contained her ID and cre*** card, as well as over a thousand dollars in different denominations.

Claire thought it was unnecessary that Tony kept her ID and cre*** card. It wasn’t as if she had the opportunity to use it whenever she wanted, and the amount of cash seemed excessive, until she saw the small sticky note on one of the bills:

$100 per stylist that assists you

Claire decided maybe some instruction was helpful, she wouldn’t have considered tipping that much.

She arrived at the Day Spa ten minutes early. They greeted her and ushered her to one of the treatment rooms. Instead of music, the air permeated with sounds of nature and the aroma of scented candles. Indirect lighting helped to complete the relaxing atmosphere. To begin her day of pampering they directed her to a large whirlpool tub. Once submerged, the assistant added a special mixture of oils and powders based on Claire’s answers to some preference questions. After the tub, Claire was led to the massage table, where they asked her to lie with her face submerged in a hole.

Suddenly, besieged by a rush of unpleasant memories, she did her best to control her emotions and lie down. The masseuse began with Claire’s shoulders and commented on the tightness of her muscles. It didn’t take long for the combination of the bath oils, ambiance, and magic of the masseuse’s hands to ease the tension. At the conclusion of the massage, every muscle in Claire’s body felt loose and relaxed.

Next, they proceeded to the hair salon. Apparently, when making Claire’s reservations a highlight procedure was requested. Never in all of her life had she colored her hair. The apprehension brought back some tension to her shoulders; however, she knew Tony was the one to plan her treatment, so the idea of changing it was more unsettling. While the color sat on her hair, they treated her to a facial which claimed skin rejuvenation. After they washed and con***ioned her hair, the stylist began trimming and styling.

When Claire’s chair spun around, she gazed at her auburn tresses which now contained generous caramel and light blonde highlights. It all blended beautifully, and the length hadn’t really changed. The result looked healthy, shaped, stunning, and different.

Next, they offered Claire a menu. She enthusiastically ordered her own lunch, deciding on a sushi variety plate with a side salad. Claire decided Tony must not like sushi. She hadn’t eaten any in months. It tasted wonderful. Following lunch she chose to receive a manicure and pedicure while the cosmetic specialist completed her make-up. Claire yearned to walk around outside, yet she was truly enjoying the pampering. Smiling, she recalled Tony’s enthusiasm about her spa experience.

It was nearing 2:00 PM when the receptionist brought Claire the telephone. “Ms. Nichols, you have a call.” At first, she just stared. Other than Emily over a week ago, Claire hadn’t spoken on a phone for almost six months. She immediately believed this was a test.

Looking at her nails under the dryer, she said, “Thank you, could you please ask who it is?”

The receptionist inquired and continued, “Mr. Rawlings would like to speak with you.”

Claire carefully took the phone. “Hello, Tony?”

“Very good, Claire”—she smiled—“I’m on my way to the airport. I need to make an emergency trip to New York.” Tony’s voice sounded informative but preoccupied.

“All right. Will I be going too?”

“No, Eric will be back in Chicago this evening and accompany you home. Just continue your plans and be back at the apartment by 6:00 PM. Charles will see that you get to the airport for your flight.”

Claire wanted to ask about the shopping. She felt pretty and didn’t want to spend the afternoon in the apartment. However, he did say to continue her plans. She chose to believe that included shopping. If she didn’t ask, she could plead ignorance when questioned.

“Okay, I will.” She didn’t want to say anything inappropriate with people listening. “Do you know when you will be back?”

“Not for sure. I believe Saturday. I need to go, we’re at the airport.”

“I will see you then. Have a safe trip.”

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“Claire”—he paused—“don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t Tony. I’ll see you Saturday.” The telephone disconnected from his end. Claire handed the telephone back to one of the clinicians and inspected her nails, holding the phone hadn’t caused any damage. Her fingers and toes glistened shiny red, and her make-up had been expertly applied. Claire stepped in front of the mirror. She wished with all her might that Tony could see her now—she felt stunning.

There were a total of six assistants that worked directly with Claire. She went to the front desk, signed the charge slip, and gave the tip money to the receptionist, with an ad***ional fifty for her. Claire smiled and thanked her for bringing her the telephone.

Back at the apartment Claire changed clothes, wanting to get outside and enjoy the shops before she needed to return at 6:00 PM. Looking out of the windows, she could tell the day was warm. The waves on the lake also told her that the breeze was strong. But of course, that was why they call it the windy city!

She had a little over three hours to shop and she wanted to make every minute count! All of a sudden, time slipped back six years. She needed to shop fast in order to get back to class. The biggest difference between then and now was her goal—instead of bargains—she looked for the buys that would please Tony.

Charles offered Claire a driver, but she wanted to walk. The busy city and warm weather created an exhilarating atmosphere. She longed to be outside and on her own short schedule. Cartier was her first stop. She found another pair of sunglasses. They were like the ones from New York, except black, which would be better for winter.

Although that was her thought, she wondered if she would really be with Tony all winter. Compartmentalize. Right now, her plan was to enjoy this afternoon and some shopping, the rest would work itself out.

Her familiarity with the magnificent mile proved advantageous to her goal. She didn’t have Eric to pick up packages, so she didn’t buy anything too bulky; however, she managed some smaller bags from Saks, Anne Fontaine, Armani, and Louis Vuitton.

