Текст книги "Convicted"
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
Rubbing his face, the softness of his recent beard growth continued to catch him by surprise. It was part of his new persona. The proprietors of the hostel didn’t know him as Anthony Rawlings or even as Anton Rawls. No, the identification he carried, as well as the passport he held, contained a different name.
His departure from the United States had been well planned, well executed, and well—sudden. After the FBI agents removed him from his hotel suite, Tony was given two options: be retained on charges stemming from harming Claire Nichols or disappear and allow the FBI to continue an ongoing investigation. The Federal Bureau of Investigation guaranteed the charges would eventually be confirmed, amended, or dropped—though their disclosure was less than full. The fact the FBI offered an out—a plan B—seemed preposterous. Tony knew something wasn’t as it appeared. After all, when it came to deceptive appearances—he was the master.
It was, without a doubt, the card game of Tony’s life. As he listened to the potential choices, he maintained his poker face and kept his cards close to his chest.
The FBI made it perfectly clear; he was going to be protected from the undisclosed threat. How he chose to accept that protection was up to him: incarceration or temporary vanishment. Although the agents offered a minimum security prison with many liberties, incarceration didn’t sound appealing, even if it was, as they said, for his own good.
Tony chose option number two.
Of course, Anthony Rawlings wouldn’t take their offer at face value. Being the true businessman, Tony negotiated the terms of his disappearance. During those negotiations, he failed to mention the hundreds of millions of dollars he had socked away in Swiss bank accounts. The FBI made demands: all contact with anyone from his past was forbidden. No one could know about his current situation, with the exception of Brent, since the bureau had a gag order signed by him. Tony agreed to the loss of contact and offered anonymity; in return, he was free to travel. Tony told them it was his opportunity to see the world without the responsibilities of his empire—a rather transparent lie—if he had time to work on it, Tony knew he could’ve come up with something better. Not buying their story about Claire leaving on her own, he needed the ability to search.
Agreeing to his proposal, the FBI provided Tony with a new identity. With that, they even provided limited funds, including credit cards; however, they too had stipulations for their negotiations. They wanted to be able to reach Tony at all times. When he countered their demand, they remained adamant—determined that they needed a way to contact him in the event of new information regarding Claire. It was clearly an attempt at manipulation—move; countermove.
Honestly, in Tony’s opinion, the FBI had been less than forthcoming. Why would he all of a sudden believe that they needed to contact him to reveal deep secrets? There was no reason to believe that the distance between he and them would suddenly make them forthcoming. On the other hand, Tony couldn’t take the chance of missing information—if they were willing to share.
After their negotiations, the agents gave Tony his new identity and a cell phone. The final words from Agent Jackson still infiltrated Tony’s consciousness from time to time, Mr. Rawlings, this phone must be with you at all times. You’re not to re-enter the United States or contact anyone. If you fail in these directives, option two is gone, and you are suddenly a fugitive on the run from the federal government. Be confident—we will find you.
Tony stood straighter. Although his mind was dominated by thoughts and concerns about Claire, the agent’s words registered. He considered retorting: perhaps like you’ve been able to find my ex-wife? In a brief moment of decorum, he chose to remain silent. Maintaining his look of indifference, he replied, “I find this extremely unusual—all this deception and secrecy over a possible charge of domestic violence.”
“Oh, Mr. Rawlings, we both know it’s more than that, and when the evidence presents itself, I know of more than one agent who’s looking forward to contacting you, via your phone.”
Tony tried to make sense of the agent’s innuendos; his mind swirled with possibilities. While he debated his response, Agent Jackson added, “Rest assured, when it comes to our own—we never forget, and we never stop. No case is ever too old or trail too cold.”
“Agent Jackson, I seriously have no idea what you’re trying to say.”
“Of course not, Mr. Rawlings. That seems to be a reoccurring theme with you. Perhaps, while abroad, you should look into treatment for your memory issues.”
Tony’s jaw clenched. Fighting with the man who was presenting him with temporary freedom would be counterproductive; nevertheless, the displeasure rang clear in his voice. “I don’t have memory issues, Agent. I’m sure we’ll be talking again.”
“Yes, I’m sure we will—soon.”
Tony knew that his current paradigm was his own doing. He could’ve taken the bureau’s credit cards and identity and maintained a better standard of living than he was currently enduring, but he wasn’t willing to play by their rules—he had his own rules.
