His hands felt so real, as they caressed her skin. Each touch intensified the electric sensations and passionate desires. She’d been fighting these images all night. She couldn’t do it anymore. The man of her dreams didn’t take, as the real one could. He asked, as Harry had done.
That was it, Claire reasoned. Her subconscious created a combination, an amalgamation of sorts. When the husky voice requested permission, her body screamed with need, “Oh god yes, please!” His smile, too, seemed real. Reaching up, she longed to touch his face. Unlike the night before, her fingertips connected their target. She caressed the smooth, freshly shaven skin of his cheeks and wove her fingers through his thick black hair. Her sensitive nipples pushed toward his chest. Instead of feeling them against his warm skin, Tony bent down and suckled the vulnerable hard tips. Again and again, her back arched. She wanted everything. It had been so long.
What truly wakes one from the depths of sleep? Was it external, like the sound of a ringing phone and noises from the street below? Or was it internal, like the twisting in your stomach from ravenous hunger? Snuggling into the soft, smooth sheets she thought about food. When had she last eaten? Slowly her consciousness took over, and an unreasonable fear filled her being. It was the fear that when she opened her eyes, she’d no longer be in Palo Alto, but in her suite -- in Iowa.
Trying unsuccessfully to subdue the rising panic, Claire did the only thing she could. She opened her eyes.
Relief escaped in a deep exhale as she viewed the inside of her room, in Amber’s condominium. She rolled toward her clock, 5:17. Was it that early? She closed her eyes. No, it wasn’t that early... it was that late. She’d slept the entire day away. Pulling back the covers she revealed her clothed body. The only piece of clothing she no longer wore was the large t-shirt currently lying on the rug near her bed.
Walking toward her bathroom she remembered her dream. She stopped and took a moment to survey her room. Nothing seemed out of place. Yet, hadn’t she fallen asleep on the couch?
When she was young, her mother told her she would sometimes sleepwalk. Perhaps, that’s what she’d done. Turning on the warm water of the shower she decided to freshen up before dinner. Removing her clothes she inspected herself in the mirror. There were times when she was with Tony, that her body displayed evidence of their intimacy or his domination.
Her skin appeared untouched. Nevertheless, her body felt ... she wasn’t sure how to describe it... content? The unrelenting tension she’d been experiencing since Harry’s first video game session was gone. Satisfied -- yes, that’s how she felt, content and satisfied. It was as if she’d been thoroughly taken, filled and pleased, by a memory.
Claire stepped under the soft hot spray. When the water struck her nipples she flinched and shielded them from the assault. That’s strange, she thought. Why am I so tender? As she poured the shampoo into her hand, she briefly inhaled the fragrance of Tony’s cologne. Her next breath was filled with the scent of flowers.
Claire shook her head as she massaged the floral cream into her hair. Her imagination was working overtime. She needed to compartmentalize Tony away. Hopefully, she had dinner plans with Harry. He could help her leave the world of fantasy and concentrate on reality. She wanted to tell him about Tony and about the bombshell of him not being the sender of the box. There was something else too... stepping from the shower, onto the soft mat, she tried to recall.
As she dried her skin, she remembered. It was Tony’s grandmother. She wanted to research Sharron Rawls... Something in the mirror caught Claire’s attention. It was her pile of dirty clothes. She picked up the camisole and the yoga pants. Hadn’t she been wearing under wear?
The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create,
to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love,
and to be greater than our suffering.
– Ben Okri.
Chapter 19
Early 1985...
Marie didn’t want to care this much, not about anyone. Then why was she sitting in her nightgown, at three in the morning, watching Ms. Sharron breathe? It wasn’t like she was anything to most of this family, other than hired help – and she sure as hell didn’t have a family of her own.
The breaths came, inconsistent, with a rattle. If the doctors could just stop the damn rattle.
