Truth

by Aleatha Romig

  “Does he make you smile?”

  Allowing her grin to surface, Claire nodded.

  “Do you live in fear of upsetting him?”

  Claire shook her head.

  “Honey, if you go to that dinner with Tony... will you do me a favor? Remember those two questions and your answers.”

  The lump in Claire’s throat didn’t allow her to verbally answer; she nodded. She’d remember.

  *****

  The rented Chrysler 200 rolled along the hot Texas pavement driving toward San Antonio. While music filled the car, Claire contemplated Courtney’s confession. Never in a million years would Claire have suspected Brent and Courtney were her angels. Tony considered them his closest friends, yet Claire was driving north on 37 toward her hotel. If it were up to him, she’d still be locked away.

  The days spent by the pool and on the beach gave Claire’s skin a much needed dose of Vitamin D with a golden brown bonus. It had been so long since she’d enjoyed intense sunshine. The get-a-way strengthened her in so many ways-- mentally and physically.

  Courtney left Corpus Christi earlier in the morning. As Claire looked at the clock, she thought, she should be back to Iowa by now. Claire wasn’t scheduled to fly to San Francisco until tomorrow.

  Around four thirty, Claire pulled into the parking garage adjacent to the Hotel Valencia Riverwalk, the suite was still hers for another twenty four hours. Obviously the housekeeping staff knew she’d been gone for most of the week, but she wasn’t trying to fool the housekeepers.

  Searching for the key to her suite, which was really a card, she stepped into the shiny golden elevator. The doors closed but the compartment didn’t move. She remembered putting the card someplace safe, if only she could remember which compartment of her purse that was.

  The elevator doors opened again and a tall, middle-aged, white haired gentleman entered. Claire smiled politely as she dug into another zipped compartment within her cavernous Gucci handbag.

  He showed a reserved smile and acknowledged Claire with a nod. Then he inserted his card and pushed eleven. She exhaled as she found the key, “Here it is.” Her voice was barely a whisper, not intended for anyone but herself.

  The man stepped to the side exposing the control panel, “I’m sorry. Am I in your way?”

  “No, actually you’ve already accessed my floor.”

  He looked at the small suitcase near Claire’s feet. “You’ll enjoy this hotel, the staff is wonderful.”

  “Thank you, I’ve been here for a few days.” Realizing the suitcase, “I just had a few things in my car I needed to retrieve.”

  She didn’t know why she was lying. Nevertheless, she’d rehearsed her story and was glad it sounded slightly plausible.

  “Well, enjoy the rest of your stay.” The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. He politely held the door allowing her to exit.

  She smiled, “Thank you, you too.”

  Claire walked toward the right, while the gentleman walked to the left. Unlocking her door, she quickly entered the sunlit suite. As she turned to bolt the lock she mindlessly peered through the peep hole. Directly across the hall from her room she saw the same gentleman opening a door. That’s odd, why’d he walk the other way if his room was there? She contemplated. He looks familiar. Maybe I saw him when I originally checked in? Or, maybe I’m just paranoid!

  Within the bedroom, upon the bedside stand, was the only item she’d left at the hotel, one of her telephones, her Tony phone. She left it on and plugged in.

  Not hearing from him in four days was refreshing. Allowing the signals from this phone to be sent from this location was priceless. That bit of deception plus a lengthy GPS erasing procedure were Harry’s idea. His past police experience made him suspicious. That same experience gave him invaluable knowledge. Claire couldn’t have begun to erase the GPS permanently, without his directions. Claire would do anything, no matter how laboring, to protect Courtney.

  She opened the French doors to her balcony and inhaled the warm spring air. The beautiful wrought-iron railing added to the French ambiance. Looking down she watched the people stories below on the famous Riverwalk. It was beautiful, filled with flowing water, flowers, people, and giant cypress trees. A faint breeze blew the curtains of the open doors as she relaxed upon her king sized bed and checked the phone. There were seven missed calls and three text messages. Claire closed the phone. The get-a-way was too fresh in her mind, too many good memories. Her mood was too high; she would read the messages later.

