The blood rushed from Claire’s face as she looked to Tony and back to John. Suddenly, it was six years earlier and Claire feared John’s next words. It wasn’t that she feared for herself or possible consequences. Claire was tired of conflict. She only wanted for her family to co-exist without confrontations. John continued, “Before you were born, Michael, Uncle Tony saved your mom and me from a fire. If he hadn’t done that then you wouldn’t be here, either.”
Nichol’s eyes widened. “Really? You did that?”—she added—“Daddy.”
“Wow!” Michael gasped as he looked up at his new uncle.
It was a first step—a baby step—but progress nonetheless. Claire’s eyes glistened as she mouthed thank you to John. She couldn’t recall a more congenial gathering with her family—all of her family. The addition of children not only brought joy to their individual lives, it provided a new bond to hold them together. Pensively, she wished it had done the same for her and Tony.
The first morning that Claire woke in her new home, she lay staring at the ceiling. It had happened again. In a twenty-four hour period, her life had, once again, taken an abrupt turn—new cards and new decisions. She was free—from Everwood—from everyone. Tony made sure of that. He provided her with the means necessary to do anything she ever wanted. She had access to Nichol—it wasn’t full access—but that would come with time. As Claire recalled their brief family hug, her heart ached.
From the time she learned that Tony was alive, she’d imagined the perfect reunion. For a couple of hours, it was her reality. The way Tony fought for her release from Everwood fit perfectly into her knight-in-shining-armor fantasy. She wished the few seconds in Emily’s living room would have gone on forever. If they had, if their story ended right there, she could’ve had her happily ever after.
Tossing on the soft sheets, Claire looked out to the bright morning sky, through the giant wall of glass. She wondered what happened to those fairy tale couples after the last page. Was happily ever after even obtainable? Her new life wasn’t terrible. She’d take the cards she’d been dealt and try to make the best out of it. After all, that’s how she’d survived until now. As a young girl, she’d never dreamt of wealth, yet she had more money than she could ever spend. Fame? She never wanted it and detested having it. What had she wanted out of life? What requests had she made?
Her mind slipped back through the years to a cold, snowy day. Wrapped in Tony’s arms, in his suite, in front of a warm blazing fire, she made requests—access to her own invitations—the ability to contact her sister—to leave the estate whenever she wanted—and for Tony to contact her directly. She had it all. Her new home came with a laptop and tablet. Emily wasn’t just reachable—she’d be visiting her each night. In the garage Claire had two vehicles—a car and a SUV, safer for when she drove Nichol. She also had access to a driver whenever she desired. Lastly, the cell phone near her bed was available to anyone who wanted to call. Thinking about the new house, there weren’t any requests Claire could recall that Tony hadn’t delivered. Even the tall windows and sunlight throughout the house were fulfillments of promises made. He’d provided everything she ever wanted—except him. On that cold, snowy day she didn’t realize what she had. Perhaps no one ever does—until it’s gone.
Forcing herself to move, Claire got out of bed. She would move forward, one step at a time. She’d almost folded once—that wouldn’t happen again.
As the days went by, Claire lived for her visits with Nichol. She anxiously anticipated her daughter’s move onto the estate. In the meantime, Claire decided if she were to oversee a 6,000 acre estate, then she needed to know her staff. It was much easier than her first move to this property. This time, she was the mistress of the house, not some woman being held prisoner in the upstairs suite. The entire staff was new. The only original remaining member of Tony’s staff was Eric, and he worked for Tony—not Claire. Since Tony always drove to see Nichol, Claire rarely saw Eric.
Each evening after dinner, Tony would pick Claire up at the estate and drive to the Vandersols. In the beginning, everyone was present. With time, John, Emily, and Michael made excuses to leave Tony, Claire, and Nichol alone. It was as the child psychologist predicted—day by day—Nichol’s comfort level with her parents increased. After their visits, Tony would take Claire back to the estate and go to his apartment. There was no reason to discuss or argue—the decision was made, and the conversation was over.