Marie sat in the high-backed Queen Anne chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. The doctor, who’d been to the estate earlier, said the IV medication would fight the infection. Marie just hoped Ms. Sharron was strong enough to be the battle ground. What good was a strong army if the earth crumbled under their siege?
Marie didn’t have medical training.
Hadn’t that been said, about a hundred times in the past few days? Mr. Samuel and Ms. Amanda made no bones about the fact someone more qualified should be at Ms. Sharron’s bedside. Not only did they express their dissatisfaction with Marie’s medical qualifications, they also didn’t want her to be the sole person with Mrs. Sharron when she moved from this life to the next.
As was the case with everything, the decision wasn’t theirs to make. Marie would remain as long as Mr. Nathaniel Rawls wanted her there. He didn’t argue; he declared, “Sharron is comfortable with Marie. She’ll stay.” It may not be up for debate, but Samuel and Amanda made no attempt to hide their disproval.
Even without medical training, Marie knew Ms. Sharron was in pain and laboring. Everything Marie had read said Alzheimer’s disease was unpredictable. She could pass away today or live another five years. As Marie watched and listened, she felt the need to pray for today. This wasn’t a life she wanted Ms. Sharron to endure any longer. Then again, if she passed, what did that mean for Marie? It meant she would leave this estate and go on her way. Although, it would undoubtedly make Samuel and Amanda happy, Marie wondered about Nathaniel? It surprised Marie to realize she’d actually miss her talks with the stubborn old man.
Marie chuckled softly, old? He was in fact old, at least a lot older than she. In the past eighteen months he looked even older. Nonetheless, for a man with so many concerns weighing him down he was incredibly attractive. And the power he wielded, outside of this room, was impressive. Yet, the part of Nathaniel Rawls Marie would miss was the part no one else saw. Not the ostentatious, narcissistical, tyrant making deals and barking orders. She would miss the handsome, seasoned gentleman who sat for hours, holding a hand that rarely held back. The man who propped himself on the bed, held his wife’s frail body, and watched her sleep upon his chest.
“I thought I told you to go to bed?”
The deep voice startled Marie back to reality. She turned her tear stained cheeks toward the man who’d been in her thoughts. “I tried, but I couldn’t sleep.”
“So, can you sleep better in that chair?”
Marie smiled, “No, but at least I’m doing something.”
Nathaniel pulled another chair beside Marie’s, sat and squeezed Marie’s hand. “I can hire someone else to sit with her at night, so you can get more rest.”
Marie turned away and tried to breathe, her emotions were overwrought. Her question came through with more dejection than she intended, “Do you also think I’m incapable of doing my job?”
“Marie, are you crying?”
“No.” She lied.
His strong hand still covered hers. “I think you are more than capable. I just think you need a break. You can’t be by her side twenty-four hours a day.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You sit here half the night and work all day. You need sleep, too.”
He smirked, “Do I, now?”
“You do. You can’t go on burning your candle at both ends. I suggest some time away from work, or more time sleeping.” His sly smile made her feel self-conscious; was he making fun of her? “All right, now why are you grinning? Are you laughing at me?” she asked.
He tried to hide the smile showing through his dark sad eyes. The smile was a nice change
to the solemn expression he often wore while observing his sleeping wife. “I’m not laughing; I’m amused.”
“Fine, be amused. Just get some sleep.”
“I don’t remember the last time someone told me what to do.” Nathaniel sat back and watched his wife. Marie didn’t go to bed; she sat and allowed him to talk. She couldn’t take away his pain. Perhaps, if he felt comfortable enough to express his thoughts, the ache would lessen, in some way. Nathaniel continued, “I do actually.”
They were no longer looking at one another or touching. Both sat with their heads resting on the plush winged sides of the Queen Anne chairs, watching Sharron. Marie encouraged, “You do?”