Claire approached the Trump Tower and her watch said she had thirty minutes to spare. She stopped in the coffee shop for a quick café mocha. In Iowa, she mostly drank plain coffee with cream—very high quality and amazingly delicious. This afternoon she was living and decided a little chocolate would hit the spot.

Sitting at the table surrounded by her packages, sipping her café mocha, Claire’s mind wandered. Her life seemed to have taken a turn. The last few weeks were much better than months earlier, so much better than she could have predicted. She talked with Emily—if only for a few minutes. She thought about the rules: speaker phone, limitations, and the briefness of the call. It took a magnitude of compartmentalization to concentrate on the affirmative aspect of the conversation. Nonetheless, she spoke with her sister and that made her happy. Then there was the barbeque—minus the unfortunate misunderstanding—which was a success. Tony introduced her to his friends, and they were nice to her. The date with Tony the night before was romantic: dinner, walking, the play, and the activities until they fell asleep. Now, she was sitting in Chicago—a destination she loved.

Smiling, she sipped her café mocha and thought about him. She hated him one day and then allowed her hair to change colors because he requested it. The more she thought about it, maybe allow wasn’t the appropriate word. Really, did she have an option? How could he hurt her one day and then make her feel so fulfilled the next? Her internal debate continued.

As she thought of Tony, feelings of lust pushed away the old feelings of fear. Remembering the sensation of his touch, sound of his voice, and taste of his skin, she wanted to believe this was a significant improvement. She wondered how she could be having these feelings, how she could enjoy his presence, and even look forward to being with him. She’d read about Stockholm syndrome—maybe that was it. She knew it didn’t make sense—but she couldn’t deny the way she was beginning to feel.

Preoccupied in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the woman approaching until she stood directly above her. “Claire? Claire Nichols is that really you?”

Claire looked up in disbelief, realizing that someone actually addressed her. She recognized Mere***h Banks immediately. She was a sorority sister from Valparaiso. It made sense—Valparaiso was nearby.

“Hello, Mere***h, how are you?” Her voice reflected her genuine excitement and surprise at seeing someone from her past. They’d roamed these streets together, in another life.

“Gosh, I’m great. How are you? You look amazing. I haven’t heard from you in ages!” Mere***h looked at the other chair. “Do you mind if I join you for a few minutes?”

Apprehensively, Claire looked at her watch. She needed to be upstairs by 6:00 PM—it was 5:40 PM. She considered appearances—it would be rude to not allow her to sit.

Claire motioned with her hand. “Yes, please do.”

The two ladies talked about what brought them to Chicago. Mere***h noted, looking at the booty surrounding Claire’s chair, she was obviously doing some shopping. She even noted it was higher-end shopping than they did in college. Claire laughed it off, saying even these stores had great deals. She couldn’t help think about Bonnie who’d gauged the value of her clothing and wondered if Mere***h were doing the same thing.

Mere***h asked if Claire saw any shows while in town. Claire told her she saw Wicked and enjoyed it very much. Did Claire remember the fun shows they used to watch and the concerts? Mere***h mentioned she was in town for work. Where was Claire working? She seemed to know Claire had been in Atlanta. Claire wondered if they had spoken while she was there, they must have. Mere***h lived out west these days—in California. Did Claire ever make it out that way? Where was she living?

Claire did her best to be evasive, yet friendly. This was her sorority sister being friendly—not some paparazzi. Finally, Mere***h started talking about her husband. She married Jerry from the fraternity and their group. Did Claire know that? No, she didn’t. How long had they been married? And Anne and Shaun were engaged! If Claire would give Mere***h her address, she was sure that Anne would want to invite her. Mere***h wondered if Claire was married. Was she seeing anyone? Hadn’t she heard rumors?

That word sounded an alarm—Rumor. Wasn’t that the word Tony used to describe her—a rumor? Claire laughed again. “Oh, Mere***h, didn’t we learn years ago you should never trust rumors.”

Checking her watch again, it was 5:55 PM. “It was great seeing you, but I really do need to go. We should catch up sometime.” Claire tried to not be rude, but she didn’t want to talk any longer. She went directly to the security counter, where the guard recognized her and helped her with her bags as they went to the residential elevators.

By 8:00 PM, Claire sat in Tony’s jet by herself, flying back to Iowa. Eric copiloted. She tried not to think about her conversation with Mere***h. She decided compartmentalization was best—she would think about it another time. Instead, she decided to think about Thursday and Friday with Tony out of town. Smiling, she told herself, I’m going to my lake!

Experience is the most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God, do you learn.

—C. S. Lewis

Chapter Nineteen

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Thursday morning, Claire woke to the unfamiliar sound of rain. With the dryness of the summer, at first she questioned the pitter-patter, but as her mind cleared, the noise made sense. Going directly to the window, she saw droplets of water on the window, gray clouds, and puddles on the ground. She had been so excited about the lake, but she didn’t want to walk five miles—each direction—in the rain and mud. Disappointment overwhelmed her. How could it rain on the one day she wanted sun? With Tony gone—the day dragged on endlessly.

