Kissing his lips, she replied, “Literally and figuratively.”
Their journey wasn’t complete. If their relationship had been a poker tournament, unquestionably, they’d not been dealt the best cards. When faced with the same odds, as Tony and Claire, many players would have folded and walked away. They hadn’t—they’d continued to play. In the process they’d grown and changed. At one time, they were opponents, strategizing against one another, now they were teammates, yet their tournament wasn’t over. It was too early to declare the winner. They both knew there were more cards to be revealed.
When Phil joined them for dinner, he looked much more relaxed, and told Tony and Claire all about Catherine and her quest to learn more and more about Sophia. “She seems different than when she hired me to send you the packages.”
It amazed Claire how casual he was with both her and Tony about what he’d done. Maybe it was true, honesty made even the most absurd circumstances less bizarre.
Phil continued, “I took a few pictures of her with Sophia. Ms. London looks different to me, don’t you agree?”
He showed his phone to Tony first. Claire’s husband’s countenance changed before her eyes. His posture straightened and the veins in his neck became visible. When he continued to stare without speaking, Claire asked, “May I see?”
Phil moved the phone to her line of vision. The golden flecks in Phil’s green eyes danced as he murmured something about once seeing a picture on Claire’s phone. Her mind immediately went to San Antonio. Thankfully, Tony was too lost in his own thoughts to process what they were saying. She reached out and covered Tony’s hand with her own. The diamonds embedded within the bands of her wedding and engagement ring sparkled behind the beacon of the engagement solitaire.
“She does look different,” Claire confirmed. “Her hair is shorter and darker, but there’s something else—I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Confidence,” Tony replied, his tone restrained. “She looks like she did when my grandfather was alive. I’d say she feels very confident in her future. I’m sure she thinks that I’m hiding out somewhere, and she’s safe to sit back and enjoy spending my money.”
“Can she do that?” Claire’s voice raised an octave.
Phil was the one to answer. “The way Mr. Rawlings’ estate is set, Ms. London has access to a very nice trust fund designed to help her manage the estate; however, the provisions are rather non-restrictive. How she chooses to spend the money won’t be questioned.”
Tony looked skeptically toward Phil. “Did she share this with you?”
“No. I could only spend so much time looking at art. I spent a great deal of time researching different trails—that was one. Your grandfather was another.”
Tony nodded as his dark eyes questioned.
Still holding Phil’s phone, Claire asked, “Have I met Sophia? She looks very familiar.”
“Not to my knowledge,” Tony answered. “But then again, you did live close to one another in California.”
Claire shrugged and gave Phil back his phone. “I hope she’s safe. I no longer trust Catherine—even with her own daughter.”
Everyone looked up to the blue sky as a rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. Phil commented, “That’s why the pilot rushed to leave the island so fast. The weather predictions had quite a storm coming through this area tonight or tomorrow.”
“Typhoon season was officially over the end of October,” Claire said, remembering some of her meteorology education.
“Over or not, I saw the weather models and paid extra to get here before the storm hit.” Phil grinned. “Okay, you paid extra. My other option was to wait until it passed. They told me it could be a one to three day delay—depending on the severity of the storm.”
“Most of the weather systems never make it here,” Tony offered. “We hear the rumble; however, all we usually get is a steady rain, often in the night, then nothing.”
“That sounds encouraging,” Phil answered. “I hope you’re right. From what little I know about weather, the models looked intense.”
Claire sat straighter. “I’ve read about barometric pressure affecting delivery. I know I’m early, but that would be fine with me.”
Tony’s eyes screamed alarm, nonetheless his voice remained calm. “Yes, once we’re near the doctor—that would be great—not before.”
Fighting the resurgence of pain in her lower back, Claire feigned a smile. “There are still a few things you can’t control.” She stood and reached for his hand. “And, I love that you think you can.” Her grip tightened.
Tony looked up to Claire’s expression. He recognized the clouds of pain settling behind her emerald eyes. He’d seen them before, but he didn’t want to see them again. Unconsciously, his concern for the child lessened proportionally to his increased worry for his wife. “Claire, it’s still early in the day. The sun won’t set for hours; let’s go into town.”
She shook her head from side to side. “I think I just need to lie down for a little bit, dinner isn’t sitting too well.” Turning toward Phil, she managed, “I’m sorry that I’m not being more hospitable. It seems that eating is more uncomfortable than it is satisfying.”
“Let me help you—” Tony interjected, as he began to stand.
Claire stopped him. “Don’t be silly. You two talk about whatever Phil’s learned about Nathaniel. I need a nap, and by later tonight, I’ll be fine. Then you two can fill me in.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be down to check on you soon.”
She released his hand and brushed his shoulder. “All right.”
Tony watched as she disappeared through the archway toward the hall. The anticipated delivery was wearing on him as much as it was her. Placing his elbows on the table, he lowered his head to his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair.
He wanted to put Claire on a plane and fly her back to the United States. He wanted the satisfaction of knowing she had the best medical care possible. He was a fuck’n billionaire! His wife shouldn’t be giving birth in the middle of nowhere. Tony knew he’d put Claire in harm’s way in the past—both intentionally and unintentionally—now he’d do anything to keep her safe.