Before Tony left the clandestine meeting with Agent Jackson, he made one request. Tony asked that Brent not be informed of this new reality. It was one of the few unselfish moves Tony had ever made for Brent. It was strange how, when faced with the possibility of never seeing him again, Tony finally saw the friend Brent had been. This non-disclosure was a gift. If things turned out badly, and if undisclosed truths became evident, then Tony didn’t want Brent suffering the consequences. Agent Jackson promised to continue the ruse.
With his newly-issued government identity, Tony made it to the airport with a ticket in hand. After passing security, he slipped from the terminal, and with a newly purchased phone, he contacted the only man Tony knew, without a doubt, would respond. He didn’t consider it breaking the FBI’s rules—Tony considered it playing by his own rules—the way he’d always lived his life.
Tony’s requests to Eric were simple: money from the safe—not enough to raise suspicion—the key to the safety deposit box, and his alternative identifications. In case Eric was being tracked, Tony told him to also use alternative identification. As Tony predicted, Eric didn’t question Tony’s directives or motives—he never had.
Tony did keep the FBI issued phone—for a little while. After purchasing an international disposable phone—with the government given credit card—he texted the new number to the only contact listed within the FBI phone. Tony knew too well that phones could be tracked, and he was pretty confident the phone he’d been given was a constant beep on someone’s radar. Leaving the phone in a bathroom in New York State, that beep would now remain stagnant. As Eric drove him across the U.S. border into Canada, Tony received a text:
“WE’LL ASSUME THIS IS OUR NEW CONTACT NUMBER?”
Tony grinned—they’d given him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He’d replied with a statement of non-compliance. Their cooperation within his parameters wasn’t a win, but it was something. Right now, Tony would take that. With a grin, he replied:
“YES” and hit SEND
The cover story—the small plane’s emergency landing in the mountains—was completely fabricated by the authorities. Tony didn’t even know he’d supposedly chartered a plane, or that it landed unexpectedly until he heard the news. The length the FBI was willing to go for this case proved to him that it was something much bigger than it appeared. Like an iceberg, Tony believed he’d only been allowed to see a small portion. As far as he was concerned, that was fine. They’d created a cover story, which allowed him to do the one thing he wanted to do. He was now free to assess the table, determine the odds, and decide—for himself—what cards he should play. He was free to search for Claire.
Flying from Montreal to Brnik, Slovenia, Tony then took buses and trains in a non-direct route toward Geneva. Before he could start his full-out search for his ex-wife, Tony needed money. The days ran together as they were filled with cheap transportation and accommodations. Every nonstrategic thought was dominated by Claire and their child. During the course of his exodus, Tony concluded her disappearance was somehow related to the gifts and letters they’d received on the estate. Although the thought hadn’t occurred to him before, Tony found it interesting that the mailings stopped after her disappearance. Tony hoped and prayed that if Claire were truly running of her own free will, that she was ahead of—not with—the asshole who’d sent the threatening packages and tried to run her and Clay off the road. As his thoughts ran together, Tony also worried about her finances. He didn’t want Claire and his child living in conditions like he was enduring. Hundreds of times a day, he’d question why. Did she plan to leave and if she did, why would she do so without money? As much as he wanted her safe, Tony couldn’t wrap his mind around her being alive and talking to the FBI. None of it made sense.
As he planned his return to financial freedom, Tony felt a trace of guilt. It was true, he’d always been the one to move and invest the money, but truthfully, half of it belonged to Catherine. Tony knew Nathaniel entrusted him to take care of her. Taking this money without disclosure seemed wrong; nevertheless, he reminded himself, half did belong to him. Catherine was safe in Iowa, sleeping in his house with access to more of his money. Honestly, the feeling of guilt didn’t last long.
His indirect trail to Geneva was planned and plotted. He had enough cash to lay low and watch things unfold. He wasn’t using the federal credit card; it was too obviously a means to track him. Tony was listening to his instincts—they’d served him well in the past. Throughout his life, he’d accomplished many goals. Those goals took time and patience, and without exception, they were all done his way. His extremely high rate of success was proof of his own abilities. Tony didn’t see a reason to change his strategy. Despite the FBI’s directives, this endeavor would be on his terms, and his terms alone.