The next morning, she lay in bed and listened for the sound of rain. Straining her ears, she only heard silence. Tentatively, looking out the window, Claire beheld the crystal clear blue sky. The rain had washed the dust and dryness of the summer away leaving everything looking fresh and clean. The bright sunshine glistened on the moist leaves.

Wearing her robe, she went out onto the balcony and immediately realized the drop in temperature. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and gazed out over the polychromatic woods. The crisp autumn fragrance penetrated deep into her lungs. She knew it would be muddy, but she didn’t care. She’d wear an old pair of shoes and make her way to her lake.

Getting ready that morning, her reflection caught her by surprise. The new blonder hair made her skin tone lighter and eyes deeper green. It wasn’t as if she suddenly looked like Marilyn Monroe, but her reflection looked more blonde than ever before. Claire wasn’t sure what she thought of her new look, but she did know, Tony wouldn’t be back until tomorrow; so, she pulled the lighter hair back into a ponytail.

As she got ready for her adventure, Claire realized she didn’t own anything old—as in old shoes. Everything was new or looked new. The clothes which were in her closet almost six months ago were gone—now too large. Whether she shopped or not, her wardrobe never waned. Currently, sweaters and jackets multiplied while she slept.

Luckily, her feet hadn’t changed size, so the hiking boots she requested months ago were waiting and ready. Claire decided she’d just clean them when she got home. Catherine didn’t approve of Claire’s plan, saying the ground would be muddy and slippery. What if she fell and twisted something? Claire promised she would be safe. She explained that it had been so long since she hiked in the woods; she wanted to stay out as long as possible. She would return—she simply didn’t know when.

Catherine promised dinner upon her arrival—no matter how late. She also provided Claire with a packed lunch complete with water bottles and a thermos of warm coffee. A little past 10:00 AM, she left the backyard.

Although it had been almost a month, Claire knew each turn to find her lake. At almost noon she reached her destination. The shore looked exactly like she remembered, except the trees surrounding the lake were now multicolored with rich vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges. Green had definitely become the minority. Certain varieties of deciduous trees were completely bare. Claire suddenly wondered what made some trees lose their leaves earlier than others; she had some research to do.

The scent of autumn filled the air, thick, poignant, fresh, and spicy. After yesterday’s wind and rain, the morning air was still and the lake was calm, the surface resembling a giant mirror. The colorful trees on the shoreline reflected off the water. The simplistic beauty made Claire wish she had a camera.

The sounds of nature were everywhere: bees or yellow jackets buzzed in the autumn sunshine, birds sang, and forest rodents scurried through the fallen leaves. Claire watched as ducks swam on the beautiful smooth lake, leaving wakes as their trail. Some floated near the shore, occasionally dipping their heads under the water, filling their stomachs for their flight south. September was almost half done; she would head south too, if she could. Pensively, she thought about Atlanta.

When Claire dressed, she put on jeans, a workout t-shirt, and a jacket. Now that the sun glowed strongly from high above, the warmth allowed her to remove the jacket. By late afternoon, she even took off her boots, rolled up her jeans, and waded into the water.

Part of her recognized the possibility she may not be back to the lake before winter, and she wanted to experience as much as she could. Of course, she hoped her debt would soon be considered paid. More realistically, she realized her duties now included travel. If she were expected to accompany Tony out of town, she wouldn’t be home to explore.

The cold water made her feet tingle. She watched as her polished toes stepped on pebbles and squished the underwater terra. When she stood still, the minnows swarmed, investigating the bright red toenails. Some even nibbled at her toes; it tickled.

Claire had eaten her lunch midafternoon, but her stomach told her she needed dinner soon. Finding some coffee in the thermos—no longer warm—she pretended it was a Frappuccino—without the crushed ice. It helped to fill the void until she reached the promise of Catherine’s dinner. The daylight hours were decreasing, and before she knew it the sky began to redden.

Glancing at her watch, it was after 7:00 PM. She wondered where the day had gone, as the most beautiful scene unfolded before her eyes. Sitting on the shore she watched the sky as the sun settled over the lake. She couldn’t make herself get up and go back to the house as the lovely postcard picture transformed into a stunning explosion of crimson.

The setting sun caused the few cumuliform clouds to change from white—to gray—to pink—and then to a vibrant red. The radiance beamed onto the leaves, altering their color. The scene continued to improve in brilliance and the beauty continued to grow. Claire sat patiently and watched with a new sense of contentment.

Once the sun reached the line of trees at the far end of the lake, the darkness quickly extended over the land. Claire remembered Catherine, and knew she’d be worried. The idea of walking back to the house in the dark woods should have frightened her, but it didn’t. She knew her way.

When she stepped into the clearing, the illumination from the moon allowed her to see her watch, 8:30 PM. She wasn’t making bad time, but it would be almost 9:30 PM before she reached home. The air had cooled but still tasted fresh and clean, she inhaled and set off as fast as she could. Direction wasn’t the issue—it was safety. The ground not only had limbs and roots as obstacles, but the rain left muddy areas which made her slip. One time her left foot slid, making her right knee muddy. When she stepped into the backyard, her eyes focused on her watch, it was 9:35 PM. The last leg of her trip took longer than normal. Although, her stomach growled for dinner, her first priority was removing the muddy boots, jeans, and taking a shower or a nice bath.

