Текст книги "Convicted"
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
Focus on things you can control .
—John Wooden
“Monsieur?”
Tony pulled his gaze away from Claire and looked toward Madeline. In her arms, she held a stack of towels and sheets.
“We need to clean her and cool her.”
Tony nodded and reached for a wash cloth. After going to the bathroom and saturating it with cool water, he folded it in thirds and gently placed it on Claire’s forehead. His soft tone resonated through their suddenly cavernous suite, “I know you haven’t been sleeping well.” Thunder shook the house. Tony continued, unfazed, “If you need to sleep now, it’s all right, but pretty soon, our little one will be here. He or she needs their mommy.” Tony fought the emotion boiling in his throat. “Claire, I need you. With you I’m someone I’m proud to be. P—please—don’t leave me.”
The pressure of someone’s hand fell on Tony’s shoulder. He was on the edge of a dark abyss. Fear pulled at him, inciting emotions he couldn’t control. Anthony Rawlings controlled everything and everyone. The sudden impotence filled his world with red. Other than Claire, he was surrounded by employees. Didn’t these people know anything? They didn’t address him without a title, and they didn’t touch him! Tony inhaled and looked toward the touch. His gaze met Madeline’s as she smiled a sad smile. Instantaneously, the red faded. Tony covered Madeline’s hand and relished her support.
Madeline said, “Monsieur, Madame el, she’s not gone—she’s resting. The island cure I gave her is helping her. She needs her strength for your baby. We must make her comfortable.”
Tony didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to do. It was an uneasy situation under normal circumstances. With Claire’s life on the line, Tony felt completely helpless. Swallowing his pride, he asked, “H—how can we make her comfortable?”
Madeline explained her plan. Once Tony approved, she put it into motion. First, she instructed Francis and Phil to carry a chaise lounge in from the lanai. Rain covered the floor when they opened the door and brought the long lounge into the bedroom. Madeline immediately dried the moisture from the floor and from the lounge cushions; then she proceeded to cover the chair in towels and sheets.
Phil and Francis went back to the hall and kept silent vigil, while Madeline and Tony removed Claire’s wet clothes. They cleaned, rinsed, and dried her with cloths and towels from the bathroom. Once she was dry, Tony gently lifted her to the lounge chair where they dressed her in a nightgown and covered her shivering body with a clean sheet. The chase lounge was much lower than a normal bed; however, since the mattress of their bed was saturated, it gave her a clean place to lie.
No longer did station matter. Madeline was no longer house staff or an employee—Tony willingly submitted to her control of the situation. If she told him to jump, it would be he who asked, how high? For the first time in his memory, Tony didn’t want power. He knew nothing about giving birth. Without a doctor, Madeline was their best bet. She was the dealer—she controlled the deck and had his full respect and attention.
As the sky darkened and night time came, Tony did the only thing he could. He sat by Claire with one hand on their unborn child. When he’d feel the baby move, he’d tell Madeline, “I felt something.” His other hand continually touched Claire. It may have been her hand, her cheek, or her forehead. He didn’t care where they connected—as long as they did.
Throughout the night, Claire’s pulse remained steady, and their baby continued to move. It wasn’t until dawn when Claire began to wake. At first, it was the incoherent mutterings of earlier. She pleaded, “Tony...no...gone...Tony...no...” Eventually, the pleadings morphed into tears. With each outburst, another piece of Tony’s heart broke. Claire was fighting a battle only she could see. He would’ve said, paid, or done anything to bring her relief—he couldn’t.
All he could do, was offer himself. Never leaving his wife’s side, Tony repeatedly wiped her tear coated cheeks with a soft handkerchief, and each time she’d mutter, in his calmest tone, he’d reassure, “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. No one is gone...” He didn’t know if she could hear his words; nevertheless, saying them brought a sense of comfort to their suite.
