Truth

by Aleatha Romig

  She didn’t want to go to a real restaurant. She didn’t want to sit and watch happy patrons chat and eat. No, she wanted time alone, time to sift and consider her thoughts and feelings. Without thinking, she turned toward the northeast, away from the setting sun and toward the water.

  During her first week in Palo Alto, Harry showed her a beautiful park along the San Francisco Bay. Perhaps she’d lived too long on private property. Her desire for fresh air and nature overtook concerns for the descending darkness or abandoning side streets. With each step toward her goal, the tension in her head and neck eased.

  Could it be possible to hate and love someone too? Claire wondered. The overpowering compassion back at the condo wasn’t just for a young man in a tragic situation; it was for the young man who grew up to become the husband she had loved. She blinked her eyes against the breeze and remembered good times. Theirs was a heated passion. She contemplated the man who made her hate her own existence one moment and love it the next.

  As her unconsciousness flooded with memories, feelings stirred deep inside. Concurrently, her consciousness screamed for her to remember his atrocities, the cruelties which outnumbered the kindnesses. However, her heart ached and argued -- perhaps, his positives could overtake his negatives. After all, doesn’t everyone have a good and a bad side?

  This is why I’m not ready to face him. This is why I can’t face anyone right now.

  Claire knew her thoughts and feelings were wrong. He’d given her every reason to hate him, seek vengeance, and aid in his destruction. So why was this so hard? She tried to push Tony back into his assigned compartment.

  Her thoughts moved to Amber. Instead of crossing Middlefield Road, Claire should be back at the condo talking to her friend. However, after spending so much time alone and years hiding her true emotion with Tony, Claire wasn’t comfortable sharing her feelings.

  She couldn’t control the way she felt. Apparently her mask wearing skills were rusty.

  Hopefully a walk along the shore will help me sort out my feelings and revive my energy. Then maybe I can face Amber. She deserves that.

  *****

  Parked near a four story stucco condominium on Forest Avenue, Phillip Roach compiled his information for Mr. Rawlings. Although Claire Nichols hadn’t used the phone with the number he’d determined was hers since she received the calls from Mr. Rawlings, Phil believed this was her place of residence.

  In the past twenty-four hours, Phillip learned a lot about Claire Nichols: She’d applied for her birth certificate and social security card – all matters of public record. She opened a bank account with a deposit of $100,000 from an unknown source – not public record.

  He also discovered, just yesterday, her account received a life-giving infusion. Phil wasn’t the investing type, but from his scan of the information, Claire Nichols had an impressive investment portfolio. The notable wealth came from a wire transfer. The originator of the transfer was an account in Switzerland. To most people that would be the end of that transaction. Phillips’s sources were not that easily deterred. The monies came from a high-end gems and jewelry broker named Pulvara operating in San Francisco. Phil planned to visit his business Monday.

  He gave Ms. Nichols credit. She’d tried to remain under the radar, even using a post office box at the Palo Alto Post Office. It would have worked, except the federal government, as well as the Indiana state government, didn’t accept P.O. Box numbers as an acceptable address to send official documents. Ironically, Ms. Nichols adherence to domestic laws led Phillip Roach to the corner of Forest and Gilman.

  Phil wasn’t willing to relay all of this information to Mr. Rawlings. First, he wanted to visit Mr. Pulvara to learn more before he jumped to conclusions on her recent windfall. Second, he wouldn’t divulge the exact address without visual conformation. After all, she could have deceivingly listed a friend’s address. Or perhaps, she paid someone for the use of their mail box. Phil glanced between the large luxurious building and his laptop, as he worked to compile a detailed report. He planned to say he was getting closer to pin-pointing Ms. Nichols’ whereabouts when he saw a petite brown haired woman suddenly visible through a large window on the fourth floor. He strained to see the woman, stories above. Yes, it looked like Claire Nichols.