Leaving her boots on the back stoop, the carpeted floor of the southeast corridor felt soft under her feet and quieted her steps. As she opened the door to her suite, her thoughts ran between removing her muddy jeans and a warm shower. Navigation through the dark room was easy, and she even considered leaving the light off. Then she remembered Catherine. Turning on the light would let her know she’d returned. As she reached for the light switch, she sensed his presence. Before she could speak an arm came down over her neck and her head turned sharply upward as her ponytail was pulled back.

It all happened so fast, she gasped.

His fierce voice through the darkness was unmistakable, “Where the **** have you been?”

She tried to respond, but the arm around her neck restricted her air intake. She couldn’t breathe, much less speak. He let go of her, momentarily, while he spun her around. She faced him as he gripped her shoulders with a force she’d never experienced. His warm breath hit her face with each word. “I asked you a question. Where the **** have you been?”

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Coughing at the sudden intake of oxygen, she tried to respond, “Tony, I didn’t think you were coming home until tomorrow.”

That wasn’t an answer to his question. Although the lights were still off, with the bright moonlight streaming through the unblocked windows, her eyes quickly adjusted. With diminished light, distinguishing color was difficult; Claire didn’t need to see color to know his eyes contained none. He released the grip on her shoulder with his right hand and struck her. His left hand stopped her from falling. He supported her, only to confront her again. “I’ve asked you a question twice. I will not ask again.” Once again, his hand contacted her cheek—harder this time.

“Tony, please stop”—she gasped for breath as her temple and cheek stung—“I was hiking in the woods.”

He let go of her shoulders, and shoved her onto the sofa. He followed and loomed over her body as she lay against the cushions. “Do you expect me to believe you were in the woods until this time of night?”

She tried to explain, “I was in the woods.” “The sun was setting.” “It was so beautiful.” Her words came in gasps.

Finally, he yelled, “Shut the **** up! You were out there because you knew I was coming home and you didn’t want to face me after what you did.”

Claire’s mind spun. “I don’t know what you mean. You told me you were coming home Saturday, this is still Friday”—tears infiltrated her words—“I haven’t done anything.”

Tony slapped her again. “Liar!”

Claire fought the sobs and fear, as she watched him methodically walk to the light switch illuminate the suite. Immediately, she noticed that his suit coat was missing, and his shirt and slacks were wrinkled. His chest visibly expanded and contracted with each labored breath, and his eyes were not only black—but violent. In the past he’d been upset—but in control. Tonight rage replaced self-control. Instinctively, Claire knew he’d crossed some invisible threshold. She just didn’t know why. She did know—the reason scared the hell out of her.

The room echoed with silence as he walked to her dining table and picked up papers. That quiet shattered as his booming voice demanded, “Then tell me—tell me how this is a misunderstanding”—he shook the pages in his hand while his words came too close together—“I jumped to conclusions last time. Tell me how I’m doing that now.”

Claire feared talking, but she did, “Tony, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what you are talking about.”

He threw the pages at her and they scattered on the floor near her feet. When he didn’t move, she bent down to pick them up. Although, her vision was now blurry from tears, she tried desperately to blink and focus on the pages. They were typed, and appeared to be from the Internet. The last two pages contained pictures: pictures of the two of them at the symphony—at some event she couldn’t distinguish—in New York—and walking down the street in Chicago, arm in arm. Then there were pictures of Claire in college—with friends—and one of her and Mere***h sitting at a table talking.

The breath in her chest suddenly dissipated. Her eyes focused on the words:

Questions Answered—the Mystery Woman in Anthony Rawlings’s Life

Agrees to a One on One Interview.

Claire’s eyes grew wide and immediately overflowed with a flood of tears. She couldn’t believe what she’d read. Oh my God! “Tony! Oh my God—I did not agree to an interview.”

“So, you’re telling me that this picture of you talking to this woman”—he pointed to the picture as he stood over Claire—“is a print shop fabrication and just like at the barbeque, this is a colossal misunderstanding?”

His closeness filled her with dread. It was her talking to Mere***h…She tried to explain, “It is me, but—” His hands picked her off the sofa and pinned her against a wall. Claire attempted reason, “Tony, I wasn’t giving an interview.” She hit the wall with enough force for a picture to fall. His grip hurt her arms; she tasted the salt of her tears as her ears reverberated with his booming voice and rang from his repeated slaps.

His face descended. “Then what the hell are you doing?”—he shook her again—“Claire, I trusted you! You told me I could trust you and I believed you! I sent you to a spa day! This is how you show your gratitude—by breaking all my rules—by public failure?” He released his grip; Claire fell to the floor like a rag doll.

Scurrying to pick up the papers, Claire asked, “What is this?”

“It’s an exclusive Internet release of an upcoming story. Shelly, my publicist, found it today and immediately forwarded me a copy”—he hovered over her before turning abruptly away. Trying to regain control of his anger and of himself, Tony went to the bookshelf, picked up a book, and threw it into the fireplace. His words came slower—“It’s scheduled to run simultaneously in People and Rolling Stone”—his eyes penetrated her soul—“I flew home as soon immediately.”