By the time the sun rose behind the still billowing clouds, Tony’s head rested quietly on the side of the chair. There hadn’t been a change in hours. He didn’t intend to fall asleep, but the rumbling of thunder, rhythm of rain, and constant in Claire’s condition allowed him to slip into a false sense of security.
Claire couldn’t remember where she was. Her last memory was of the suite in Iowa. The copper colored walls she remembered were gone; instead, the white woodwork and golden drapes of 2010 were back. The fear that infiltrated her thoughts and drained her world of color was the overwhelming sensation of isolation. Claire was, once again, alone. No longer did she wake to the sounds of her paradise. Birds no longer sang and the surf no longer roared. The only reoccurring noise was that of the beep. She didn’t need to look, to know why it occurred. Claire knew too well—the beep happened whenever the door to the rest of the world opened.
Alone forever, the beep was a continual reminder of her fate. Claire didn’t want to hear the sound or see the person who’d enter. There was a time, somewhere long ago, when Claire yearned to see Catherine, she prayed for that. Now, each time the door opened, she prayed for someone—anyone else, yet each tray of food—each outfit set out—everything necessary for life—came at the hands of the woman who was no longer her comforter—but her tormentor. If Claire turned, she knew she’d see Catherine’s sadistic gray eyes.
Though her life was hell—it no longer mattered. Claire’s will to continue vanished with her husband and child. She saw the food which arrived three times a day. Never once did she desire to eat. She saw the French doors which opened only upon request. There was nothing beyond the panes she craved. Colors were gone. Showering, dressing, sleeping, and waking were inconsequential. Claire’s thoughts and actions were consumed with one desire: to be with her family. If her goal could only be obtained through death, she willed it to occur.
This sense of doom overwhelmed her as she woke. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She didn’t want to see the golden drapes. Tentatively, more from reflex than want, Claire pried her eyes open. As she tried to focus, the world she feared was gone; instead of white woodwork, a thatched ceiling filled her view. A slow, methodical fan twirled above her bed and cooler than normal air moved through their suite.
Though the angle didn’t seem right, she knew she was in paradise. When she attempted to move, stiffness affected each joint. Claire felt as though her body were bruised. With pressure on her stomach, she suddenly remembered their baby. Tears of loss filled her eyes as she reached for her midsection. Before her hand moved that far, her fingers brushed a full head of hair. Raising her face, Claire’s lips morphed into a grin as she saw the familiar head of dark hair highlighted with renegade white. It was the most perfect head of hair she’d ever seen.
Reaching below the perfect head of hair, Claire felt her enlarged midsection. The slight pressure she’d felt was Tony’s large hand splayed across their unborn child. For a moment, she lay perfectly still relishing her reality. The night of terror was only a dream—a nightmare. As if for confirmation, their child moved. The small, strong life pushed against her skin from within. Every muscle in Claire’s body relaxed. Their child was still inside of her, Tony was beside her, and no matter what the future held, she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Weaving her fingers through his hair, Claire whispered his name, “Tony?”
Though his head didn’t move, the hand over her midsection shielded protectively, as he murmured, “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. No one is gone...”
Again, she whispered, “Tony, what happened? Why are you on the floor?”
His tired eyes found hers. Though he looked exhausted, the sparkle behind the soft brown filled Claire with love and hope. He reached up and touched her cheek. “Oh, thank God, you’re not hot.”
Her lips twitched upward. “Thanks a lot. You don’t look all that hot yourself.”
His lips gently found hers. When he pulled away, Claire watched as his grin emerged, coming from some dark place, and a tear slid down his cheek. Had she ever seen him cry? Claire couldn’t remember. It was the relief in his voice that overwhelmed her and brought tears to her cheeks. “Mrs. Rawlings, have I ever mentioned how much I love that smart mouth?”
Claire nodded. “A time or two.”
He smoothed the hair from her face. “You’ve had us all very scared.”
