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 lightning.”
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 lightning 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.
“When I accessed the prison’s inner files, I found comments about Mr. Rawls’ behavior and attitude. Nothing appeared for the first few months of his incarceration. It was after he began taking anti-depressants that there were notations about forgetfulness. Sometimes it was a small rather insignificant entry: prisoner asked what day it was, or prisoner thought it was Friday. When he learned it was only Thursday, he became belligerent. What I found interesting, were the correspondences between the prison and Samuel Rawls.”
Tony tried to concentrate. His mind continually went from Phil’s words to Claire. The mention of his father’s name snapped him back to the present conversation. “Why were they contacting my father? Shouldn’t they have been contacting Marie, I mean Catherine?”
“When Nathaniel was first incarcerated, he and Ms. London weren’t yet married. Samuel was the contact: his next of kin and power of attorney. Apparently, to change those titles to a new person required compliance by all individuals. Samuel Rawls refused to relinquish his power over his father.”
Tony stood and paced as the storm continued to threaten. Torrents of rain blanketed the windows. Seeing his reflection in the glass and unable to see beyond the prematurely dark sky, Tony said, “That’s ridiculous. My father never visited the prison. Not one time!”
Phil shook his head. “I saw that too. Ms. London visited every Friday like clockwork. Your visits coincided with long weekends and college breaks.”
“Damn!” Tony looked at Phil with newfound admiration. “Is there anything you can’t learn?”
“Me personally?” Phil smirked. “Not if I know where to look.”
“So, what did you learn in the correspondences?”
Phil explained, as Nathaniel’s dementia-like symptoms increased, the prison contacted Samuel. One of the doctors cited a concern regarding drug interaction. He stated that some reports, at that time, claimed a possible connection between anti-depressants and a vitamin deficiency, which produced forgetfulness, restlessness, and agitation. The doctor requested Samuel’s permission to take Nathaniel off the anti-depressants.
“My father refused, didn’t he?”
“He did. He authorized vitamin supplements, but vehemently denied approval to change or alter Nathaniel’s anti-depressant regime.”
“When was this correspondence?” Tony asked.
“Do you want the date? Or are you more interested to learn if it was after your grandfather married Ms. London?”
“B.” Tony replied. B—the letter propelled his thoughts to Blaine—his son or daughter. Hearing about the vindictiveness of his father and the deep-seated hatred that flowed through his own family, Tony wondered why the universe was willing to entrust him with a child. The Rawls in him didn’t deserve such a monumental blessing. He never thought he deserved any blessings. Everything he’d ever acquired he’d earned, through hard work, except this child. Perhaps the Nichols down the hall, balanced out the Rawls. In a way, it was like Catherine’s threats:
Rawls-Nichols
Except, that wasn’t the correct equation. It wasn’t Rawls minus Nichols. It was Rawls plus Nichols. It was now clear: Rawls plus Nichols equaled Rawlings.
Before Phil could answer, the sound of Claire’s scream echoed through the house, only to be drowned out by the rumbling of thunder. At first, Tony considered he might have imagined his wife’s plea, but when he saw the look on Phil’s face, Tony knew it was real.
“Did you just hear?” Tony asked as Claire’s scream rang from the other side of the house. Both men ran for the master bedroom suite. They reached the door at the same time as Madeline. Tony’s heart beat frantically as he reached for the doorknob, pushed the door wide, and declared, “I’m going in alone. Then, I’ll let you know.”
Madeline and Phil both nodded.
Claire lay still near the center of their bed with her back toward the door. The fullness of pillows surrounding her body brought a momentary smile to Tony’s worried expression. Lately, she’d brought more and more pillows to bed. He’d teased her, saying a wall of pillows couldn’t keep him out, but Tony knew the pillows helped Claire to be more comfortable. He didn’t care if she slept in a bed of pillows.
His smile quickly faded when he realized she hadn’t turned toward the sound of the opening door. Quickly, he walked to the far side of their bed and stepped closer. Despite her damp hair pressed to her face, Tony thought she looked beautiful. When he spoke, he expected to see her beautiful emerald eyes. “Claire, are you all right?”
She didn’t move. In the dimly lit, master bedroom suite, her skin glistened with perspiration and her eyes remained shut. He reached toward her. While only inches away, Claire’s head tossed violently from side to side as she whispered, “No… Tony…”
Just as quickly as she called out, her body stilled. He waited. Was she telling him not to come nearer? Tony asked in desperation, “Claire, no—what?”