Roach’s worried voice caused Tony to look up. “Francis and I can go for the doctor?”
There was a time when having another man so obviously care for his wife would’ve upset Tony; however, looking across the table, he knew it was right. Tony felt no more threatened by Phillip Roach than he would have by Eric or Brent. He actually welcomed the common bond. Roach was their ace in the hole. Tony didn’t like admitting that he needed help, and he probably never would verbally; however, having Roach present to go for help or be their eyes and ears back in the states was reassuring.
Tony replied, “Let’s give her some time. She goes from one hundred miles an hour to zero a lot lately. One minute, she’s going through baby clothes, folding and refolding. The next, she’s in the kitchen helping Madeline; then next, she’s asleep. I’ll check on her soon. If she’s still having these pains—I think it’d be a good idea.” Looking down at his hands, Tony softly mumbled, “Thank you.”
Phil nodded. “In the meantime, do you want to know what I’ve learned about drug interactions?”
“I have the feeling I do, but mostly, I’m thinking I don’t give a damn.”
Phil leaned back in his chair, inhaled and exhaled. “You will, I promise.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Tony replied, “Okay, my man, care to enlighten me?”
We all have time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Others take us forward, they're called dreams.
—Unknown
Claire made it to their suite before the nausea hit with a vengeance. Stumbling into the bathroom, she fell to her knees and her trembling hands held her head over the toilet. It was the first time since morning sickness that she’d vomited. Perspiration drenched her skin as she her meal projected into the water below. When she was done, Clai
re laid her head on her arms and waited. As if awoken by her violent lurches, her temples throbbed and her midsection contracted. Gaining strength, she made her way back out into the bedroom. If she lay down, Claire believed the discomfort would stop. After strategically placing the pillows of the bed around her, she hugged another. The fetal position seemed ironic, yet with another pillow between her legs, it was the only position that gave her solace.
The curtains billowed as a refreshing breeze moved the previously still air about their suite. Claire relished the coolness on her clammy skin and concentrated on her breathing. Officially, she was just a little past thirty-six weeks into her pregnancy. Everything she read said thirty-eight to forty weeks were considered full term. Although she was ready for the pregnancy to be done, Claire didn’t want their baby born too early. Unexpectantly, she flinched as thunder rattled the windows. She looked around the suite bathed in the early evening light and listened to the low howl of the growing wind. Suddenly, the room filled with a flash of light.
As she inhaled and exhaled, Claire counted. It was a trick her grandmother taught her as a child. When she saw the lightening, she’d count until she heard the thunder. Grandma said the number between events was the distance in miles from where the lightning struck. Claire knew from meteorology it wasn’t accurate; nevertheless, it was a ritual that gave her comfort. Although her head still ached, her midsection had relaxed. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the knock on her door until it was repeated.
She answered, “Come in.”
Claire saw the concern in Madeline’s eyes. “Madame el, you are in pain?”
“No,” she lied and did her best to smile. “I’m having trouble eating. I’m hungry, but I fill too fast, and then I’m uncomfortable.” As she spoke, her back suddenly tightened, sending a jolt of pain down her right leg. She didn’t mean to wince, but she did.
Madeline sat on the edge of the bed and waited. When Claire’s expression softened, Madeline gently took her hand. “Madame el, you are warm. Please tell me about your pain.”
Salty tears stung Claire’s eyes. “It’s in my back. It’s been getting worse all day.”
“It could be infection. I remember it happens often in late pregnancy. Perhaps Francis could take you to the doctor. If you go now, there’ll be enough light. I worry about the storm. They say it is big.”
Claire closed her eyes and waited. Another jab tightened her back, stronger than the one before. When she opened them again, she nodded as the tears escaped down her cheeks. “It might be. That makes sense. I read about bladder infections. Besides, I don’t think it’s labor. First, it’s too early.”
“Oh”—Madeline chuckled—“babies don’t have calendars.”
Claire grinned. “Well, second, I’m not feeling it in my stomach. I just feel nauseous. The pain’s in my back.”
“Although I’ve helped bring many babies into this world, the doctor is the best place for you. Sometimes things in real life aren’t like they are in the books.”
Claire considered telling Madeline she’d read it online—not in a book—but the pain returned. It felt like being stabbed, quick, sharp, and intense! She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Through gritted teeth she asked, “Can they bring the doctor here? We can call; maybe they can fly Dr. Gilbert to us?”
“Normally, oui.” Madeline walked to the doors to the lanai. Her hair blew away from her face, and her dress flowed backward. “No pilot will fly a plane or a helicopter with this wind.”
Regaining her ability to speak, Claire replied, “I don’t think I can handle the bouncing of the boat, if the waves are big.” The dim room flashed bright then back to dark. Claire watched as Madeline pulled the doors shut. “Oh, the breeze felt so good.”
“It’s time to turn on the air conditioning. You need to be comfortable.”
Despite her affection of the open house, Claire agreed. Droplets of sweat rolled down her back and front. Her breasts were damp with perspiration, and she knew her hair was stuck to her skin. “All right. It might help me sleep.” Again the thunder rattled the windows. “It’s still far away.”