It was a day of revelations; first a tear and then an admittance of fear. Claire almost asked who this man was, and what he’d done with her husband; however, the sincerity in his voice didn’t deserve a quick retort. Instead, she reached for his hand and kissed his palm. “I’m sorry, I scared you. I don’t remember. What happened?”
Their voices must have been overheard because before he could answer, the bedroom door opened and Madeline came rushing in. “Oh, Madame el”—her deep dark eyes smiled—“Madame Claire, our prayers, they have been answered.”
Something as simple as a name shouldn’t make her cry, yet hearing Madeline call her by her name, a request Claire had made months ago, ignited warmth. Again, Claire felt movement within her. Smiling, she asked, “At the risk of sounding redundant, would someone please tell me what happened?” At that moment, she noticed the back pain was gone.
“Yes, my dear, we will. We don’t want you to have to ask again.” She could hear the smirk in her husband’s voice.
“Thank you, I don’t believe I’m the only one who doesn’t like to ask the same question twice.” Claire saw the gleam in Tony’s eyes and squeezed his hand. It truly amazed her that a simple phrase could possess so much meaning.
“Madame Claire, how do you feel?”
“I think...I feel good...” Claire tried to sit. Tony moved to the back of the lounge chair and repositioned the back. When he did, Claire realized something leaked. With a surge of panic, she confessed, “I think I just...”
Madeline reached for her hand. “Your water broke. Your baby is coming soon.”
Claire knew she should be excited, yet looking at her husband and then past him, she saw the gray skies. It was then the drumming of steady rain registered. “Dr. Gilbert?” she asked.
Tony shook his head and grasped her hand. “It’s too dangerous. Phil and Francis have both offered to go after him; however, even if they get to town, Dr. Gilbert may not be willing to travel back here.”
Claire tried to think. “Madeline, did you say you’ve delivered babies before?”
“Oui, I’ve helped.”
It was more experience than either of them had. Claire nodded; then she asked, “My water broke? When?”
“Last night,” Tony replied.
“Then why am I not in labor?”
“Oh, but Madame you are.”
Claire closed her eyes and assessed. She felt more comfortable than she had in weeks. The lower back pain was gone. The tightening was gone. The pressure down low was gone. A tear escaped her eyes.
Tony tenderly wiped it away. “Why are you crying?”
Her words came between ragged breaths. “I don’t think this is right.” “If I’m in labor, then I should feel something.” “My water broke.” “It isn’t safe for the baby not to be born.” She looked back to Madeline, “Why am I not contracting?”
Madeline answered truthfully, “I do not know, but you will. Your baby will want to come out.”
The lines around Tony’s eyes deepened. “I’ll go to town. I can’t ask someone to do something I’m not willing to do.”
Claire grasped his hand. “No! No you won’t. I don’t want Phil or Francis risking their lives either, but under no circumstance are you allowed to leave me.” Not bothering to smile, Claire added, “This is not debatable.”
His grin twitched, and he whispered close to her ear, “Do you want me to get the satin mask?”
She tried to suppress her smile; however, suppression of any kind was impossible. Her emotions were too raw. The days of figurative masks were gone. With her emerald eyes shining, she replied, “Maybe later, but right now, you’re not leaving me!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tony looked up to Madeline. “Do you think she should eat?”
Claire remembered the night before. “I don’t want to. Last night, I threw up after dinner.”
“Madame el, you can drink? No?”
“Yes, Madeline, I can drink.”
“I’ll be back.”
When Madeline opened the door, Claire saw Phil and Francis standing just through the opening. Suddenly, she remembered modesty. Looking down to her feet, Claire realized she wore a nightgown that she didn’t remember putting on and was covered with a sheet. “Please let Phil and Francis come in for a minute. They look worried.”
Tony kissed Claire’s forehead as he fought to stand. Sitting on the floor all night appeared to have stiffened his muscles as well. “My dear, we were all concerned.”