The financial institution in Geneva was his ace-in-the-hole, one of the cards he didn’t reveal. With his current plan, the institution wouldn’t be reached for at least another week. He’d love to move faster; however, perseverance was essential to his plan. His profile was low; he maintained anonymity, even if it was with his own false identity and not the one provided for him. He was also doing what he said—traveling. After his financial reserves were accessed, he’d continue to travel; however, at that time, his goal would be to find Claire. The money would make all of it more tolerable.
With Agent Jackson’s words replaying in his mind, Tony vowed that after he had his money and located his family, he’d learn more about Agent Jackson’s innuendos. What did the FBI know or think they knew? What was meant by ‘one of our own?’ Though he was a master at multitasking, his current situation required his full attention. Tony pushed the agent’s words away—he had more pressing matters consuming his thoughts.
Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning .
—Albert Einstein
Meredith’s Journal:
June 24, 2016
Finally! It’s been almost two weeks since Claire collapsed in the cafeteria. Since I don’t have clearance to go anywhere except the cafeteria and kitchen, I haven’t been able to learn anything about her progress. That was until today; it was after the lunch, before dinner that a few patients and visitors were sitting in the dining room, talking when I noticed Claire and Emily enter the dining room. They were traveling that same path from the outside toward the residential wing.
I only glanced momentarily; Emily was scanning the room with her eagle eyes! Damn, that woman is suspicious of her own shadow! I turned away just as she looked in my direction. Good thing! If she’d recognized me, then it would have made the last three weeks a complete waste of time.
It was after I turned away that I received my first tidbit of information. At the time, I was delivering coffee to Ms. Juewelz and her visitor who’d left the room for a few minutes. Ms. Juewelz has been at Everwood on and off for years. I’m not sure of her exact diagnosis, but if gossiping were a possibility, I’d put my money on that! Even in my short time getting to know some of the residents, I’ve realized that Ms. Juewelz seems to have her finger on the pulse of Everwood.
“Can I get you any cream or sweetener?” Meredith asked, as she placed the ceramic mugs on the table.
Ms. Juewelz spoke, her voice barely a whisper, “You’re smart to turn away from that woman. She’d probably have you fired if she thought you were looking at them.” At first, Meredith wasn’t registering Ms. Juewelz’ words; it wasn’t uncommon for some of the residents to speak about something completely off base from what was said to them.
Keeping her eyes diverted, Meredith watched Emily lead Claire hurriedly along the edge of the dining room. Neither woman seemed to be talking. She tried to read Claire’s expression; however, all she noticed were Claire’s eyes remaining downcast, avoiding everything as she walked with her arm linked in the crook of her sister’s elbow. Refocusing on Ms. Juewelz, Meredith asked, “Why, who is she?”
“She was the wife of that rich guy—but no one can say his name. That woman with her is her sister. She’s super protective, but it’s a pain in the ass! I mean, everyone here deserves confidentiality, but that woman has that poor lady so isolated she’ll never see the outside again.”
It was then Ms. Juewelz’ guest returned to the table. “Aunt Juewelz, you aren’t talk’n about people you’re not supposed to, are you?”
Looking her niece straight in the eye, Ms. Juewelz replied, “Who me? Can’t believe a word I say. I’m crazy, you know!”
Her niece reached over and covered Ms. Juewelz’ hand with hers. Looking straight into her eyes, she said, “I think you’re the sanest person I know, Aunt Juewelz.”
Ms. Juewelz laughed. “Honey, you need to meet more people!”
Meredith walked away, contemplating Ms. Juewelz’ information. Her words broke Meredith’s heart and hardened her resolve at the same time. One way or the other, Meredith was going to get herself to Claire!
July 7, 2016
I can’t believe how tired I am at the end of my days at Everwood. It isn’t mentally tiring; it’s physically draining. I’ve never cleaned so many tables or picked up so many dishes in my life, but I think it’s about to pay off! After almost a month, I believe that I’ll finally be allowed to deliver meals to patients’ rooms. Tomorrow, I have a meeting with Ms. Bali, my supervisor. She said we need to discuss the “parameters of increasing my job duties”. I have to give the whole facility credit; they don’t allow just anyone to interact with the patients. Considering the amount of money these people spend for their treatment, I guess it’s a good thing Everwood makes sure that everyone’s following their rules. I’d write more, but honestly, I’m exhausted. I’ll write more tomorrow.