After a week, the Vandersols brought Nichol to the estate. It didn’t take long for her to find the treasure of toys and clothes awaiting her in her new room. The psychologist recommended one more week of visits before the final move. Nichol seemed to be adapting well.
Two staff positions remained open on the estate which Tony asked Claire to fill personally. The first was a nanny. Over the course of many days, Claire interviewed potential caregivers. Finally, she decided on a younger woman named Shannon. Granted, the grandmotherly types were experienced, but each one reminded her of Catherine in some way. She felt much better with Shannon.
The second position Claire needed to fill was the head of the estate’s security. At first, Claire protested about the need—Tony reassured her there had always been a security team on the estate. Regardless of a decreased threat level, people in their position were always in need of security. Thinking about Nichol, Claire acquiesced. After the fourth interview, Claire realized who she wanted, and it wasn’t one of the names listed on her paper. That night when Tony arrived to take her to Nichol, she told him, “I know who I want as head of my security. I just don’t know how to contact him.”
“You were supposed to get a list with numbers. Was one missing?”
“No, I don’t want anyone from that list. I want Phillip Roach.”
Tony’s look of surprise quickly morphed into his new constant expression of indifference. “He isn’t the type of man to leave a forwarding address. I don’t know if he can be reached. Besides, the people on that list have been prescreened. Any one of them will do nicely—”
Claire interrupted, “I don’t want one of them.”
“Why do you want Roach?”
“I know him, and I feel comfortable with him,” Claire argued her point with conviction. “With all the new people working around me, I’d like some familiarity.”
“Anyone can become familiar after time.”
“Tony, you said I could have anything I want. I want him.”
He didn’t offer further protest. This time, Claire had closed the conversation. She wanted Phil, and Tony would find him.
During her days before Nichol’s arrival, Claire learned her way around the responsibilities of her new home. She also enjoyed outings with Meredith, Courtney, or Sue. There were even times she’d get in her new car and drive. It wasn’t that she wanted to go anyplace in particular. It was more the validation of knowing she could. Years ago, when she’d made her requests, they all came with the same stipulation—each freedom required authorization. Although she remembered hating that domination, the complete opposite didn’t make her happy either. Each time she drove through the gates, she realized, no one knew or cared where she was going.
Her only obligation, other than evenings with Nichol and their sessions with the child psychologist, was her outpatient counseling sessions. Twice a week, she drove the thirty plus minutes to Everwood. Although an essential rule of therapy was complete honesty, Claire never mentioned her and Tony’s living arrangements. Only Meredith and Courtney knew the truth. Perhaps it was her reluctance to discuss it at length. Her friends heard her brief explanation and mercifully accepted it at face value. The counselor would want to know her feelings and thoughts. Claire didn’t want to admit those to herself much less someone else.
She didn’t want to admit that Tony’s placid stare hurt not only her pride, but her ever crumbling heart. From their first meeting at the Red Wing there’d been a hunger in his eyes. When he first brought her to the estate, that hunger frightened her and filled her w
ith a sense of vulnerability and defenselessness. It was as if his eyes told of a need that only she could fill. To someone with no knowledge of what that need might include, it was a daunting assignment. With time, the hunger became comforting. No matter how much money or success Tony obtained, there was part of him that sought what only she could give. In a world of opulence, it made her feel needed and desired. That same hunger pulled her back into his arms, bed, and life when their reconciliation was only a charade. While on the island, the ravenous hunger transformed. No longer were his attentions divided, yet at no time did she feel unwanted. Through the years, when she saw him across the room, she’d look into his eyes and know he was thinking of her. Just one look, one glance and her insides would tighten—most of the time, she knew before she saw. His black eyed gaze could reach out and touch her, even without visual confirmation. Now, the look was gone—his eyes were neutral—void of emotion. Unless they were with Nichol, the color wasn’t black and it wasn’t light. With each glance into the tranquil pools of brown, another piece of her heart broke.