  Reaching for his camera with the telephoto lens, she walked away from the plates of glass, and he lost sight of her. Momentarily questioning his vision, he debated adding her address to the report. Then like a gift from the surveillance gods, Claire Nichols stepped through the front doors of the building.

  Wearing a jacket to protect her from the spring wind, the brunette turned toward the northeast. Phil watched her bury her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. The breeze blew back her hair, exposing her face and slender neck. Utilizing the long telephoto lens, he zoomed in on her features. Due to the wonders of technology his camera’s illumination element diffused light, creating the illusion of daytime even in dusk.

  Despite the brown hair, Phil’s intuition told him this was the same woman in the photos he’d studied. Without question, the surveillance gods had offered him Claire Nichols. Depressing the button on his camera, multiple photos snapped in seconds. Phil pulled his car out of the concealed parking space and slowly eased his way along Forest Street. He drove ahead of where she seemed to be going.

  In his rearview mirror, he watched Claire progress along the sidewalk, only feet from his newly parked car. He snapped her photo. She clearly appeared absorbed in her thoughts. Forcing her into his automobile would be easy, but that wasn’t Mr. Rawlings’ request. Mr. Rawlings wanted information.

  An investigator’s job was not to question. Therefore, he would never do so aloud. Yet, internally, Phillip Roach wondered why, if Mr. Rawlings was concerned about the woman who reportedly tried to kill him, he only wanted facts. As Phil observed the attractive lady his instinct told him he hadn’t been hired to keep Mr. Rawlings safe. No, he’d been hired to report the every move of a woman Mr. Rawlings wasn’t willing to emancipate.

  As Claire passed, Phil pretended to look down. Once she passed, he eased out of his car, onto the sidewalk and fell into rhythm with her steps.

  Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many.

  The intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden.

  --Phaedrus

  Chapter 9

  Phillip Roach reread his email:

  To: Anthony Rawlings

  Date: March 23, 2013

  Subject: Claire Nichols

  From: Phillip Roach

  Mr. Rawlings, due to the late hour in Iowa, I’m emailing the information I’ve acquired thus far:

  I had visual confirmation. Claire Nichols has been located -- her address: 365 Forest Ave. Unit 4 A, Palo Alto, California. She recently obtained a copy of her birth certificate, social security card, and a driver’s license. She isn’t employed. Her bank account is healthy, opened with the deposit of a $100,000 Cashier’s check. This was traced back to a bank in New York; it was purchased with cash. I have some top notched associates working on this, but it seems to be a dead end. It was purchased the week before her release.

  She spent much of the original money on necessary items: a car (2011 Honda Accord LX), clothes, personal items, telephones, computer, etc.

  Her bank account recently received another deposit of $50,000, and she created an investment portfolio worth near $750,000. The source of this money is still being investigated. I hope to learn more Monday. I have confidence this information will be obtained.

  Attached are photos taken Saturday night.

  I will await your directives for continued observance and will remain completely devoted to this case until you instruct otherwise. Phillip Roach

  Phil double checked the attachment: Multiple photos of Claire walking along a street, the close-up views were quite detailed. He continued to click. The numerous photos gave the illusion of Claire Nichols literally walking down the street. He slowe
d his clicks; she now sat on a park bench. Next she held an iPhone. The conversation changed her expression – relieved, happier. A few more views of her on the bench and then there’s someone with her. Click, they’re talking -- the other person who wore a jacket and baseball cap was a man. Although the hat concealed his features, Claire’s expression suggested familiarity. The next shot showed the two of them walking from the bench to a waiting car. No physical contact, however both of their expressions appeared relaxed and casual. As Phil clicked, Claire opened the passenger door of the blue Mustang while the man opened the driver’s. The last photo showed the license plate.

  Phil smiled; satisfied with his report and hopeful Mr. Rawlings would feel the same. SEND.