It was nice to have everyone near. Claire wished for the doctor, but the camaraderie was much better than being alone. Francis explained that, although the forecast wasn’t promising, if a break occurred in the weather, he’d take the boat to Dr. Gilbert. If he couldn’t help Madame el and her bébé in that way, he’d do what he’d been doing all night—he’d pray. When he squeezed Claire’s hand, the tension from the storm and impending labor dissipated. The sunshine of faith overpowered the fog of doubt.
After Francis reassured Claire and Tony, he slipped from the room. When Madeline entered with a concoction of fruit juices, Claire noticed Phil. Since he hadn’t spoken, she hadn’t been aware of his presence. With his arms crossed over his chest, he’d been leaning against the wall, observing. Claire reached out her hand. “Phil, I didn’t see you. Please come over here.”
His steps were dutiful and painstakingly slow. In all the time she’d known Phil, she’d never seen his current expression. It wasn’t anger—she saw that the day he found Harry in their hotel suite. It wasn’t concern—she saw that multiple times as they worked to hide. Claire wasn’t sure what it was. When he reached her hand, Claire was the one to reassure. Squeezing his, she said, “I’m fine, Phil. The baby’s fine. Please don’t risk your life to get the doctor. We’ll be all right.”
He didn’t speak—he nodded. Perhaps he was uncomfortable with the whole intimacy of the situation. He’d seen her in a nightgown before; however, this was understandably different.
Claire looked to Tony. When their eyes met, Tony repeated Claire’s words, “If anyone’s risking their life to get the doctor, it will be me.” Tony looked back to Claire, “However, at this point, no one will.”
She exhaled.
After Claire drank most of Madeline’s fruit juice, Tony helped her stand. She read somewhere that walking could help induce labor. Her first stop was the bathroom; she wanted to be clean. When she turned to close the door, Tony entered. “I’m not leaving you alone. You’re stuck with me.”
Claire smiled. “Thank you.” There were some things that were difficult to ask, but when they were offered or demanded, it was comforting. At that moment, Claire was thankful for her demanding husband.
By midafternoon, the rain stopped, the sky began to clear, and patches of blue infiltrated the gray sky. As evening approached the blue dominated, even as the wind continued to howl. The sound of surf filled their ears as the normally calm lagoon produced waves with white tops.
With Claire’s arm in Tony’s, they walked the length of the lanai and back again. Claire didn’t believe anyone else had slept, yet no one complained. It was during their fourth or fifth lap when Phil approached. “Excuse me, Francis believes we have enough time to get to town and back before dark.”
Claire looked anxiously toward Tony. The contractions had come back; however, they weren’t occurring with any sense of regularity. Thankfully, they also weren’t in her back—they were a tightening that encompassed her entire midsection. Claire wouldn’t authorize a venture that could harm the people she loved. Reaching out, Claire took Phil’s hand. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
His neck straightened, and his tone sounded formal. “Mrs. Rawlings, I can assure you, I’ve had more difficult assignments than a boat ride in the tropics of the South Pacific.”
Tony nodded. When he began to speak, Claire gripped his arm. Both men looked to her as she closed her eyes and repeatedly exhaled.
Perhaps there was an unspoken connection between Phil and Tony. Both men wanted to help, needed to help, yet felt helpless. This was Phil’s chance to do something—for Claire. Tony replied, “Be safe—and be fast.” Claire didn’t argue. When she opened her eyes, she saw Phil’s nod before he hurried away.
Moments later, the distant roar of the boat’s motor filtered through the reverberating sound of the surf. Claire grasped Tony’s arm again—the contractions were getting closer.
Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.
—Stephenie Meyer, New Moon
When Meredith left her husband Thursday morning, she couldn’t stop the tears. He didn’t want her to go, but he didn’t argue. He hadn’t been married to his college sweetheart for ten years without understanding her desires. Avoiding the scheduled meeting would be the equivalent of the first story Meredith wrote about Claire. It would be lying and cheating—very ironic, considering the stance she was about to support as truth—was in fact—a lie.