July 8, 2016
I did it! I’ve been “promoted”! I’m calling it that, but there’s no increase in pay, only an increase in clearance. I think the stories I’ve recently been telling about caring for my ill grandmother helped me get this additional duty.
Starting next week, I’ll be part of the residential room rotation. There are six women who eat all their meals in their rooms. Ms. Bali took me around to each of their rooms today, and I met three of them. The other three, including Claire, weren’t in their rooms. Before we went from room to room, I was shown how to review the ICP on each patient. That’s their “Individualized Care Plan”. I hadn’t been able to access more than the generic information before, but now I have a code where I can see specifics. Most ICPs include food allergies, likes, and dislikes.
Claire’s Food ICP was very specific, with certain rules spelled out:
Ms. Nichols will have three meals delivered each day. Upon delivery, attendants will assess Ms. Nichols’ ability to eat unassisted. If she engages, leave food and return to remove tray in thirty minutes. If she doesn’t engage, direct her to her table and explain your actions as you assist in feeding her.
Talking is recommended by Ms. Nichols’ doctors; however, Mrs. Vandersol will not allow any conversation regarding Ms. Nichols’ previous life. Under no circumstance can the name Anthony/Tony Rawlings be mentioned. IF Ms. Nichols brings up this name, staff is to change the subject immediately and notify a supervisor.
Failure to adhere to the set rules will result in immediate dismissal.
I was surprised to see her room. Unlike the other rooms we visited, Claire’s looked generic and sterile. The colors were all pale. She didn’t have any pictures or personal items, other than her clothes and hygiene items. Even the bedspread and window treatments were neutral; there were no bold colors. Since Ms. Bali was with me, I couldn’t look around too much, but I mentioned the starkness in passing.
“Is this patient new?” Meredith knew the answer; nonetheless, she was fishing.
“No, this is Ms. Nichols, the patient you read about with the specific rules regarding discussion. She’s been here for over two years.”
“Her room isn’t as personalized as the other ones we’ve been in.”
Ms. Bali dismissed Meredith’s observation. “That’s none of our concern. It’s Mrs. Vandersol’s doing, and I do believe it goes along with the conversation rules.”
I wanted to ask more, but was afraid I’d raise suspicion. As we walked toward the kitchen, Claire passed us with a tall, pretty blonde woman. She looked our direction momentarily, but didn’t seem to recognize me. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but I guess in a way it’s good. I’ve been concerned that she’d react as she did in the cafeteria the first time we saw one another. If she did that again when I entered her room, I surely wouldn’t be able to continue doing it.
After they passed, Ms. Bali whispered, “That was Ms. Nichols with Dr. Brown. It’s sad, you’ll see when you start visiting her, but she’s lost all sense of reality. You may have read the book about her, but she’s had a pretty rough life for someone so young. I keep hoping that one day she’ll snap out of it.”
Meredith paused for a moment before asking, “Is that possible? Can people really snap out of it?”
“I’ve been here for over twenty years, so I’ve seen a few cases; however, we shouldn’t keep our hopes up. Cases like that are extremely rare...”
I’m going to do some research and see if I can find out how you can facilitate that “snapping”. Oh, I told her I hadn’t read the book, but I’d look it up. Then she told me not to, that she probably shouldn’t have told me, and it would probably bias my opinion.
She has no idea how biased I already am!
Emily entered the waiting room of Everwood’s counseling center. She knew the facility backwards and forwards, and this was her favorite area—that is, if she had one at all. It was airy and open, with plenty of sunlight. They’d paid extra to get Claire a window that faced East. Emily knew her sister loved sun and hoped that the sunrises would help her; however, according to the reports, each morning when the staff entered her room they found her draperies still closed. At first, Emily had been more willing to entertain suggestions for Claire’s recovery, but with each passing day, week, and month, Emily’s optimism waned.
This was Emily’s bi-monthly meeting with Claire’s doctors, where she’d listen to their theories and suggestions. Once a month, she met with the administrators and discussed confidentiality. At those meetings, she emphasized the importance of maintaining her rules. With these obligations, as well as visiting Claire at least three times a week, Emily’s schedule was very full. She also had a family at home that needed her attention. That family was larger than it would have been without Claire, and for that reason, Emily swore she’d never be regretful. Nichol was a joy, whom she and John were honored to raise. Of course, sometimes she wondered if Michael suffered because of loss of attention, but then she’d see the two cousins interacting like siblings and realize, Nichol was a blessing—despite her parentage.