  *****

  The cool clear water refreshed Derek Burke as his plane descended toward Boston. Below the clouds and between the buildings he saw sprouts of green. As April began so did spring on the East coast. He’d been gone two weeks, making five weeks since he and Sophia were in the same city. He knew it wasn’t either of their preference, but after accepting Shedis-tics job offer, he worried it’d be their future.

  Relishing flying first class with wider seats and increased leg room, Derek closed his eyes and nervously awaited their reunion. The anticipation combined with apprehension obscured the roar of engines. He considered Shedis-tic’s final offer... the next time he flew from coast to coast it would be in a private Shedis-tic’s plane. They offered him unlimited access and ability to fly from Santa Clara to Provincetown in hours, without the hassle of commercial flights.

  The enticement package was incredibly appealing. The salary alone was more than Derek had ever considered requesting, and the signing bonus would alleviate most of their debt. Sophia’s larger studio could become a reality sooner, rather than later.

  Throughout the negotiations he’d done what he promised and called Sophia discussing each offer. When he explained the financials and necessary living requirements, she was on board. However, her attitude changed when he mentioned the travel component. Not just traveling to and from the west coast, but weeks and months traveling outside the country. It was inferred, most of his travels would take him to the Orient, the location of the world’s major software players. After all, Shedis-tics didn’t expect to overcome the competition by watching from afar.

  Unfortunately, Shedis-tics required a decision prior to his return home. With a heavy heart, Derek accepted. The pros far outweighed the cons. His new position officially began May 1. He prayed his wife would see why he gave them an affirmative answer.

  Imagining Sophia’s beautiful slate gray eyes, amazing scent, and soft skin -- anticipation conquered his apprehension.

  “Sir, you may exit the aircraft.”

  Lost in his own thoughts, he’d completely missed the landing. Derek nodded. The attendant had his bags ready near the door. Yes, this first class thing was nice. And to think, this would be slumming compared to the Shedis-tics private plane.

  Derek took his phone out of airplane mode and it immediately vibrated. As he approached the luggage carousel, Derek read Sophia’s text message: I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU! TAKE A TAXI TO BOSTON HARBOR HOTEL. THERE’S A PACKAGE FOR YOU AT THE FRONT DESK -- Smiley face.

  It was funny how a colon and half of a parentheses could bring a smile to Derek’s face, but it did.

  At the front desk of the Boston Harbor Hotel, Derek retrieved his mysterious envelope and tipped the concierge. He surveyed the contents of the envelope: a key to suite 523 and a beautifully scribed note: Come see your surprise.

  His enthusiasm amplified with each step of this faux clandestine encounter.

  Opening the door to suite 523, he beheld his something special leaning against the wall, illuminated by candles. Scattered near the sketched self-portrait of his beautiful naked wife and through the suite’s sitting room were thousands of rose petals. If the petals didn’t indicate his directed path the assortment of lacy under garments at each two step intervals did. Following the erotic GPS, Derek found his beautiful wife, dressed exactly as she was in the sketch, lying upon a large four poster bed. The candles provided a sweet sexy fragrance combined with the perfect flickering glow.

  In mere seconds Derek was dressed to match – or rather undressed.

  Hours later, wearing thick hotel robes, they settled onto the intimate dining table on the balcony of their suite. Boston Harbor’s lights glimmered in the cool spring night air. Sophia surveyed the feast before her as she felt her husband’s gentle fingers lift her long disheveled hair and his lips kiss her exposed neck. Despite the warm terrycloth, goose bumps appeared on her arms and long slender legs. She closed her eyes, as a purr escaped her lips.

  His warm breath bathed her ear as Derek whispered, “I love my surprise.”

  Sophia’s smile radiated her entire face. “Good, I’m glad. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Tell me about your job prospect; I promise I’m listening.” Her toe wandered up his warm leg.

  “Hmmm, I think you’re trying to distract me.”

  Sophia beamed, “No, I think, if I wanted to distract you, I could.”

