Roach explained that he was the one to mail the gifts and cards to the Rawls—Nichols baby. He was the one who purposely breached the estate’s security and tried to run Clay off the road. He emphasized that on no occasion was Claire ever in danger. It was all a ploy to create fear and suspicion.
When Tony asked why, Roach’s answer was simple. “It was a job—Ms. London hired me.” The story of the laptop made Tony’s stomach turn. He couldn’t believe it had been in his own closet.
Yes, Claire should’ve waited and talked to him, but hearing it from Roach, seeing this new perspective, Tony’s heart broke for the woman he loved. He understood—Claire was too frightened to wait. It pained him that at that moment—she was frightened of him; however, that’s how it was meant to be—how Catherine planned it. Roach also explained that Claire defended Tony to Evergreen and Baldwin. He also mentioned how Baldwin caught her off guard.
Taking the time to listen and consider the timeline, Tony understood Claire’s reasoning and justified her fear. It was then that he remembered the phone call and reevaluated her words: Tony, I made a mistake—many mistakes. I believed someone else—instead of trusting you—and living up to our promise. I’ve learned the truth, and I want you to know that I trust you and that I’m so sorry. After everything—she still wanted him—and he’d hung up on her.
Now, as he and Phil approached her hiding place, he knew that the two of them had much to discuss, so much to say. He could’ve tried to call; however, he didn’t want to give her the opportunity to tell him to stay away. Honestly, he feared she would—the possibility still existed. Technically, he could argue that it was his money that bought the island, but he wouldn’t. Tony wanted to see Claire—to look into her eyes and tell her the truth. If she wouldn’t listen, then he’d leave.
Above all, Tony wanted to hold Claire in his arms, tell her how sorry he was, and how much he loved her. As the plane neared the water, Anthony Rawlings hoped she would give him that opportunity.
After an afternoon in the orchards, Claire took a leisurely swim, sunbathed by the pool, read, and napped. When Madeline woke her, she showered and readied for dinner. It was a variation on her normal routine, and with everything considered, Claire didn’t think it was too bad.
Running her fingers down the fabric of her pink sundress, Claire pondered her dinner companions. It wasn’t like she needed to look good for Madeline and Francis. It was an ingrained behavior—dinner meant formal. Truly, Claire enjoyed that. It was the climax to her day. Securing the shell necklace, she observed her hair—pulled up with ringlets of blonde and brown hanging down over her neck. In only a few weeks, the sun had successfully lightened her hair. Claire smirked, of course, what did she expect by living this close to the equator?
As they were about to sit down to eat, the sound of an airplane filled their ears. Where only moments earlier the sound of birds and surf dominated, now the roar of propellers amplified over the island. Claire’s first thought was Phil. Who else would know their way to her island?
When she stood, Francis placed his hand on her arm. Claire stopped as he warned, “Madame el, it is better if you wait to see.”
Instinctively, she hugged her midsection and nodded. Standing on the lanai, she looked down at the lagoon. As she watched the small plane land on the sparkling water, she felt her heartbeat in her throat. The landing and stopping of the propeller seemed to take hours rather than minutes. Perhaps it was the anticipation of greeting the first plane to land in the lagoon since Claire arrived, or more likely, her excitement at again seeing a familiar face. Regardless of the reason, Claire stood on the lanai with baited breath. It wasn’t until she saw Phil emerge from the small vessel, that she allowed herself to smile.
Losing her heeled shoes, Claire ran down the path, toward the shore. The green vegetation, colorful flowers, and lush trees hid her view of the beach. She was just about to call out—to shout to Phil—when she emerged from the foliage. As her bare feet hit the beach, they stopped and slowly sank into the soft sand.
Stalling under an arch of flowers and vines, Claire experienced one of those moments where time stood still—the sun and moon forgot their roles—the earth no longer turned—and the tides no longer ebbed or flowed. She stood speechless as a second passenger emerged from the plane and stepped toward the path. When he looked up, he stopped mid-step. Claire bravely met his gaze, taking in the darkest, most intense eyes she’d ever known.