“Madame el?”
“The storm—it’s still far away. It took a long time for the thunder to reach the lightening.”
Madeline patted her hand. “I’ll go turn on the cool air and bring you some water. I have an island remedy that may help—if the pain is infection.”
Claire’s eyes widened.
“No, Madame el, it’s natural. It will not hurt the bébé.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Do you want Monsieur Rawlings?”
Closing her eyes to a momentary relief in the pain, Claire answered, “No, I’m feeling better. He and Phil can talk while I sleep.”
After Madeline left, darkness prevailed. Their normally open suite was now enclosed; its only source of illumination was the remnants of a clouded twilight penetrating the panes of the windows. Claire rearranged the pillows. With pressure in just the right area of her back, she found relief from the stabbing.
When Madeline returned, Claire drank the remedy she provided, all the while praying it would stay down. When alone again, she settled into her nest of pillows. Another flash of lightening brightened the room and she began to drift away...
Light filled their suite as Claire awoke. The morning noises greeted her as she looked out beyond the open doors to the beautiful blue water. Her arms reached out, stretching to relieve the stiffness of a long sleep. She felt more rested than she had in weeks or months. A full night’s sleep and the pain was gone. Lifting the soft sheet, Claire marveled at her own movements. It had been so long since she’d been capable of changing positions without concentration and effort.
On her left hand, the sparkling wedding band caught her eye. It was truly as spectacular as the first. As her bare feet touched the tile of the bathroom floor, Claire looked up to her reflection and the air left her lungs. Her hands immediately moved to her flattened midsection as panic boiled from within.
Unable to refrain, Claire fell to her knees and screamed Tony’s name. She yelled until the sobs within her chest wouldn’t allow her to articulate any longer. With her cheek against the cool tile, Claire heard the door to their suite open. “What happened? Where’s our baby?” The questions formed and started to flow until her eyes met gray.
It wasn’t Tony who’d entered the room—it was Catherine. Her gray eyes no longer appeared comforting; instead, Claire saw vengeance. She scrambled to her knees and tried to shut the door between the bedroom and bathroom. Catherine was quicker. Claire pushed the door with all her might, yet she was weak. When Catherine came around the door, Claire asked, “Why? Why are you here?”
Her voice cracked like an old vinyl album. “I own this island. It was bought with my money. Why wouldn’t I be here?”
“No! You gave me access to the money. It’s mine—a gift.”
Catherine laughed. “I wouldn’t give a gift to a Nichols.”
Claire stood straight. “I’m also a Rawlings! Leave me alone!”
“A Nichols is all you are and will ever be—that’s all that stupid baby was too!”
Strength from an unknown source coursed through her veins. Claire lunged forward, her petite hands surrounding Catherine’s neck, pushing the front toward the back. Both women fell to the floor. “Where’s my baby?” Claire yelled.
Catherine pushed Claire away as Claire held on tightly and continued to squeeze. “With Anton.” Catherine spewed as she gasped for air.
“Where?”
Catherine’s eyes rolled back and her lids fluttered. Claire couldn’t kill her—not yet. She needed to know where Tony and the baby were. Releasing her grip, Claire asked again, “Where? Where are they?”
The gray eyes focused directly on her as her lips curved upward. “Gone. They’re all gone—you’re all alone! I’d kill you too, but...some fates are worse than death.”
The air, once again, left Claire’s lungs as Catherine’s
words immobilized her. Through the haze and fog of disbelief, Claire struggled to stand.
Catherine was gone.
Claire was alone.
In the distance of the attached room, she heard the door close. It was as she opened the bathroom door that she heard the beep.
Looking toward the lanai, the sea was gone and so was their paradise. Instead, Claire’s surroundings came into focus. Golden drapes covered large windows. White woodwork and beige plush carpet surrounded her. The vibrant colors of the tropics were gone, replaced by muted, dulled tones. Claire peered beyond the drapes, past the French doors to a stark landscape. Skeletons of leafless trees and thick gray clouds were visible for miles.
Falling to her knees, Claire cried out. Her words were meant for the man who would never again hold her close and for the child she never met. “Gone! No, please God, no! Tony, Tony, Tony...” Eventually, the words faded into nothingness...
Nothingness is worse than gray—it’s nothing.
Within the confines of the living room, Phil explained to Tony what he’d learned. “It was the notes from the nurses or aides at Camp Gabriels that made me stop and think.”
Tony was interested. He wanted to know more about Nathaniel, his life in prison, and how Samuel was able to void his marriage. Perhaps a portion of Tony’s curiosity was the realization that one day he’d follow after his grandfather in that endeavor, too. Anthony Rawlings wouldn’t be incarcerated for business fraud. No, Rawlings Industries was legitimate and so were all of its holdings. Tony demanded that. He surrounded himself with people who also demanded fair business practices, people like Brent, Tom, and Tim. Of course, he made money off of others’ misfortunes and poor decisions; nonetheless, each business acquisition or closing was done legally. His sins were more personal and arguably worse. The matter could be debated—the number of victims and the extent of the reach; nevertheless, Tony, too, had sins which required restitution.
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