  Derek’s cheeks rose, as admiration radiated from his gaze. Without a doubt, if there was one thing Sophia was good at doing, it was distracting him. Actually she was good at many things. Beholding her now, hair beautifully tousled and wearing only a white robe, he prayed being understanding was among her list of attributes. “The company is one of the biggest players out there. They have potential to be even bigger.”

  “And you want it?”

  Derek looked down. This was easier on the phone, not seeing her beautiful trusting eyes before him. “I do.”

  “Then tell them yes.”

  “But, what about us? What about living arrangements? Travel?”

  Sophia left her food untouched, fell to her knees, and sat back on her heels before her husband. “I love you. Did you say I could stay in Provincetown and you’d be there every weekend?”

  “Yes, unless...”

  “Unless you need to be out of the country.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where will you live during the week?”

  “I guess I’ll have an apartment or condo in Santa Clara.” He smoothed her blonde hair. This was going so much better than he’d expected.

  Sophia continued, “And didn’t you say they offered you transportation back and forth?”

  “Yes, but that’s a lot of time apart.”

  She lifted herself to encircle his neck. “If you want this, if it’s your dream, and if we’ll be able to afford both homes, I can travel too. I can spend some of my weeks in Santa Clara and some weekends too. We can both spend time in Provincetown. I can paint, draw, and sketch -- anywhere.”

  Derek dropped his head to hers, sighing audibly. “I didn’t think you’d take it this well.” She kissed his cheek. He asked, “You’d be willing to travel?”

  “I’m willing to do whatever I need to do, to be with you.”

  “I anticipate long hours, during the week.”

  “Have you ever known me to shy away from late nights, or early mornings?” Sophia asked with a sultry smirk.

  Derek smiled, “Late nights no, early mornings -- not really your thing.”

  “So, I’ll just consider early mornings to be later nights. It all blends together. Besides, if you’re some big wig, you need a wife by your side.”

  He lifted her body as he stood. “Mrs. Burke, you’re right, as always.” His hands began to roam under the thick robe as his lips found the place where her neck and shoulders met, the spot that sent tingles throughout her body.

  “What about dinner?” She murmured, “I ordered your favorites.”

  “I think I need some more of my surprise appetizer.”

  Sophia didn’t argue, or agree. Her mind was lost in her husband’s touch.

  The next morning they awoke to their new reality. They were moving to Santa Clara, and they needed a place to l
ive. Stepping into the spacious glass shower, she thought about their impending adventure. Although Sophia traveled all over Europe, she’d never been to California. Being born and raised in New Jersey, the East Coast was always home.

  Her parents lived in the same house where she was raised. They’d lived there for over forty years. Feeling the warm water coat her body and inhaling the fresh clean scent of body wash, Sophia realized home was a feeling, not a place. She liked that feeling. It made her feel safe, loved, and wanted.

  Rinsing the floral scented cream rinse from her long hair, she suddenly shivered as cool air penetrated her warm moist haven. Before she could turn or comment, Derek caressed her trim waist and hips. He was her home. He gave her that feeling. It even transcended her art, allowing Sophia to use bolder colors, attempt more abstract drawings, and create beyond previous boundaries. If he could do that for her, moving to the West Coast was a small price to pay.

  Wrapped in a thick luxurious towel Sophia combed her wet hair. Droplets of water rolled down her bare back as she contemplated drying it. She didn’t like using a hair dryer. It was bad for her hair and used a lot of energy. But the cold April wind didn’t support wet hair. Smiling, she thought about her parents and heard her mother’s voice, “Don’t go outside with wet hair, you’ll catch your death of cold.” At first her parents may not like the idea of her moving west. But, after she explained the two homes and her ability to visit while Derek travels, Sophia anticipated understanding. After all, that’s what they had always provided -- understanding.

  Derek pulled her from her thoughts as he entered the glass and tile bathroom. “I just went down to the front desk to pay the bill. It was paid.”