“Mrs. Vandersol,” the receptionist’s voice brought Emily back to present. “Dr. Brown is ready; may I take you back to her office?”
“No, Sherry, I know the way.”
Sherry smiled. “I’m sure you do, please help yourself.”
As Emily walked the corridor toward the doctor’s office, she thought about Claire’s various doctors and therapists. At Everwood, every employee was female. Since a number of the residents were victims of domestic violence, the belief was that decreased male interaction helped to facilitate their recovery. Even male visitors were restricted to special rooms, away from the general population of patients. Emily had visited those rooms too, the first few times John visited. Now, at least once a month, he’d come visit Claire. The moment he laid eyes on Nichol, he abandoned his anger regarding Claire and Anthony’s reconciliation. John not only stepped up as an uncle and a father-figure, but also as a brother-in-law.
After everything happened—the incident—John needed to return to California. After all, he worked for SiJo and had obligations. Of course, Emily stayed in Iowa with Claire. At first, Claire was too frail and Nichol needed care, then there was the trial. With time and Emily’s pregnancy, traveling became difficult. Staying in Iowa was convenient; nonetheless, she never assumed they’d make it home. Truthfully, they didn’t consider it—until Timothy Bronson approached John.
Tim was named acting CEO of Rawlings Industries, by the board of directors, when Anthony initially disappeared. Although he was young, he’d proven himself to both the board and investors. Considering all she and John had done to harm Rawlings Industries, it seemed unbelievable that Tim would ask John to help rebuild the empire, or that the board of directors would approve his request. Tim did—and so did the board. Emily recalled the lengthy discussions by both John and Tim and her and John. The final deciding factor was the court’s decision allowing Claire to enter a private mental treatment facility. The court had one stipulation—Claire couldn’t leave Iowa. Prior to that, Claire had been in a state run facility. It wasn’t awful, but Emily hated it. She visited almost every day to assure Claire’s well-being. Of course, back then, Emily’s hopes for her sister’s recovery were much higher.
There was no question—Everwood was a much better facility; nevertheless, Emily didn’t feel right leaving Claire and living across the country. In the beginning, Emily believed having Nichol near her mother would be beneficial. Unfortunately, those visits proved to be another failed attempt to facilitate Claire’s recovery. Once Nichol was old enough to understand the situation, Emily believed her niece’s best interest needed to be considered—Nichol hadn’t been to Everwood in over a year.
The court no longer dictated Claire’s treatment; as next of kin with power of attorney, Emily had complete control. Iowa was now their home, and John was gainfully employed by a recovering Rawlings Industries. Meredith Banks was right when she said Nichol didn’t lack for money, and neither did Claire. That was John’s incentive. This time, when he considered the offer to work for Rawlings, he wasn’t accepting charity from a family member. No, this time, he was providing help to his family. Claire and Nichol couldn’t manage or grow their fortune. Since Anthony was gone, John did what he’d done years earlier when Emily and Claire’s parents died; he stepped up.
Emily squared her shoulders and knocked on Dr. Brown’s open door. The pretty blonde psychiatrist stood and welcomed her, “Emily, please come in. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited Dr. Fairfield to join us today.”
It was then that Emily noticed the older gentleman sitting off to the side of the room. The fact he was male caught Emily by surprise. “Hello”—she extended her hand as Dr. Fairfield stood and shook it.
Before Emily could say more, Dr. Brown began, “I’ve asked Dr. Fairfield to join us today because he’s a research professor at Princeton, specializing in traumatic brain injuries. I heard him speak a few weeks ago at a conference and believe he could give us a fresh perspective on Claire.”
Emily sat taller. “Research? I’m sorry, Doctor, but I don’t want anyone experimenting on my sister. She’s been through enough already.”
Dr. Fairfield spoke—with a thick English accent, “Mrs. Vandersol, I assure you, I’m only here to offer my opinion. I won’t use any of the data regarding Mrs. Rawlings without your permission.”
“Ms. Nichols, Doctor, I need you to understand that the name Rawlings may never be used in the presence of my sister—No exceptions.”