It took Meredith a moment in the parking lot to regain her composure, but summoning all her strength, she pushed the thoughts of her children and husband aside and concentrated on Claire. The meeting would be short-lived; as soon as Emily saw her, it would be over. Her only hope was that she’d be released on bail. Unbeknownst to Meredith, her husband was spending the morning securing their assets in anticipation of such a call.
She wished she could tell everyone the progress Claire had made; however, Meredith wouldn’t do that. She’d promised Claire she wouldn’t tell anyone, and she wouldn’t let her down again.
Making her way to the conference room on the first floor of the doctor’s tower, Meredith had a fleeting feeling of pity for Ms. Bali. Yesterday, her supervisor was almost giddy about this meeting. It was unusual for someone as low as a food aide to be recognized for contribution to a patient’s care. Having the family and lead doctor desiring to speak with someone under Ms. Bali’s supervision was the biggest compliment she’d received in over twenty years. Before Meredith went to Claire’s room yesterday afternoon, Ms. Bali went on and on about the years of under appreciation. Meredith hypothesized this meeting was why she received a mere verbal reprimand for keeping Claire out so late the other night. Among her other prayers, Meredith hoped Ms. Bali wouldn’t be penalized for hiring someone with false credentials.
As Meredith neared the conference room, she fought the urge to make one last trip to Claire’s room; instead, she willed her feet forward. She wasn’t wearing her uniform. Looking down at her blouse and skirt, Meredith grinned. She’d spent quite a bit of time choosing a blouse she thought would look good in a mug shot.
Stepping through the threshold, Meredith scanned the room. Smiling to those in attendance, she hid her surprise at the empty seats. She’d expected the room to be fuller. The faces smiling back at her were ones of staff members she’d seen periodically in corridors and patients’ rooms. The meeting was scheduled for 8:30 AM, and Ms. Bali arrived with minutes to spare. Her normal uniform was replaced with a nice skirt suit. Smiling, she sat beside Meredith. 8:30 AM came and went. The Vandersols weren’t present, nor was Dr. Fairfield. By 8:45 AM, the staff present began to fidget. Ms. Bali’s expression began to waver, exposing her concerned eyes as she watched the clock on the wall.
At 9:00 AM, a confident, professionally dressed woman came into the room and apologized, “Excuse me, Mrs. Russel and everyone else, my name is Valerie, I’m Dr. Fairfield’s assistant. I’ve been sent to apologize to you for this inconvenience. Mrs. Russel, your help with Ms. Nichols has been noticed and appreciated. Dr. Fairfield apologizes for his inability to attend this meeting, as do the Vandersols. Something unexpected has come up. They wanted you to know that your assistance has been—and is—acknowledged. They hope you’ll continue working with Ms. Nichols; she works very well with you. Thank you everyone for coming. This meeting is done.”
Meredith stared, trying to comprehend Valerie’s speech. When Dr. Fairfield’s assistant turned to walk away, Meredith suddenly realized the only possible reason for everyone to miss this meeting. It had something to do with Claire. Meredith asked, “Excuse me, Valerie?”
The assistant turned around. “Yes, Mrs. Russel?”
“Is Claire—I mean, Ms. Nichols, all right?”
“Yes, Mrs. Russel. May I speak with you privately?”
Meredith couldn’t resist. Although she’d just received a pardon, she needed to know what kept everyone away and that Claire was well. Meredith followed Valerie into an empty elevator. Valerie pushed the button for the floor of Dr. Fairfield’s office and whispered, “Dr. Fairfield said if you asked that I was to bring you up.”
“Are you sure she’s all right?”
Valerie didn’t answer verbally, but her expression morphed from stoic business assistant to a school girl with a secret—one she was dying to share. Meredith decided not to push any further. If she were being included in this gathering, then it was something big.