When she didn’t respond, he sat on the edge of their bed and tenderly reached for her shoulder. Shaking her gently, he said, “Claire, I’m right here. Are you dreaming?”
She didn’t respond. He shook again. Nothing. “Madeline!” he yelled toward the door.
The sky was now dark, with intense flashes of light. The thunder and lightning occurred almost simultaneously. Phil, who’d been joined by Francis, paced silently in the hallway, while Madeline and Tony attended to Claire. Despite his gentle encouragement, Claire wouldn’t wake; however, her pleas and the calling of his name ceased.
The temperature of their suite had decreased very nicely. That, combined with the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan, made their room quite comfortable; nevertheless, Tony noticed Claire’s blouse stuck to her clammy skin. As he brushed her sun-lightened hair away from her face, he felt the warmth radiating from her body. “She’s burning up!”
“Monsieur, may I?”
Tony hesitantly stepped away as Madeline approached the edge of the bed where Tony had been perched. She turned her palm upward and moved her hand over Claire’s forehead.
“I’m afraid she has an infection. Before she fell asleep, I gave her something to help fight it and help her sleep. She said she didn’t want to go to the doctor.”
His back straightened. “What did you give her?”
“It’s an island remedy. When she wakes, she’ll feel better.”
“The baby?”
“The bébé will be good, much better than having infection in her mère.”
His shoulder’s relaxed as he stepped toward his wife. Before he could speak, Madeline pulled the sheet back and revealed Claire’s body.
Tony gasped. “What? What happened? Why is she so wet?”
“Her water, it broke. The baby is coming.”
Tony fell to his knees and reached for his wife’s hand. With his lips near Claire’s sleeping face he begged, “Please, please be all right.” Holding back tears, he straightened his neck and lowered his voice. The tone he created was one of authority, beyond debate. “You told me you’d be fine. You promised.” Lightning and thunder crashed. Softness, once again, took residence in his words, “Claire, please open your eyes. I need to see your beautiful emerald eyes.”
His chest tightened with déjà vu. He’d said those words before, almost verbatim. Seeing her on the bed, with her clothes glued to her skin by moisture, Tony cursed under his breath. This—like the accident, like Chester, was his fault. Why did she continually need to suffer because of him?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I always trust my gut reaction; it’s always right.
—Kiana Tom
Harry took one last look at his acquired evidence from the Sherman Nichols’ case, all boxed and catalogued. The digital data was secured in the FBI system. Soon, it would be gone from his condominium—gone from his life. He hated to admit the case was done. Well, the case wasn’t done, but he was done with the case. After all the time, effort, and attachment, Harry had been ordered to move on. Last night, the call came from the deputy director, Agent Baldwin was needed elsewhere. The new assignment required traveling, and he was finally fit to travel. Despite the disappointment of losing the Nichols case, Harry was looking forward to getting away. Even though Christmas was around the corner, he needed a break from Palo Alto, his sister, and even Liz.
Amber’s decision to hire John Vandersol at SiJo added to Harry’s discomfort in Palo Alto. They had to create a story to explain his abrupt exit from SiJo. One day he was SiJo’s president of security operations—the next he was gone. Privately, on a personal level, Harry berated Amber for hiring John; however, on a professional level, Vandersol was talented, even gifted. Nevertheless, Harry didn’t appreciate the added angst. It was increasingly difficult to deal with Rawlings and Claire while simultaneously faced with her only family. Harry wondered how Amber and Liz were able to handle the farce on a daily basis.
Since John’s law license was reinstated, it seemed as though he itched to make the move from corporate financial investments back to legal. The thing was, John Vandersol had a problem called loyalty. He obviously felt indebted to Amber and to SiJo for hiring him at such a difficult time in his career. Many corporations wouldn’t have taken a chance on him despite the fact the charges resulting in his incarceration were later dropped, and his record was expunged. Harry assumed John would remain diligent to SiJo’s needs as long as his presence was requested. Amber said she had no intentions of asking him to follow his heart. His assistance with investments and procurements had already helped SiJo immensely. Amber may have initially hired him to solidify her faux friendship with Claire, but as a business decision, it was one of Amber’s best.
The Consequences Series Box Set Page 153