  Next, she checked in with Emily, her daily I’M FINE text. Today she added, I’M BACK IN SAN ANTONIO. MY FLIGHT IS TOMORROW ABOUT NOON FOR SAN FRAN. CALL IF YOU CAN. LOVE YA!

  With Emily’s husband John, back in Indiana, the two sisters no longer spoke every day. However, they made a point to check in daily. Claire spoke to John a few times since his prison release. At first it was even more uncomfortable than her first talks with Emily. Thinking about her time with Courtney, Claire decided they needed some face-to-face time. It was much better than phone calls.

  She also sent text messages to Amber and Harry informing them of her location. Knowing there were people who cared and worried about her, added to Claire’s euphoria. Closing her eyes she debated napping. The distinctive Emily phone’s ring stopped her descent into the drowsy abyss. Eyes still closed, she reached for the small black cellphone. “Hi.”

  “Hi, Claire, I hope you don’t mind me calling.” The voice caught her off guard, her eyes opened wide. Napping disappeared from her radar. She hadn’t heard this voice since last July at Iowa’s Woman’s Penitentiary.

  “Brent?”

  “Yes.” She held her breath, unsure what to say. Brent continued. “Courtney’s home safe.”

  Claire’s mind spun. She wanted to trust him; after all, according to Courtney he was also responsible for her freedom and was too a victim of Tony. Claire knew that. She’d witnessed their interaction. “I’m glad.” She swallowed and continued, “Brent ... thank you.”

  “Please don’t thank me. I’ve done much more to hurt you, than help you.”

  She heard the anguish in his voice. “Just tell me, of all the things you’ve done, which ones did you want to do?”

  “I wanted to help you. I never wanted to hurt you, even before I read the preliminary brief. It’s just that sometimes I had no…”

  Claire stopped him, “I understand.” She inhaled and continued, “You know that though -- don’t you?”

  “I do. And, we understand you.”

  Her entire body filled with warmth. She’d known this man for less than three years. Her ex-husband claimed him as his best friend, and he’d endured much of the same domination as Claire. She couldn’t suppress her smile as tears trickled down her cheeks. “I offered to pay Courtney back. I can now.”

  “She told me. I agree with her. Please, keep your money. Watching and listening to Tony’s response when he learned of your unorthodox release, seeing him unable to control or influence the situation, more than made it worth every penny.”

  “If there is anything I can do for either of you…”

  “Actually, there is...” The two continued their conversation for almost an hour. Brent wanted to know all about Tony’s box. The information fascinated him. He also asked about the information she’d learned from their detective work. Brent vowed to do what he could from his end. He also explained the things he’d done to hurt Claire: the divorce with no financial compensation, his attitude when he visited her in prison, hiring a private detective to find her, and supporting Tony along the way.

  Claire reassured Brent, she understood. He didn’t have a choice and she appreciated his current clandestine support. Fearfully, Claire asked Brent a question she’d contemplated of and on again for a while, “Is Jane Allyson all right? I mean, has Tony done anything to her?” Claire’s heart skipped a beat as her question met silence.

  Finally, he answered, “She is, for now.”

  “Can you please elaborate
?”

  “When we left her office, Tony voiced his displeasure.” Claire nodded, although Brent couldn’t possibly see her from Iowa. He went on, “I’ve tried on numerous occasions to remind him, if something would suddenly happen to her up-and-coming career, immediately following your petition for pardon, it would appear suspicious.”

  Claire smiled; Brent knew the game. Tony’s kryptonite was indeed appearance. Claire replied, “I don’t want her to pay because she helped me.”

  “I put her in that position. I promise I’ve done all I can to protect her.” Brent replied, then he chuckled. “She knew what she was doing when she did it. That’s why I chose her. She is one tough lady and a great attorney! You should’ve heard her when we went to her office.”

  “I bet. She’s the only one, in a room full of males, who stood up to Tony, at the jail in Iowa.”

  “Other than you.”