The relief Meredith felt at the conclusion of the non-existent meeting dissipated as she neared Dr. Fairfield’s office. She suddenly realized she was seconds away from facing the Vandersols. “Are you sure I’m welcome?” she asked as they entered the quiet hallway.
“You are, but first, let me show you what’s happening. Come with me.”
Meredith’s anxiety grew with each step. Valerie took her to a room. The name plate beside the door read: Observation. Inside, there were four chairs all facing a large mirror. Valerie pointed toward the mirror and pushed a switch. The dark glass transformed into a window, giving them visual entry to a well lit room. On the other side of the glass, Meredith saw a surreal scene. Claire was sitting in a chair, maintaining eye contact with her sister. Emily was also sitting, bent at the waist, holding Claire’s hands with their knees touching. Claire looked uncomfortable, but it was Emily who appeared visibly shaken. Her eyes were puffy with dark streaks of mascara coating her cheeks.
There was no sound; nevertheless, Emily’s lips were moving, Claire was nodding and shaking her head—answering questions that Meredith couldn’t hear. John’s blotchy face caught Meredith’s attention as he knelt next to Emily with his hand on Claire’s knee. Dr. Fairfield and Dr. Brown were observing and conversing near the far corner.
“What happened?” Meredith finally asked, choking back the emotion which bubbled in her chest.
“When the staff arrived to Ms. Nichols’ room to help her shower, she was already showered and dressed; then she told them she didn’t want eggs for breakfast—she wanted fruit.” As Valerie recounted the scene that sent every member of Claire’s care team into overdrive, Valerie couldn’t contain her smile.
Meredith, however, was having difficulty holding back her tears. “Do they think this is real? I mean, will it last?”
“Oh, Dr. Fairfield is beside himself. Mrs. Russel, he’s invited you to join them. Your care has helped in getting Ms. Nichols to this point.”
Meredith knew that was true, but she also knew Claire’s public declaration was done for one reason—to save her. If she entered that room, then she’d defeat Claire’s efforts. Unable to keep the emotion from her voice, Meredith replied, “I want to, but seeing her with her sister and brother-in-law...I don’t want to interrupt this family moment. Besides, I don’t want her to see me crying. I don’t want to upset her.”
Valerie placed her hand comfortingly on Meredith’s shoulder. “I understand. This has been very emotional for everyone.”
“May I see her later this afternoon? I’m not scheduled to work, but I’d like to bring her dinner to her, if I may?”
“I don’t see why not. Does Ms. Bali have your number?”
“Yes, she does.”
“If there are any concerns, we’ll call you; otherwise, please come back.” Valerie patted her shoulder. “Ms. Nichols mentioned you by name. She does appreciate all that you’ve been doing for her.”
Meredith couldn’t answer; the soft tears now flowed too freely. She took one last look at the scene through the window, nodded to Valerie, and left the observation room. After retrieving a tissue from her purse, Meredith walked to the kitchen offices. Ms. Bali would want to know what happened and transformed their meeting.
As soon as Meredith reached her car, she called her husband. In retrospect, she understood how he misconstrued her tears. Of course, he thought she’d been arrested. When she explained what Claire did, he promised a celebratory dinner. Meredith agreed, with one stipulation—it needed to be a late one. First, she wanted to come back and see Claire—after the Vandersols left.
Six steps—that’s the length of Claire’s trek near her bed. Her mind swirled with the onslaught of new information—it was all she could do to slow thoughts. The repetitive counting, as she methodically paced back and forth, helped to calm her—One, two, three, four, five, six—turn—one, two...
She told herself this technique was normal—not crazy.
No matter how much she tried to focus on other issues, Meredith kept coming to Claire’s thoughts. What if she stayed away or didn’t know what Claire had done? What if she didn’t come back?
Unfortunately, Claire knew the answer to her own questions—that knowledge propelled her steps—if Meredith didn’t return—there’d be no one to help Claire remember the man she loved—no one to help her remember the man who would never return. Meredith was the only person willing to break the rules—four, five, six—turn—one—Oh, Claire knew rules—but this rule couldn’t be maintained—as much as she wanted to show everyone that she could behave, obeying this rule wasn’t an option.