Dr. Fairfield looked toward Dr. Brown. Dr. Brown smiled and spoke, “Emily, I’ve only shared the medical information with Dr. Fairfield—nothing personal. I promise we’ll review all of that before he examines Claire. Currently, he’s only seen her CT scans and read my notes. I believe there’s something I’m missing. I don’t know what it is; however, Dr. Fairfield has documented cases of spontaneous recovery—”
Emily interrupted, “I’ve done my research. Most recoveries occur within the first year. After that, the likelihood is greatly diminished. Isn’t that right?”
Dr. Fairfield replied, “That’s correct; however, the cases to which Dr. Brown is referring were significantly outside the normal time period for recovery.” Emily contemplated his words as he added, “One case was four years out.”
Four years! Emily thought about that. It’d already been over two. She’d come to terms with the idea that Claire would never recover, but was that a life? “What does this mean? What will you do to Claire?”
Dr. Brown replied, “We need your permission for Dr. Fairfield to examine Claire and possibly perform more tests.”
“More tests? What other tests could you possibly perform which other doctors haven’t already done?”
The doctors spent the next forty minutes explaining Dr. Fairfield’s research. The tests weren’t invasive, and Emily’s rules would be maintained. They may introduce some medications or combination of medications that have been previously untried. First, Dr. Fairfield wanted to determine if the cause of her psychosis was indeed head injury, or if it could be something else.
Emily reluctantly shared Claire’s history. She didn’t like the idea of more treatment. After all, Claire was content. Why make her uncomfortable or uneasy? Then again, if there was even a remote possibility—Emily couldn’t say no.
That night, at home with John and the kids, she watched as Michael and Nichol played. When she looked at her niece, she saw Claire and the same carefree ambition her sister once possessed. She also saw the dark eyes of Anthony Rawlings. There were times she detested those eyes. When that negativity crept in, Emily reminded herself—nurture verses nature. Nichol wouldn’t know the life of revenge that her father had allowed to destroy him and anyone else unfortunate enough to be within his sphere of influence. Her eyes would see the world as a place of endless possibilities where love and forgiveness prevail. Emily vowed that with her and John’s help Nichol would see the world as her mother once had—before—
July 15, 2016
I finally did it, but I don’t know if I’m happy or not...I delivered Claire’s lunch and was able to talk to her. When I entered her room, she was sitting at the window, looking out at the bright skies. Although I spoke and made noise, she didn’t acknowledge my entrance. At first, I hesitated to make eye contact.
What I didn’t realize was that I couldn’t. I stepped in front of Claire, but her expression didn’t change. She continued her gaze, exactly as it had been, as if I weren’t there at all. I tried speaking, quietly at first; then louder. Although she didn’t speak or look at me, she eventually got up and walked to the table where she allowed me to feed her.
After Claire ate about half of the lunch, she abruptly stood and walked back to the chair by the window.
Truthfully, I’d been so emotional while she ate that I’d forgotten to speak. When I looked at my watch, I realized I still had ten minutes before I was expected back to the kitchen, so I went back to her. Kneeling in front of her, I touched her knee...
“Claire, can you hear me?” Meredith desperately tried to keep emotion out of her voice; however, with the tears sliding down her cheeks, she wasn’t sure it was possible. Intellectually, Meredith knew the rules regarding Ms. Nichols. Truthfully, she wasn’t thinking. Her heart was breaking at the sight of her friend, now a shell of the vivacious woman she’d once been. “Claire, it’s me, Meredith. Don’t you remember me? We went to Valparaiso together...” Meredith was careful not to mention Anthony, Nichol, or anything else from the last six years. She did, however, ramble on for ten minutes about life as it had been when they were college students.
Never once did Claire’s expression change; although, at some point, she began humming. Undeterred, Meredith rambled about their sorority house and Chicago. It wasn’t until Meredith was out of Claire’s room, nearing the kitchen, that Claire’s tune resonated in her mind. Meredith recognized the song: Take Me Out To The Ball Game—the seventh inning stretch at Wrigley.
July 15 th , 2016 continued:
I want to believe she heard and understood. I don’t know; maybe I’m grasping at straws. After all, most of what I’ve read says that if recovery isn’t made in the first year, it rarely happens—but that song! I was talking about Chicago and baseball games. I don’t think I even mentioned the Cubs or Wrigley, but I know I mentioned baseball...