  Claire stammered, “I... me... I didn’t stand up to him. I never did.”

  “That isn’t true. You never would’ve survived if he didn’t consider you a challenge. He truly thought you’d take the insanity plea.”

  “Well, the fact I didn’t, probably confirms, I am insane.”

  Brent laughed. “That’s why you and Courtney get along so well.”

  He went on to tell her about Phillip Roach, the private detective who’s been watching her for the last month, sending photos and information to Tony. Brent wasn’t privy to all the information, but Tony’s attitude regarding Claire seemed to be changing. Brent assessed, he’s no longer upset; obsessed would be a better word.

  Brent assured Claire she’d successfully lost the private detective during the last week. “If Tony knew you and Cort were together I would have heard. I even called Mr. Roach once to confirm my theory. He was rather allusive about the past four days and promised more information in the future.” Claire heard the smile in Brent’s voice, “It’s all making Tony a little crazy.”

  “Have you met this Phillip Roach? What does he look like?” Claire asked.

  The clock read 7:23 PM. Originally, Claire planned a quiet evening with room service. Her TV had an attached gaming system, and she’d contemplated practicing her skills in anticipation of another gaming session with Harry. However, finishing her make-up, stepping into the Marc Jacobs white silk sundress, and fastening her Prada sandals, she mentally reviewed her new plan.

  'Charm' - which means the power to affect work without employing brute force,

  is indispensable to women. Charm is a woman's strength

  just as strength is a man's charm.

  - Henry Ellis

  Chapter 13

  The final slam of the cottage door muffled Sophia’s sigh. On the other side of the wooden barrier was their home, life, and private haven. With a turn of the bolt and the closing of heavy shutters on creaky hinges, she’d successfully closed it tight --storing everything away for a season.

  Sophia’s mind swirled with memories of their first home: late nights slipping out of bed, making her way upstairs to her studio, while Derek slept -- light brown hair disheveled, mouth slightly open. She relished the security of knowing when sleepiness overtook her creativity; she could crawl back into their bed and be enveloped by his warmth. Leaning against the door, she remembered the first time Derek made a fire in their fireplace but forgot to open the flue. Once the smoke cleared, they laughed until they cried. And the way the golden sunshine streamed into her studio in the late morning. It was her favorite time to paint; the colors looked so real. These recollections made her smile despite her heavy heart.

  Begrudgingly, she allowed herself a window of self-pity. That being said, as soon as she was once again face-to-face with her husband, she vowed to keep her true feelings hidden. After all, this was Derek’s big break. Sophia wanted to be the supportive wife. She kept telling herself, if the roles were reversed, he’d support me.

  Undoubtedly, the uncertainty added to her unease. They didn’t know when they’d be back to Provincetown or who’d be returning. It could be both of them or only Sophia. It all depended on Shedis-tics.

  Since graduating high school, Sophia controlled her life. Having the people of Shedis-tics dictate her living arrangements, travel plans, and everything else, made her anxious. Yes, she’d submitted to the occasional investor, agreed to show her work, or attended a private wine-and-dine session; but, all at her discretion. She’d always had the option to say no.

  Sophia knew marriage meant collaboration, a partnership. She’d watched her parents successfully share a similar arrangement her entire life. When she said I do, Sophia willingly accepted her role as half of a whole. However, now she questioned her percentage. Was she in fact half? Or was she less? Was Derek still half? Or was he more? Perhaps Shedis-tics was now part of the equation?

  Originally his new job was scheduled to begin May 1st. Nevertheless, they called him out to Santa Clara only two days after her father’s accident, over four weeks early.

  Little did Sophia realize, when Derek said he couldn’t take more than two nights in her childhood bedroom, he’d meant it literally. Truthfully, Derek hadn’t known either. As he explained, when the company president calls and invites you to meet with parent company executives, you don’t say, No Thank you.

  Lingering on the stoop of their cottage, she looked toward the Harbor, inhaled the salt air, and listened to the soft din of the sea. The sound of the surf created a continual soundtrack for life in Provincetown. While something she rarely thought about, she knew she’d miss it terribly.