“Sharron, she was the only person who was ever able to tell me what to do,” he chuckled, “and how to do it.” He went on describing the love of his life, her incredible beauty and tenacious will. “When I came home from the war, it wasn’t over, but my tour was. She’d written to me, and I her. We still have those letters in a box somewhere. I couldn’t wait to see her again, to hear her voice, and hold her.” He reached forward and picked up her frail hand. “I should show you pictures. I know what you see -- isn’t what I see. I still see the vibrant strong-willed girl I rushed home to marry.”
Marie didn’t comment. The tears she’d shed earlier now had companions. Her heart broke for this man telling a beautiful love story, one which she knew had a cruel sad ending.
“Did I ever tell you, her family didn’t approve of me?”
That was difficult to believe. After all, Nathaniel Rawls was an esteemed businessman. “No, why not?”
“Well, first her father didn’t like me,” and with a chuckle, “Believe me, the feeling was mutual. But mostly, it was because they had money. Not a lot, but they were comfortable. I barely had two pennies to rub together. He didn’t believe I could provide for his daughter, in the style to which she was accustomed.”
Marie grinned, “You proved him wrong!”
“I did.” His voice didn’t sound triumphant, more melancholy.
“Did he ever admit he was wrong?”
“No. And that’s understandable; real men don’t apologize. Besides, he died before I made my first million. This,” he gestured with his hands, “has all been for her. And now, I have to keep going for her. I refuse to back away from any of it. Even if she isn’t with me, I’m still doing it all for her.”
“She still loves you.” It was surprisingly easy to carry on heartfelt conversations while not looking at one another. “Your voice excites her. Her heart beats stronger when you’re near.”
“Do you think she still knows?”
“Some days, some times. When I first started, she liked to look through old photo albums. I think it was her way to hold on to memories. She’d tell me stories about the two of you, when you were young, and about Mr. Samuel and Mr. Anton. You two had -- I mean have -- something very few other people are ever blessed to experience.”
Nathaniel looked at his watch, “Marie, it’s after three thirty. You go get some sleep. I’ll stay here until morning. You can relieve me in about three hours.”
When she didn’t move, he stood and took her hand. She noticed the gleam in his eyes. He was thinking about another time and another place. “I mean it. I want you to get some rest.”
She allowed herself to stand, her hand still in his. “Good night, Nathaniel.” While in the presence of others, she addressed him formally. However, during their private talks, the Mr. Rawls was long gone.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t right. Nevertheless, as he stood there holding Marie’s warm soft hand and their chests touched, with only her robe covered nightgown and his robe covered t-shirt separating them, something changed. They both knew it, but neither one uttered a word.
Nathaniel Rawls took what he wanted in life. What he wanted, above all else, was his wife. Life was cruel, and he couldn’t reach her, no matter how long or how hard he tried. He’d worked his entire life to give her the best of everything. However, he couldn’t give her health.
Standing in front of him was everything Sharron had been and had ceased to be. In his hand was energy, vibrant and strong-willed, embodied in a lovely caring young woman. As he looked down into her soft gray eyes he noticed a sparkle only recently doused with tears.
Although he still held tight to her hand and their hearts beat frantically within their touching chests, Nathaniel watched as Marie turned her twinkling eyes away. He didn’t want to lose that vivacity. It was more life than he’d be held in a long time. He gently raised her chin and spoke with a deep throaty voice. In all of their talks, she’d never heard this tone before, “You need to go to your room. May I suggest locking your door?”
His tenor terrified her. Not that Marie feared Nathaniel; she feared the desires stirring within her. After all, she hadn’t been with a man for a long time, and never consensually. For the first time in her life, she experienced consensual thoughts and feelings. How could she possibly be thinking like this, with Ms. Sharron only two feet away?
Her voice also came from somewhere deep, almost unrecognizable, even to herself, “Does everyone do exactly as you say?” She liked the way he smiled. It was so much better than his grief.
“Everyone, who is smart.”
“I’ve never claimed intelligence.”
