Consequences (30 page)

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
two
of
them
walking
arm
in
arm
on
their
way
to
the
theater.
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,
sister
and
only
living
relative
of
Ms.
Nichols
was
asked
about
her
knowledge
of
Claire
and
Anthony’s
relationship.
Mrs.
Vandersol
informed
Ms.
Banks
that
she
recently
spoke
to
Claire
and
she
sounded
well.
There
hadn’t
been
any
mention
of
Anthony
Rawlings
during
their
conversation.
Mrs.
Vandersol
had
no
further
comment.

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.

Byline:
Meredith
Banks

Claire held the papers even though she finished the article. She desperately searched for something to say, some explanation. Finally, she set the pages on the floor but she didn’t look up. She knew there was nothing to say. The article hadn’t revealed any information, although the sensational title alluded it would. Tony knew that, he flew all the way home. He obviously read the article multiple times.

It
was
her in the picture. She
was
talking to Meredith. It wasn’t what it seemed, but in her head she could hear him, she could hear his voice. Now she could hear him getting up and walking toward her.

“Appearances, Claire, how many times have I told you? Appearances mean everything. There is a picture right here of you sitting with her, the author. It doesn’t matter if what she writes is accurate, it is believable because she is seen talking to you.” He wasn’t yelling, he’d regained some control, yet the aura of rage remained. Claire didn’t want to look into his black eyes even though she could feel them staring at her.

“Get up.” She knew that she should, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t, her body was paralyzed with fear. She had no defense and had disobeyed his rules. His volume increased, “Claire, get up!”

The tears dripped off her nose. “Please, Tony,” she sobbed. “I am so sorry.” He lifted her by her arm. She felt helpless.

His voice exuded wrath. “The entire way home I was praying 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 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 gone, he swung again. 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. This time she tasted blood.

She didn’t know if it was her nose or her lip, she started to reach to find the source. His voice continued, “And I believe some time away from people, some time alone will help you remember who and who not to talk to.”

She tried to turn and to twist herself. She pleaded for him to stop. He continued to hurt her and she was sorry, tried to yell, but couldn’t get away. She tried to protect her face, her body. Time wasn’t moving. She wondered how long this was happening. It could have been only seconds, maybe hours, Claire didn’t know.

Suddenly thrown backward by a forceful blow, his voice seemed to drift far away. Her body cried out in agony from the abuse, yet there was a sudden onset of intense pain. She tried to get up, to speak, but she couldn’t. Then the stillness grew and everything—Tony, the room, tears, fear, and pain—all faded to darkness.

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

—Author anonymous

 Chapter 20

She couldn’t remember why she was afraid, only she was terribly afraid and alone. Then with time, the dark and cold that enveloped her began to disintegrate. She could hear music and feel warmth. Keeping her eyes shut, the dark continued, but the familiar music grew louder and more comforting. Bette Midler sang “Wind beneath My Wings.” Her mom loved that song. She would 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. She could see 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 dressed in his police uniform. She couldn’t believe how young they 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 that Emily and Claire played with each other and their breakfast. They didn’t spot the devotion and adoration that 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. I plan on sticking around forever.” They looked at one another, the two little girls at the table started to distract them with their giggling, bickering, and suddenly the glass of orange juice spilled over the table. 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 as she took one last look at the sisters eating their cereal and laughing. The spilled juice is forgotten. Then darkness . . . coolness . . .

“Ms. Claire, Ms. Claire, can you hear me?” The familiar voice teemed with concern. The warmth she felt from her childhood was gone. She didn’t want to go to the voice. She wanted to go back. Claire 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. She wondered where she 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’d 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 concern.

Claire stomped down the stairs. “Fine, I’m ready. I called Amy, she can’t go now. And 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, tell her Grandpa, you, and I are going to the movies.”

As she watched she prayed that her counterpart would accept Grandma’s offer. She also wondered her age, probably fourteen or fifteen. Then she remembered that Grandpa died when she was fourteen, so if he was going to the movies she had to be thirteen or fourteen. Teenage Claire made a face at her grandmother’s suggestion.