It's the repetition of affirmations that leads to belief. And once that belief becomes a deep conviction, things begin to happen.
—Muhammad Ali
Privately, Tony and Claire spoke superficially discussing staff concerns and weather. Their only sincere talks involved Nichol. That was until the night before Nichol’s move. Claire decided she wanted to show Tony something. She didn’t expect a consequence for her compliance; nevertheless, he’d told her there was something she needed to do—something she needed to face. Claire wanted him to know, she’d done it.
Following their nightly visit with Nichol, driving up the winding estate drive, Claire asked, “Do you need to leave right away?”
“I have some work back at the office.”
“It’s after 9:00 PM. Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I have something I’d like to show you.”
“I can’t stay long.”
It wasn’t enthusiastic, but nonetheless, he’d acquiesced. Silently, they entered her home. Claire went from room to room turning on lights. Tony trailed a few steps behind, looking around each open space. It was his first time inside the house since Nichol’s visit. While she and the Vandersols were present, he did a stellar performance, pretending it was his home too.
This house wasn’t as large as the former dwelling; therefore, most of the members of the staff lived in another building on the estate. The only exception was Shannon who now had a room near Nichol’s. Finding each room empty, Tony asked, “Why isn’t someone from the staff here?”
“I gave Shannon the night off, since Nichol is moving in tomorrow, and the rest of the staff is done for the day.”
Tony shook his head. “What do you mean done? They should be here so that you don’t come home to an empty house.”
“That’s ridiculous. Phil’s familiarizing himself with the security and obviously there was a guard at the gate. I’m a big girl.”
He didn’t argue; however, Tony’s posture revealed his displeasure with the way she was overseeing the staff. Claire wanted to say, if you lived here you could do it differently, but since you don’t, it’s my decision. Although the sentence was on the tip of her tongue, she reminded herself of the reason for her invitation and swallowed the words. Baiting him into an argument wasn’t her goal; nevertheless, she couldn’t help the slight bit of sarcasm as she motioned toward the kitchen and said, “Since there’s no one here to wait on you, help yourself to something to drink. The thing I want to show you is upstairs. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
Earlier in the week, her belongings had arrived from Everwood. She’d been through some of it, but she hadn’t opened all the boxes. What she wanted to show Tony was still packed away. Honestly, she hadn’t been sure she’d be brave enough to ask him to stay and see it, but on the drive home, she decided if she were to do it—it should happen before Nichol’s move.
Hurriedly, Claire searched box after box. Aware of her internal time clock, she didn’t want to make Tony wait too long. When she reached the bottom of the last box, Claire found what she’d sought. From the surface, they didn’t appear to be anything special—your garden variety spiral notebooks; however, both she and Tony had learned years ago that things weren’t always as they appeared. As she freed the notebooks from the other items, she felt Tony behind her.
He hadn’t touched her, but her increased pulse told her he was there. For the first time since the day of his divorce declaration, every fiber of her body surged with electricity. Without turning, she said, “I’m sorry it took so long. I thought I knew where they were.”
Trying to remain unaffected by the familiar, yet recently unaccustomed feeling, Claire stood. When their eyes met, she fought to breathe—her lungs momentarily needing direction—inhaling took effort. Determined to stay strong, she looked directly into Tony’s black eyes as unbridled hunger consumed her. The intensity of the gaze staring back at her instantly reminded Claire of her captor—not the one who took her body—the one who took her heart. Pretending to remain aloof, she pressed forward and presented her notebooks. “Here they are.”
He tried to subdue the hunger boiling within him. As he watched her walk bravely toward him, he felt the intensity behind his eyes grow. Reaching for the notebooks, he asked, “What are these?”
“My compartments.”