Claire knew she’d seen every emotion in those eyes—from anger to adoration. Currently, she saw a mixture of apprehension and desire. With each second, desire overpowered apprehension—desire overpowered—everything—everything else—everywhere.
Perhaps there were stars falling, volcanoes erupting, or epic winds blowing. Truthfully, at that moment, the entire world could’ve been lost and neither one would have known. Later, when she reflected, Claire believed Phil had been speaking. He was giving reason or explanations—at the time, all Claire heard was the beating of her heart—maybe, just maybe, it was their baby’s heart. No matter, the whoosh—whoosh was what filled her ears and her consciousness. Unable to move, Claire stood, waiting for Tony to make his way to her.
Tears filled her eyes and spontaneously escaped her lids as she watched each elegant step. How could a world as perfect as the paradise, where she’d been living, have been lacking? In the last moments, seeing Tony gracefully move toward her, Claire knew her sphere was now whole.
When he was within reach, Claire remembered all she wanted to say—all the questions she’d compiled in her thoughts. Though the questions came to mind, with increased vigor, no words materialized on her lips. Standing tall and proud, Claire remained silent. She couldn’t calm the mayhem long enough to decipher her words. The best plan was silence until...
Without warning, one of Tony’s arms surrounded her growing waist and the other captured her neck. The sound escaping her lips couldn’t be classified as words. On the contrary, it was more involuntary as her body submitted to his. Every touch, every move, and every angle was determined by him. Claire’s body no longer waited for internal instruction. It was programmed to respond to the contact of the man towering above her, inhaling her aroma, and caressing her body.
His hands held her tightly within his grasp. She didn’t fight. Why would anyone fight their rightful place? Instead, the sounds from her mouth—the moans from her chest—were a plea, a request for more. Truthfully, Claire wasn’t even aware she was making the noises, yet she heard them. Within seconds, his fingers were intertwined in her hair. It wasn’t much, but Claire suddenly felt the need to apologize. “I’m so sorry.”
The strong, determined mission of his lips quieted further commentary, until he came up for air and said, “No, I’m sorry.”
Could six words mend an insurmountable gorge? At first, Claire wasn’t sure—until they did. As the words left their lips—the gap disappeared. They were together, and nothing could separate them. Claire was in Tony’s arms, tasting his kiss, and inhaling his amazing scent. The world beyond their bubble was suddenly insignificant. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, on the beach, holding one another.
His eyes held the key to her heart and soul. Peering into Tony’s dark gaze of desire, her world lightened into the place she wanted to be. Claire knew she could remain there for a lifetime. Then, slowly, the world around them infiltrated her senses—soft sand materialized beneath her toes—a gentle, salt scented breeze moved strands of her hair—the orange glow of the setting sun created an orange hue—and sound of propellers told them that the plane was leaving.
Unable to contain her sudden panic, Claire held tight to Tony’s hand and looked beyond their bubble. Heading back toward the plane was the man who’d made their world right. Claire gasped and looked up to Tony with her head shaking. “We can’t let him leave.” Then louder, she yelled toward the plane, “Phil!”
He looked their direction.
“Stay,” Tony commanded.
Phil’s progress stalled. He turned back as they walked toward him.
When they were all together, Tony held out his hand. While the two men shook, Tony said, “Thank you. We can never thank you enough.”
The glowing sun reflected in the golden flecks of his eyes. Phil looked to Claire and then to Tony. “You already have.”
Tony said, “I was wrong to fire you. You’ve kept Claire safe and brought us back together. I want you to work for us. Stay.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Rawlings, my bank account is quite healthy. There’s only one person for whom I’d be willing to postpone my early retirement.”
The rush of panic that moments earlier had filled Claire’s chest, as she saw Phil leaving, subsided. Smiling, she released Tony’s hand and took a step toward her babysitter—her bodyguard—her friend. When she was but inches away, she lifted her arms. “Please stay. You’ve given me back everything. I know I can never repay you...but I hope you know—I want you to be part of our lives.”