Claire wondered how long he’d been waiting and brewing in her suite. She desperately tried to read:

Byline: Mere***h Banks

Well, you believe you know Anthony Rawlings, forty-five-years-old and self-made billionaire? Or, maybe you would like to know him? You may be too late. Since May of 2010 Anthony has been seen out on the town with the same mystery woman. Up until now we haven’t known much about Anthony’s special woman. That is until she agreed to sit down with old friend and freelance writer Mere***h Banks. The woman in Anthony Rawlings’s life is Claire Nichols, twenty-six-years-old and originally from Fishers, Indiana, just outside of Indianapolis.

Claire graduated from Valparaiso University, Valparaiso, Indiana in 2006 with a bachelor’s degree in meteorology. Ms. Nichols and Mere***h were in the same sorority from 2003 through 2006. It’s believed that this long-time friendship is why Claire finally agreed to sit down and discuss her relationship with one of the world’s top bachelors.

Claire looked up and saw Tony on the sofa—watching. Her entire body trembled as nausea erupted in her empty stomach. “Tony, I went to school with Mere***h; she came up to me the other day and started talking—I didn’t know she was a reporter—I wasn’t giving an interview—I didn’t say anything about you.” In desperation she added, “Your name was never mentioned!”

He didn’t speak. Instead, he nodded toward the pages—she continued reading:

Anthony Rawlings has long been considered a wonderful catch for that one deserving woman. In the past, he’s dated such women as supermodel Cynthia Simmons and recording artist Julia Owens; however, his previous relationships didn’t last long. That is until now—now that Rawlings and Nichols have been together. These two were first seen together in late May (see picture) at the Quad City Symphony not far from the large wooded estate of Anthony Rawlings. Since that time, they’ve been spotted by curious onlookers at various charity events, as well two of the nation’s largest cities—New York (see picture) and Chicago (see picture).

The question all eligible bachelorettes are asking—why Claire? What makes her the woman for a man like Anthony Rawlings? Perhaps it’s her youth, her beauty, or her style.

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While Claire would neither confirm nor deny that she and Anthony Rawlings were involved. She didn’t deny living in the Iowa City area. Could that address perhaps be the same as Mr. Rawlings’?

Social Security records indicate that Ms. Nichols’ only employment has been as a bartender, since losing her job in 2009 at WKPZ in Atlanta, Georgia. WKPZ was purchased by TTT-TV, resulting in the layoff of many employees, yet despite this loss of employment, Ms. Nichols was seen shopping in Chicago at such stores as Saks Fifth Avenue, Anne Fontaine, Cartier, Giorgio Armani, and Louis Vuitton. It’s also rumored that Ms. Nichols spent the better part of the day enjoying all the comforts money could buy at one of Chicago’s most exclusive day spas.

Claire used to spend her days in Chicago (see picture) with many different men from Valparaiso University. Now it seems she is enjoying the better life with only one man. (see picture). The performers will be happy to know that Claire and Anthony enjoyed the performance of “Wicked.”

The final bit of evidence confirming their involvement came when Ms. Claire Nichols was ushered to the eighty-ninth floor of Trump Tower—the private city dwelling belonging to none other than Mr. Anthony Rawlings.

Emily Vandersol, twenty-nine-years-old, sister and only living relative of Ms. Nichols, was asked about her knowledge of Claire and Anthony’s relationship. Mrs. Vandersol stated that she’d recently spoke to Claire and she sounded well. Anthony Rawlings was not mentioned during their conversation, and Mrs. Vandersol had no further comments.

Sorry, ladies, it seems that Ms. Claire Nichols is holding on to Anthony Rawlings. What will she tell us about this private man? We are anxiously waiting to learn.

Claire’s hands trembled. Although she’d finished reading, she continued to look down as she searched desperately for something to say—some explanation. Finally, she set the pages on the floor and kept her eyes down. There was nothing to say. The article didn’t reveal any information, although the sensational title alluded it would. Tony knew that, he flew all the way home. He’d obviously read the article multiple times. It was her in the picture—she was talking to Mere***h—it wasn’t what it seemed—but in her head she could hear his voice.

Now, she heard him stand as he walked toward her. “Appearances, Claire—how many times have I told you? Appearances mean everything. There’s a picture of you sitting with her—the author. It doesn’t matter if what she writes is accurate; it’s believable because she’s seen talking to you.”

He wasn’t yelling, he’d regained some control, yet the aura of rage remained. Claire felt his penetrating stare and didn’t want to look into his black eyes.

“Get up.”

Claire knew she should—but she didn’t move—she couldn’t—her body was paralyzed with fear. She had no defense—she’d disobeyed his rules.

His volume increased, “Claire, get up!”

The tears dripped off her nose. “Please, Tony”—she sobbed—“I’m so sorry.”

Defenseless to stop his actions—her body rose as he lifted her by her arm. His voice exuded wrath, “The entire way home I prayed that somehow this was another misunderstanding. You wouldn’t do this after I put my trust in you—but I knew if it wasn’t a misunderstanding—if you’d truly disobeyed—there had to be consequences. There had to be a punishment for this blatant disregard for the most fundamental of rules!”