Tony opened the top notebook. “Your compartments? What do you...?” His words trailed as he began to read—
I suppose I should start in the beginning—March 2010. No, that wasn’t when I was born. It was when I began to live. Most people think I’m crazy—maybe I am. You see I began to live, the day my life was taken away. Funny, I don’t remember how it happened. I do know now, it never could’ve been stopped. Anthony Rawlings wanted me. If I’ve learned one lesson in my life—and believe me, I’ve learned many—Anthony Rawlings always got what he wanted.
I can’t explain how it happened. I can’t explain how I fell deeply and madly in love with a man who did what Anthony did—but I did! These feelings have been discounted by multiple people: family, doctors, and counselors to name a few. They’ve told me, my love wasn’t and isn’t real. They say I’m a victim of abuse, and as such, I don’t understand the difference between love and applied behavior. How can that be true? If I don’t know my own feelings, how can anyone else?
These people haven’t lived my life. For the sake of my sanity, I need to know my feelings are and were real. I’ll always and forever, love and be in love with Anthony Rawlings!
It didn’t start that way. There was a time I both hated and feared him. When I say he took my life, I’m not being dramatic. One day I was Claire Nichols, a twenty-six-year-old, out of work meteorologist, working as a bartender to make ends meet, and the next day, I was his. He owned me. He bought my body, a commodity I never intended to sell, and while, with time, he earned my heart and soul, the transaction began with no transition and no introduction—just a brutal initiation.
I’ll never condone the things he did to me, nor will I deny them. They are a part of us, building blocks of our foundation. Some would argue that a foundation built on kidnapping, isolation, violence, and yes—even rape—would never stand. I must disagree. We lived through hell and came out the other side. Like the song says, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I can’t imagine anyone having a stronger foundation than ours. It sustained us when the storms of life and vengeance threatened our very being. Not only did it make “us” stronger, it made each of us stronger. Most importantly—it made Nichol.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that Tony is gone. No one will say his name, much less discuss his tragic death, and I know why. It’s because I killed him. It truly was an accident. An ironic term as you’ll learn; however, as I ponder these thoughts, I can’t help but find it strangely parallel—he took my life, and I took his.
The people here want me to get better. I don’t think I can do that without acknowledging how I got to this p
lace, and how I killed the man I love.
I’m doing this, recalling the worst and best times of my life for one reason: Nichol.
For months, even years, I was content to live in a world that didn’t exist. Truthfully, I wasn’t cognizant of being anywhere. Day after day, night after night, I lived with memories of the strong, controlling, domineering, loving, tender, romantic man who made my life worth living—who validated my existence. It wasn’t until recently that I even realized I’d gone away. Some days, I wish I could go back, but I can’t. I now remember I have a daughter who needs me. I won’t let her down. I must distance myself from fantasy and focus on reality.
The memories that will sustain me as I face a lonely life are of our few months together as a family. I’ll learn to go on alone. Despite the opinions of others, I’ve faced equally greater challenges and lived to talk about them. I will survive this. While I do, I’ll be comforted in knowing that no one else has ever loved as completely or has been as loved, as I have been by Anthony Rawlings.
Someday, I hope I can explain to our daughter the man her father became; however, until I admit the man he was—the man whose eyes burnt my soul—before those eyes found the light—I can’t relish the man I lost.
So here I go. I’ve lived this story, and I’ve told this story. Now, I’m going to try to do both, because without reliving it, even in my mind, I can’t possibly explain that I’m not crazy...
I met Anthony Rawlings March 15, 2010. That night I worked the 4:00PM to close shift at the Red Wing in Atlanta. He came up to the bar and sat down. I remember thinking...
Tony peeled his eyes away from the page. This was so much different than reading her official typed statement. This contained Claire’s raw emotions—in her handwriting. He wasn’t reading—he was listening. Fluttering the pages of all four notebooks, he noticed every page of every book was filled with writing. Glancing up, he saw Claire leaning against the wall, her arms folded over her chest watching him. Her stoic expression failed to reveal her thoughts; however, in her eyes—her damn green eyes—he saw the fire he’d missed. The one he’d doused too many times, most recently with his talk of divorce.
Convicted (Consequences) Page 51