Claire knew her memories weren’t right. There were gaps the size of craters! When Claire tried to remember Tony—real memories mixed with illusions. Meredith’s stories helped her remember—they helped to bring color back to the dimming scenes from her past. As Claire tried to recall specific times from her past, panic bubbled up from her chest—three, four, five, six—turn—one, two—Sometimes she’d be able to picture a place, but not the faces. Other times she’d imagine the faces, but the scents were gone. Her pacing quickened as she feared her sacrifice—telling everyone she was getting better—was all for not.
Concentrating on his face, the color of his eyes, and the scent of his cologne, the sound of the opening door or moving cart didn’t register. Perhaps ignoring the worker was a conscious decision. Claire was tired of talking—turn—one, two, three—The day had been so full! There’d been so many different people asking so many questions. She wanted time to process—time to sort things out—time to spend alone with Tony. Yes, she knew that wouldn’t truly happen; nevertheless, memories were better than nothing.
Claire didn’t notice the woman beside her until she felt the hand on her arm. Turning toward the touch, her friend’s voice quieted the numbers and slowed the torrent of thoughts. Although she hadn’t heard what Meredith was saying, Claire bowed her head and whispered, “Oh, thank God.”—“I was worried about you.”
“About me?” Meredith lifted Claire’s chin. “What about you? Are you all right?” Hugging her friend, she added, “Thank you!”
Walking toward the table where Meredith had placed Claire’s food, Claire replied, “I’m tired”—“That’s normal though”—“isn’t it?”
Smiling, Meredith nodded. “Yes, Claire, it is, but what you did, oh my God, it was beyond normal. It was amazing!”
“I can’t lose you”—“Please don’t follow the rules”—Claire spoke in quiet short bursts—“I need you to help me remember”—“You’re my only connection to him.”
“What you did was a big risk. You told me you weren’t ready. Thank you.” Reaching for Claire’s hand, Meredith squeezed and said, “I’m not your only connection. Did you talk to Emily about Nichol?”
Claire’s relieved smile disappeared. “I did”—“She doesn’t want me to see her”—“Not yet”—“Until they’re sure”—“I’m better.”
Meredith’s heart broke. “What do you want?”
“She showed me pictures”—Claire’s voice lightened—“She’s beautiful!” Lifting her moist green eyes toward Meredith, Claire added, “I want to hold her”—“in my arms.” When she closed her eyes, a renegade tear slid down her cheek. “I’ve missed so much.”
“But there’s so much more to experience. We’ll get you better. You’ll be holding Nichol in your arms soon.” Meredith questioned, “How did your family reunion go?”
Claire sighed and shrugged her shoulders. She lifted her fork and began to eat. After a few bites, she offered, “There were a lot of questions.” “I’m tired of talking.”
“It’s all right. You don’t need to tell me anything.”
Hurriedly, Claire offered, “I didn’t tell them your last name.” “I just said”—“Meredith”—“That won’t get you in trouble?”—“Will it?”
“No, I’m using Jerry’s last name—Russel.”
Claire exhaled. “Good”—“can you keep visiting?”—“Will you?”—“Please?”
“Oh, yes!”
Though most of her sentences were incomplete and her words slowed with each sentence, Claire told Meredith she didn’t know what to do when Emily and John walked in. The last memories she could recall of her sister, Emily was mad at her. Thankfully, Emily wasn’t mad; instead, she was relieved! During most of the meeting, they talked about Nichol.
It was a much busier day than Claire had experienced in a long time. Although it wasn’t late, after Claire stopped eating, Meredith asked if she wanted help getting ready for bed. Claire didn’t want to accept Meredith’s help, she’d already accepted too much; nevertheless, fatigue prevailed.