She saw his hand move and instinctively veered to avoid another blow. The miss of her cheek infuriated him—his control vanished—he swung again. This time, his hand caught her pearl necklace. The fine chain proved no contest for Tony’s anger and power. The pearl charm flew as the broken chain slid from around Claire’s neck. The next impact put her back on the floor, and she tasted blood. Claire started to reach for her face, to learn the source of the blood, when his booming voice proclaimed, “I believe some time away from people—some time alone—will help you remember who and who not to talk to.”

She pleaded for him to stop—she was sorry. She tried to turn and to twist, yet he continued to hurt her. She tried to yell—but sobs replaced pleas. Claire tried to protect her face and her body, yet she couldn’t get away. Time had stopped moving. She wondered how long this had been happening—it could have been only seconds—or maybe hours—Claire didn’t know.

Suddenly thrown backward by a forceful blow, his voice drifted far away. Though her entire body cried out in agony from the abuse—this was different—more—a sudden onset of intense pain. She tried to get up—to speak—but she couldn’t.

Then the stillness grew and everything—Tony—her suite—her tears—her fear—and the pain—all faded away into darkness.

Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.

—Author anonymous

Chapter Twenty

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She couldn’t remember why she was afraid—only that she was terribly afraid and alone. Then with time, the dark and cold that enveloped her being began to dissipate. She heard music and felt warmth. Keeping her eyes shut, the darkness continued, but the familiar music grew louder and more comforting. Bette Midler sang Wind Beneath My Wings. Claire remembered that her mom loved that song. She’d turn up the radio and sing every word. Mom used to say, “It isn’t about the sound of your voice, but the happiness that makes you sing.”

“Shirley, do you know where my wallet is?” Jordan called from down the hall.

“Mom, Claire, took my Pop-Tart.” Emily’s voice sounded different, so young.

Claire opened her eyes and saw a scene, like a movie, except she was there and not there. She also saw her mom, dad, and sister. Claire watched herself, but the Claire she saw was young—maybe five or six-years-old. Their small house was chaotic and full of affection.

She watched as her mom made Emily another Pop-Tart, scolded Claire, and gave her a loving kiss on top of her head. Dad walked into the kitchen wearing his police uniform. Claire couldn’t believe how young everyone looked, how warm and full of love she felt watching this scene from her childhood. Dad walked behind Mom and put his arms tenderly around her. She noticed Emily and Claire playing with one another and their breakfast. They weren’t seeing the devotion and adoration Claire now saw between her parents. Mom giggled as Dad kissed her neck, and she handed him his wallet from the kitchen counter. He whispered in her ear, Claire strained to hear. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Well, you aren’t going to get the chance to find out. I plan on sticking around forever.”

As they looked at one another, the two little girls at the table started to distract them with their giggling, bickering, and suddenly the spilling of a glass of orange juice. Little Emily and little Claire both became silent, neither one would tell on the other. Claire heard her dad’s voice, “Girls, see what happens when you mess around.” His voice wasn’t angry. He cleaned the juice with a paper towel and Mom helped with a wet cloth. “Try to be careful, you sillies.” He kissed their foreheads as he turned to leave, taking the time to hug their mom.

The scene began to fade. Claire didn’t want to leave the warm feeling. She took one last look at the sisters eating their cereal and laughing. The spilled juice is forgotten. The darkness returned—coolness—

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“Ms. Claire—Ms. Claire, can you hear me?” Although the familiar voice teemed with concern, the warmth she felt from her childhood was gone. Claire didn’t want to go to the voice—she wanted to go back—she wanted more sleep, more tranquility…

“Come on, Claire, the movie starts in half an hour,” Grandma’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs.

Claire opened her eyes and wondered where she was. It was her grandparent’s house. She must be staying over. Now she wondered if Emily was there too. She could see herself, no longer a child but an awkward teenager. Grandma called up the stairs again, “Claire, your sister said she’ll pick you and your friend up—hurry down.” Grandma’s expression reflected concern for Claire’s movie. The real Claire wondered if the teenage Claire would see Grandma’s distress.

Young Claire stomped down the stairs. “Fine, I’m ready, but I called Amy, and now she can’t go. I don’t want to see A Bug’s Life with Emily. John will be there. He’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Let’s call Emily, and we’ll tell her Grandpa, you, and I are going to the movies.” As Claire watched she prayed her counterpart would accept Grandma’s offer. She also wondered her age, probably fourteen or fifteen-years-old. Then she remembered Grandpa died when she was fourteen-years-old, so if he was going to the movies she had to be younger. Teenage Claire made a face at her grandmother’s suggestion.

“Where are we going?” Grandpa’s green eyes shone and his voice boomed jovially as he joined them from the other room. Claire’s heart ached to see her grandparents, yet at the same time it swelled with affection.

“To the movies,” Grandma said, smiling at Grandpa. Her grandparents were having an entire conversation through their sparkling eyes and facial expressions. Young Claire didn’t notice—too self-absorbed.

Grandpa put his arm around Claire. “Great, I’ve been trying to get Grandma to go to the new Lethal Weapon. You know I love me some police drama.”

Grandma smiled at him. “Oh no, that’s rated R. Claire would rather see Ever After.”

They were doing it—pulling Claire out of her funk. She wasn’t budging willingly—but they were doing it.

“Oh, no, Grandma, I don’t want to see Ever After—it’s a Cinderella story—that’s stupid.” Grudgingly, smiling at Grandpa, she said, “I want to see Mel Gibson’s butt!”