Nathaniel stood over six six. Marie was about five eight. When she was younger her height made her feel awkward. At this moment, it felt perfect. Her head fit perfectly under his chin. And with her chin tilted, as it was in his hand, and his face inclined their lips were but millimeters apart. The next minutes lasted hours. His lips moved forward and she made no move to stop them.
It could be argued that she moved toward them, possibly lifting herself onto her toes. Honestly, there was such a small space to cover -- the who was inconsequential as at the moment was the why. What mattered was the what. What were they doing?
His lips were full, warm, firm, and right. They’d both been overwhelmed by the sadness at Sharron’s recent decline. Perhaps, within a cold gloomy New Jersey winter where hope seemed lost, a glimmer of joy could exist.
“If you don’t tell me to stop – now -- I can’t promise I’ll be able to stop in the future.”
Marie remained silent. When he tugged her hand toward her attached suite, she willingly followed. She wasn’t hoping to cure her loneliness as much as his. Could a wrong relationship actually be right, in the middle of this desolate life?
Strength does not come from winning. Your struggles develop your strength.
When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength.
--Mahatma Ghandi
Chapter 20
Claire licked the spoon, followed by a satisfied, “Yum.” She lifted the pan of creamy cilantro sauce and set it aside to cool. Her empty stomach twisted in anticipation of the appetizing aromas. Amber’s kitchen glowed with warmth and the rich fragrance of baking fish. She pushed the light diagram on the screen of the wall-oven and illuminated the small cavern. Inside, she spied fresh tilapia filets sizzling in a warm bath of liquid butter and lemon juice. Claire reread the clock. Harry should be here any minute, she thought.
Walking toward the stove top, she checked the water level in her sauce pan. It would soon serve as the perfect basin for asparagus to soften to al dente. The mixed green salad, lightly tossed with raspberry vinaigrette dressing, was already on the set table as was an open bottle of cabernet. Claire placed wineglasses next to the tall, filled water goblets.
After her shower, she found her iPhone in the living room and read Harry’s response: DINNER SOUNDS GREAT. WE SHOULD TALK.
Claire wasn’t sure why the word talk sounded so ominous, but it did. She immediately responded: AMBER’S GONE, HOW ABOUT DINNER HERE? MORE PRIVACY FOR TALKING? She finally exhaled when his, SURE, came in reply.
Claire checked the clock again, three more minutes. It seemed as though the world was spinning in slow motion. Claire hit a few buttons on Amber’s
whole house sound system and listened as Michael Buble’s rich voice filtered through hidden speakers.
Unlike most evenings where Harry was home by 6:30, tonight he’d sent a text apologizing for unseen delays. Claire didn’t start the tilapia until 7:45; after he messaged he was on his way. With traffic, the short drive could take half an hour. Without traffic it should take less than ten minutes. She looked at the timer, four more minutes.
Clock: 8:17. Where was he?
When the timer sounded, forcing Claire to face the reality of her still lonely condominium, she removed the fish from the oven and placed it in the microwave to stay warm. Her instincts told her to call or text Harry. However, she didn’t listen. Instead, she poured herself a glass of wine and walked aimlessly around the condominium.
In the living room she peered through the large windows into the night sky. The bottom of the vista twinkled with illuminations from the valley, the glow of the street lights, cars and buildings. The top half reminded her of velvet with the mountains intensifying the black sky; only the top quarter lessened the darkness with faint flickers of light. Unfortunately, the city lights overpowered the potential glow of the distant stars.
Momentarily, Claire thought about the stars in Iowa. From her balcony at Tony’s secluded estate she could see millions. Instantaneously, Claire remembered Tony’s quest and wrapped her free arm around her torso. Would he succeed? Would she be back on that balcony?
Still wandering, Claire found herself in the spare bedroom containing her unorthodox filing system. She reached for the stack of information she’d put down almost twenty four hours ago, the information they’d accumulated on Samuel Rawls.
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