Their hug wasn’t intimate. It was nothing like the display he’d witnessed moments earlier; nevertheless, it was a connection—a bond he’d never before experienced. As Claire’s arms encircled Phil’s neck and her petite frame leaned against his chest, Phil knew that he’d stop at nothing to protect her, to protect her baby, and to facilitate her happiness.
He spoke softly, “Do you want me to stay?”
Her green eyes spoke volumes, but it was her words that secured his future, “Oh yes, more than I can say, but the decision is yours.”
“I have one stipulation.”
Tony stepped forward, protectively placing his arm around Claire’s shoulders. “And that would be?”
“I don’t do diapers.”
The lingering sound of the plane faded into the twilight sky as Tony, Claire, and Phil made their way up the path toward the house.
Do what you feel in your heart to be right—for you‘ll be criticized anyway. You’ll be damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.
—Eleanor Roosevelt
Stepping through the doorway into a sea of familiar faces, Emily held tight to John’s hand. Everwood’s conference room bustled with counselors, therapists (speech, occupational, and physical), doctors (primary care, neurology, and psychiatry), rehabilitation nurses, and administration representatives—all with one patient in mind—Claire Nichols Rawlings. Various members of Claire’s care team greeted the Vandersols as they made their way to some empty seats at the table.
When it came to planning and treatment, Everwood was well known for their excellence. This was true with all their patients, but some patients received extra attention. It was no secret—Claire Nichols Rawlings wasn’t the average patient. First of all, she was incredibly wealthy. Second, her sister, next of kin and power of attorney, was excessively demanding, as well as incredibly involved, and lastly, Claire’s brother-in-law was an attorney, well versed in medical law. If pertinent revelations regarding her case were to be discussed, it required the presence of all members of her care team.
Today’s meeting was in regard to the information in Dr. Fairfield’s report. Dr. Carly Brown eased herself into the chair beside Emily. Squeezing Emily’s free hand, she whispered, “Don’t worry. Dr. Fairfield wouldn’t be addressing this entire crowd if he didn’t have some valuable theories.”
Tired of theories, Emily feigned a smile. Fighting the emotion building in her chest, she managed, “Thanks, Carly, I’m just afraid to get my hopes up.”
Dr. Brown smiled. “Hope is all we have. Don’t give up on your sister.”
Breathing deeply, Emily blinked back the tears. “It’s one thing for me to be disappointed—I’m used to it, but I keep thinking about Nichol having to deal with this one day.”
John leaned over, keeping his voice low as the rest of the room continued to murmur, “Let’s concentrate on Claire. Nichol’s young; we can keep her uninformed as long as possible.”
Emily nodded as she swallowed her tears. Everyone was taking a seat—some around the table and many in chairs at the perimeter. The overflowing room quieted as Dr. Fairfield began his presentation.
“Thank you all for joining me here today. I’ve spoken to many of you in the last few weeks; many over the phone. It’s nice to meet you in person. Let me begin by explaining my role as a neuropsychologist...”
Emily listened as Dr. Fairfield reviewed Claire’s condition. At first, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before—
“It’s well documented that psychosis like what Ms. Nichols is experiencing can be the result of traumatic brain injury. Recent studies have supported the theory of delayed psychosis. This has been well documented in veterans as well as NFL players. It’s characterized by slowly developing psychosis or delayed rapid onset. There are case studies which have documented rapid onset occurring as long as fifty-four months post injury.”
Emily liked to think that Claire’s psychosis was slowly developing. Although previously undiagnosed, that theory justified Claire’s decisions over the last years. As Claire’s sister, it made it easier for Emily to accept some of Claire’s actions and decisions—especially regarding Anthony Rawlings. Emily mentally reviewed the timeline: Claire’s initial concussion resulting in prolonged unconsciousness—hell, a coma—although, when she was capable, Claire refused to use that word—was in September of 2010. Though not a concussion, her second brain injury was in June of 2013, when she was attacked by Patrick Chester. Claire’s break with reality occurred in March of 2014...