Her grandparents smiled at one another and continued the amorous charade. “I don’t think Shirley and Jordan will approve”—Grandma said as she grabbed the newspaper—“Let me look at the movie times for Ever After.”

Teenage Claire looked over her grandma’s shoulder. “Grandpa, Lethal Weapon starts in twenty minutes. If we hurry we can make it.” Her sulking forgotten, she believed she’d just gotten her way.

Claire filled with warmth as she watched herself be lovingly manipulated.

Grandma next words surprised Claire. “Hey, I’m going too. I don’t want to miss Mel’s butt.”

Just before the scene began to fade, Claire saw Grandma winked at Grandpa. The last thing she saw was the three of them going out the door to the movie.

Claire wondered why she hadn’t remembered this before. Then she realized, it wasn’t unusual. She was raised by an amazing family with uncon***ional love and consideration. Somewhere along the way, she’d forgotten how that felt—a warmth which surrounded everyone within a happy aura. The darkness returned as Claire clung to the sense of serenity and warmth.

Gradually, the darkness intensified, and the warmth melted away. In the cool darkness she heard voices again. She waited.

“Claire, talk to us. Open your eyes.” It wasn’t a command. Tony’s desperate voice was requesting.

She didn’t want to open her eyes. She wanted to feel the warmth—to sleep.

“Ms. Nichols, Ms. Nichols.” The deep unfamiliar voice no longer spoke to her, but to someone else. “We’ll need to begin intravenous feeding if she doesn’t regain consciousness soon. The medicine to keep her unconscious should be out of her system. She’s responding to some commands, but we can’t be sure of her con***ion until she fully wakes. Sometimes the body will do this on its own—shut itself down to heal and to avoid the pain.” There were voices and then she heard the unfamiliar one speaking again. “Her pain seems to have subsided with the medication. It should help her wake.”

Claire didn’t want to listen to them anymore or know who they are talking about. She just wanted to sleep, to feel warm, and go back to her memories.

“Get up, sleepyhead. You have a room of your own.” Claire heard her own voice. It sounded happy and playful; however, she couldn’t see herself or to whom she spoke.

“But, I like this room better. I like this bed better,” the other voice teased and laughed.

“Really, a twin bunk bed? That’s what you like?” They both giggled.

“As long as you’re here.” Claire saw the two of them, a big mound under the covers, laughing and playing. As the covers moved she recognized herself and Simon—Simon Johnson. She hadn’t thought of him in years. She’d made herself compartmentalize him away.

Their hair disheveled, they looked too young for such activities. This was her freshman dorm room.

“Claire, I want to marry you.”

“Yeah, right.” She didn’t believe him. Her plans didn’t include marriage. Young Simon, however, meant every word he said. Now as Claire watched she wondered—what if?

“No, really. We can wait until we’re through school or we can run away today. I’m not busy—how about you?” He pretended to be playful, but his tone held more than a hint of sincerity.

“Give me a rain-check, okay?” Claire nibbled his ear. “I think my dad might be upset if I decide to throw away a year of school to get married during spring semester.”

“I want to marry you—not stop your dreams—we can still finish school and you can be a famous meteorologist.” Simon didn’t get upset. He smiled tenderly and continued, “A famous meteorologist named—Claire Johnson.” He playfully nibbled her ear and let her take a turn on his. They lay in that little twin bunk bed and talked for hours.

As Claire watched memories flooded her consciousness. The two of them had shared so much of themselves, their dreams, ambitions, troubles, failures, hopes, and accomplishments. Nothing could stop the mutual admiration and affection of their first love. She watched as they finally got out of bed and dressed—wearing sweatpants and Valparaiso University sweatshirts. Claire put her hair in a ponytail.

Looking at her now, Claire chastised herself. She needed a shower—some make-up—and definitely a brush. Simon didn’t notice—compliments came between hugs and kisses. He told her he thought she looked beautiful and doted on each word. They were both completely in love. They discussed the finer dining establishments near campus—Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, or Wendy’s.

With a warm loving kiss they mutually decided it would be Taco Bell—No pretense—no rules—only warmth and an undying need to be together. As they left the dorm room, Claire looked at the mess—clothes on the floor, bed unmade, a pizza box next to the trash can—and she saw the comforts of home.

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The scene vanished, fading to black—the feeling of love remained.

After watching, all she thought—please don’t fade. I want to keep this going. However, it did—it faded.

Slowly, the scene evaporated—slipped away into cool darkness. Claire felt so cold. She wanted a blanket, something, anything with heat—please! She’d beg if necessary. The cold was so—cold! Her body trembled uncontrollably.

“Claire, the doctor said you may be able to hear us when we talk. Catherine and I’ve been talking to you for days—for over a week. He said you’ll wake up when your pain decreases and you’re ready. Please be ready soon. This liquid crap they’re putting in your arm may have nutrients, but you’re wasting away. Catherine has had the cook prepare all the foods you like—every day—just in case you wake and want something.” Tony’s voice sounded close. She sensed his distress and concern.

Claire had to wonder, if I open my eyes will he be right there. Did he say over a week? I have been asleep for over a week? How did that happen? Why was a doctor here? Claire couldn’t remember the whys or how, all she could remember were her parents, her grandparents, her sister, and Simon. Those memories filled her with hope and promise, and yet Tony sounded like he needed her.