  Yesterday, she closed her studio on Commercial Street. The sign in the window read: Closed for an Undetermined Amount of Time. The neighboring businesses promised to keep a watchful eye on everything. Sophia knew nothing would physically happen to her personal slice of cramped heaven. It was the emotional toll that concerned her.

  On her way to the airport, Sophia took a detour and found herself at the shore enjoying the calm water rippling beneath the crystal clear blue sky. Tears streaked her cheeks as she bid ado to Provincetown Harbor. Through her blurred vision she saw the Cape across the sea. Sophia absorbed the scene, savoring it -- preserving it. If she kept it safely sealed within the recesses of her mind, it would never completely be gone. In times of need, she’d will it forward, out of the depths of her memories, and into her thoughts.

  Recognizing the inevitable, she made her way to the small Provincetown airport. From there she’d fly to Boston. In Boston she had tickets for a first class flight to San Jose, the closest airport to Santa Clara.

  Even with a short layover in Denver, she anticipated feeling Derek’s strong arms by four o’clock, Pacific Time. When she did, she planned to melt into his embrace and show him why they should never be apart again. Then, she reasoned, the world would once again be right.

  *****

  When the elevator doors opened Phillip just about lost it! She entered almost sixty seconds earlier and should have been to her floor, not still within the golden mirrored cubical. Practicing his covert skills, Phil Roach assumed a calm passive persona and spoke casually to his number one assignment, Claire Nichols. This hadn’t been his plan. Nevertheless, now that they’d conversed and she hadn’t recognized him, she might be his lifesaver.

  Anthony Rawlings was suspicious and becoming increasingly untrusting. Phil did a good job for a few days giving generic reports and letting Mr. Rawlings assume his ex-wife was vacationing alone in San Antonio. However, the lack of specifics and pictures were beginning to spark too many questions.

  The per diem and generous expense account made it difficult for Phillip Roach to confess he’d lost his assignment. Claire Nichols flew to San Antonio with Phil on the same flight. He knew of her hotel reservation and followed her to the Hotel Valencia. It was late; he assumed she was sleeping safely within her room until the next day. However, when he returned to the Riverwalk later the same night, Ms. Nichols was AWOL. Her car was gone, she was gone, and her cell phone continued to send signals from her
suite. Phil panicked knowing he’d been duped!

  He also knew Claire’s reservations at the Hotel Valencia extended until Sunday morning. Having no idea where to look, he continued his surveillance of the hotel on the famous Riverwalk. When he saw Ms. Nichols enter the lobby Saturday afternoon, it took all of his self-control to not hug her. Thank God she was alive and safe – if something had happened to her in a place he hadn’t reported her being. Phil didn’t even want to consider the consequences. It didn’t matter; she was all right.

  She wasn’t just all right. She was relaxed, tan, and happy. He was sure she’d been with a man, but who? He’d confirmed Harrison Baldwin’s presence in Palo Alto during the last four days. There was no doubt Mr. Rawlings would want answers. Phil’s exuberance at her presence could be blamed for the unplanned meeting in the elevator. However, as he reviewed the encounter, he assured himself no harm no foul!

  Currently, she was settled into her room, presumably for the night. Phil had watched her for almost three weeks. She wasn’t the wild and crazy kind. Room service was a 99.9% assured outcome. Rarely was Phillip Roach wrong.

  The electronic sensor startled him back to reality. It was a non-conspicuous devise attached to her suite door. As long as the door remained closed the devise remained silent. When the door opened and separated the connection, an alarm sounded in his room. Immediately, Phil jumped to the peep hole, expecting to see a waiter delivering room service.

  Instead, stepping from her suite, dressed to kill was Claire Nichols. No wonder Mr. Rawlings was so interested in this women, she’s frig’n hot! Phil thought as he watched the petite frame in the flowing white sundress and high heels. Although his view was somewhat distorted due to the domed glass peep hole, the woman he saw looked more like the woman in the pictures. She looked like Mrs. Rawlings.