“There have even been suggestions that a hormonal imbalance as well as weight gain, like that associated with pregnancy, could have exacerbated previous injuries...”
To Emily, it seemed very cut and dry—and the timeline worked.
Dr. Fairfield continued, “...Although Ms. Nichols’ brain scans support a history of traumatic brain injury, I do not share the theory that this has led to her psychosis...”
Emily’s neck straightened, and she turned to her husband. What was he saying? Of course TBI was the cause of Claire’s psychosis! It was all Anthony’s fault! He injured her. If it weren’t for him, she never would have been Patrick Chester’s target. Emily’s internal monologue drowned out the doctor’s words. She needed to listen.
“...The studies are less conclusive on the rate of recovery, from non-TBI induced psychosis. It’s true; this patient’s current scans indicate previous damage to the right hemisphere of her brain.” He projected various scanned images on the screen and utilized a small blue arrow to point to Doppler generated specifics. “You’ll note, as is consistent with TBI, the damage is most pronounced in the temporal and parietal lobes. What’s of specific significance with Ms. Nichols is the reduction in gray matter. As that reduction occurs, patients tend to feel pain. Ms. Nichols’ history does suggest problems with headaches. Now, if we compare the MRI of 2013 with the one taken two weeks ago, you can see...”
Emily listened, trying to remember the previous evidence. Everyone had said it was the TBI which indeed had caused Claire’s psychotic break. She recalled discussion of injury—evidence of concussion, yet as she tried to focus, Emily realized, Dr. Fairfield wasn’t nullifying that evidence. He had acknowledged that the injuries occurred, but he was also stating that he didn’t feel that the injuries were the cause of her psychosis.
Turning to Dr. Brown, Emily whispered, “Is he saying the head injuries aren’t the cause of her psychosis?”
Dr. Brown’s eyes opened wide as she turned to Emily, nodded, and shrugged.
Dr. Fairfield continued, “If the injuries prove to be the cause of the patient’s current state of mind, then in that case I’d have to agree with the conclusion of others that no further recovery will occur.”
Emily’s mind spun. Who said that? No one had voiced that opinion to her.
Dr. Fairfield went on, “I have based my current prognosis on the patient’s most recent DTI, or Diffusion Tensor Imaging. This is relatively new imaging and wasn’t commonly availabl
e at the time of Ms. Nichols’ break. As many of you know, I’ve worked with the NFL on this subject and have been personally involved with many of the more public cases. Accurately monitoring and measuring brain activity is essential in any prognosis. Let me show you this segment of consecutive DTI.” Again, everyone’s attention was brought to the screen. The image before them moved, or—more accurately—it pulsated. The defined areas of color moved, reminding Emily of an intense area of thunderstorm activity on a weather map. “Note the increased activity in this area of gray matter. What’s significant is that this image was recorded during one of the patient’s hallucinatory episodes. Let me also show you the increased stimulation in this patient’s auditory cortex. For those of you less versed in the medical terminology”—Emily knew he was specifically rephrasing for her benefit—“I’m saying that even though we may not hear what Ms. Nichols hears, or sense what she senses, she is indeed hearing and sensing. More importantly, her brain is active. Yes, there are areas of damage, but the human brain is very powerful and is quite capable of regeneration and compensation. I conclude that with the right antipsychotics and a significant change in therapy, progress can be made to bring Ms. Nichols back from her current state.”
As everyone discussed this new prognosis, the room buzzed with whispers. John leaned over Emily in an attempt to speak with Dr. Brown. Emily remained silent, contemplating the possibility that Dr. Fairfield’s assessment could possibly be true. Her mind fluctuated between hopeful optimism at the possibility of recovery and less than guarded indignation at the possibility that Anthony’s guilt could be more indirect than direct.
When the room began to quiet, Emily stood. Slowly, silence prevailed. Clearing her throat, she utilized the voice she’d reserved years ago for addressing students. “Dr. Fairfield, if brain injury wasn’t the cause of my sister’s condition, please enlighten us on what was the cause?”
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