She knew she needed to go to Tony. She didn’t want to make him wait, but she was so tired and weak. Maybe a little more rest before she opened her eyes. Someone must have put blankets on her because she felt warmer. Along with the warmth Claire felt the stiffness of her dress—it was sea foam green. She was seeing herself in a full length mirror as Emily watched. They were in a big dressing room.

“I love it!” Emily observed Claire from all sides. “It’s perfect for my wedding.”

“Seriously, Em, you want me to wear green?” Claire’s tone sounded joking—it wasn’t. She remembered not liking the dress, but of course she would wear it, if that was what Emily wanted.

“Yes. With your eyes, it’s stunning.” Claire watched the two sisters and again became self-critical, the Claire she saw looked too heavy and her hair was too thick and bushy. Emily was seeing someone different as she played with Claire’s hair, twisting it and talking, “With your hair up and some dangly earrings—I know you can wear Grandma’s necklace—it has a pearl, and I’ll wear Mom’s strand of pearls. They’ll look great! That will be my something old. You’ll almost be as pretty as me.”

The mention of Grandma’s necklace triggered something sad, yet Claire couldn’t remember why the sadness came. She couldn’t seem to remember—

Emily, being three years older than Claire, was the bride, and yet she also had the responsibilities of the mother-of-the-bride. Their mother should have been there, but she wasn’t. The girls only had each other. It was Emily’s wedding, yet she encouraged Claire.

Claire smiled at her sister and her green eyes sparkled. “Yeah, you wish. I just want you to know John secretly loves me! We wanted to tell you—but you know?”

“Honey, he isn’t secretive about that. He loves you—you’re his little sister.”

“Yeah, I know. I have to beat the men off with sticks. Okay, I’ll wear green, but for my wedding I’m finding you the gaudiest bubblegum, pink dress you’ve ever seen!” The two sisters laughed. Emily helped Claire out of the dress and they continued their shopping. They had so many things to do before the wedding. Together they’d do it all.

Just like the little girls with the juice, they were there for one another. After their parents died it was the two of them against the world. John understood and never tried to come between them. Even when Claire moved in with them as newlyweds, they welcomed her.

Briefly Claire saw their home in Troy, New York. Not large—it could be better described as crowded. Seeing it again, from afar, filled Claire with affection and warmth. John worked long hours, and Emily had her teaching responsibilities, but they still managed to make Claire feel welcome. She suddenly wondered if she’d ever thanked them. She couldn’t remember…

The scenes faded faster now. The warmth and strength evaporated. The blackness returned and pulled her in. Claire instinctively wanted to get away from the blackness.

The serenity transformed into coldness. She opened her eyes and saw it—the cold blackness staring back at her. She gasped and closed her eyes, but then she heard the voices coming from different directions. “Claire, are you awake?”

“Ms. Claire, please come back to us.”

Tony spoke fast, “She opened her eyes. I saw it—just a second ago”—she felt his hand on hers—so warm compared to the cold—“Can you hear me?” He continued speaking to Catherine, “Go get the doctor. He’s getting something to eat in the kitchen. Let him know she’s finally waking.” With a different tone, one of desperation and affection, he pleaded, “Claire, please open your eyes.”

Do you know what happens to scar tissue? It’s the strongest part of the skin

—Michael R. Mantell

Chapter Twenty-One

‡

Claire inhaled—her chest felt tight—and there was a deep ache on her right side. She tried to remember. How did she get this way? She felt so weak. She tried to move her hand to touch Tony’s, even the attempt exhausted her. There was an odd feeling on her left arm. She turned her head to see what was making her arm feel strange. Everything blurred out of focus. The light in the room was so intense—she couldn’t see. Tony noticed her eyes squint, immediately got up from the side of her bed, and closed the drapes.

He returned and picked up her hand. His voice was soft, “It was too bright in here. I closed the drapes for you. Is that better?”

Claire tried to respond; she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was too dry. She moved her head ever so slightly, indicating Yes, it is better. The movement of her head made her dizzy, while the inability to speak frightened her causing her eyes to moisten. When her lids closed a tear escaped, sliding down her cheek.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to talk”—Tony’s tone was kind and loving—“Please open your eyes again. It’s so good to see your beautiful emerald eyes.” He held gently to her hand.

Claire opened her eyes and looked at the needle taped to the bend of her left arm. As if reading her mind, he explained, “That’s how you’ve been eating for almost two weeks, and it has some pain medicine too—to make you more comfortable.”

Claire started to remember…she was in the woods…she came home and Tony—oh, God! Tony!—The memory made her eyes open wide with panic.

She remembered.

Tony’s voice continued, gentle and comforting, “Can you remember what happened? You had an accident.”

Claire tried to say, “No, you did this,” but she couldn’t.

It may have been the dryness of her tongue—or the horror of the images—but she just stared as he continued speaking, “You had an accident in the woods. When we found you, your jeans and boots were all muddy, and you had multiple injuries. Did you fall? Did you slip? Did someone or something out there hurt you? We’ve had the woods searched. Nothing was found.”—he leaned toward her—“Claire, we’ve been so worried about you.”