Walking to the glass wall of his office, he watched until he saw her get into a small red sports car and roar away. She wasn’t driving. “A fine way for a grown woman to behave,” he snorted.
***
In college they’d been the best of friends, a threesome of sorts with he and George working hard to impress the beautiful young girl from the Midwest. Both men were handsome, athletic and intelligent. While Travis was considered middle class, George was definitely far wealthier. In the end, it was that and George’s easy-going manner that tipped the scales in his favor. Claire Tracey was a small town girl on a full scholarship and in the big city for the first time. She was not hard to win over. The bright lights, glamour, and clubbing were new to her and she jumped in with a splash.
Travis stuck it out for over a year, but backed off when he realized he couldn’t compete on George’s level. He also noticed small changes in Claire that had begun to annoy him. She picked up a habit of tossing her hair in a snobbish sort of way; her sweet mid-western twang was replaced by big city lingo that didn’t suit her, and she frequently insisted on getting her way.
George would laugh and give in; Travis wanted to pull her over his knee. There was one particular thing Travis approved of; George made her complete her degree before he would marry her. Even though she sported that diamond ring, and both men graduated two years before her, he would not relent, insisting she may need it someday. At the time, Claire had been furious but George cajoled until she agreed. It may have had something to do with the shiny new car he bought her.
The ink was hardly dry on her diploma when they married in a lavish ceremony, honeymooned in Europe and returned to a new home in The Hamptons. Claire seemed to fit right in with her posh neighbors and, for the next ten years if there were problems in their marriage, no one knew it. They entertained frequently, always including Travis, although he did not often attend. He still played racquetball with George each week and they met downtown for lunch whenever their schedules allowed.
Travis had women in his life, but no one he wanted to make permanent. In some ways, he was still in love with the sweet young girl from Nebraska, though she no longer existed. With a mind of its own, his body lusted after Claire’s, something he would never act on, so he limited contact. Forced to make an appearance on special occasions, he arrived on time and left early if at all possible.
George knew, of course. Had always known how Travis felt about Claire and accepted it as a strange fact of life. They never discussed it, not once in all those years until the day George called him and requested a meeting. It was a day Travis would never forget.
Chapter Two
“Mr. Forrester, George Wellington is on line two for you,” Mary said, poking her head in the door of his office.
“I’m right in the middle of something. Ask if I can get back to him,” Travis replied, looking up from his desk at the silver-haired woman who’d been with him since he opened his own investment firm.
“I did,” she answered with a worried frown. “He said it’s important.”
“Thanks, Mary. I’ll take it. Hey, buddy, what’s up?” he asked, picking up the phone and tipping back in his chair.
“Can you meet me for lunch?”
Instantly Travis sensed the urgency in his friend’s voice and agreed. Covering the mouthpiece, he asked Mary to push back his appointments. She nodded and closed the office door behind her.
“Is something wrong?”
For a moment or two Travis thought George wasn’t going to answer him. Finally, his voice came over the line and there wasn’t a trace of George’s usual good humor.
“Yeah, something’s wrong. I’ll see you in an hour at Delmonico’s.”
Travis sat looking at the dead phone in his hand as dread swept over him. Hitting the intercom, he asked Mary to cancel his afternoon appointments.
By the time he got to the restaurant, he’d imagined all sorts of catastrophes. Claire wanted a divorce. George wanted a divorce. Claire was having an affair. They were in financial trouble. Hell, he even wondered if somehow George had gotten involved in something illegal, even though he was the shrewdest attorney Travis knew despite his congenial personality. There was nothing that could have prepared him for the words that came from his best friend once the waitress had placed a drink in front of him.
“I’m dying, buddy,” George said simply before draining his own glass.
“Yeah, me too,” Travis snorted. “Did you order yet? I’m starving.” The silence that met his smart-assed comment made him look up into the incredibly sad and haunted eyes of his friend. “You’re serious,” he choked out.
“As a heart attack,” George sighed, signaling the waitress for another round. “We’ll have those steaks now.”
“You look great,” Travis remarked suspiciously. “You’re fit as hell. I should know; you kick my ass at least twice a month on the court. Come on, this isn’t funny,” he snapped, tossing back his whiskey and feeling the burn all the way down to his gut.
“I know; brain tumors aren’t visible from the outside, at least not in the beginning.”
“Brain tumors?”
“Yeah, crazy isn’t it?” George laughed a short, harsh sound. “My BMI is perfect. My heart’s as strong as a machine, but this pesky little tumor growing in my brain is going to kill me.” Shaking his head at the irony, he looked Travis in the eye.
“You’re sure?”
George nodded.
“I won’t ask if you’ve gotten a second opinion,” Travis said quietly, turning his empty glass in his hand.
“Second, third, they all say the same thing,” George replied.
“Fuck!” Travis’s fist came down on the table with speed and force, causing the other diners to jump.
“My sentiments exactly,” George snorted, lifting his glass.
“How long do you have?”
“I’m not sure. At first they said maybe two years, but it’s growing much faster than anticipated.”
“Does Claire know?”
“No.”
“But you’re going to tell her?” Travis asked, shoving the steak the waitress placed in front of him away.
“No, I think I’ll wait until the tumor starts to push my eyeballs out. Then I’ll tell her.”
“Jesus, you’re such an asshole,” Travis hissed.
“Of course I’m going to tell her,” George said calmly with a slight smile. “I’m waiting for the right moment.”
“Oh yeah, like there’s going to be a ‘right moment.’ You have to tell her,” Travis insisted. “She has a right to know.”
“I’m going to, but not until I take care of a few things. That’s where you fit in.”
“You know I’ll do whatever you ask,” Travis stated quietly.
“Will you marry her?”
“What? What the fuck kind of question is that?” Travis yelled, lowering his voice as he noticed the attention he was garnering.
“Look, I was kidding,” George whispered. “Mostly anyway, I know you love her.”
“No, I used to love her, before you turned her into a spoiled, self-centered brat,” Travis ground out. “Now that you’ve ruined her, I wouldn’t take her on a bet. You’re really pissing me off.”
“Sorry,” George said, without an ounce of sincerity. “I just want to know she’s taken care of when I’m gone.” Pulling his plate closer he cut a big bite of steak and popped it into his mouth.
“How can you eat at a time like this?” Travis demanded.
“My time and earthly pleasures are limited, asshole. If you think I’m tossing out a steak that cost me more than fifty bucks, you’re nuts. Now eat,” he ordered, chewing. “Then I’ll tell you what I need you to do for me.”
Travis yanked his plate back in front of him and cut his steak quickly and viciously into chunks that never made it into his mouth. He felt physically ill, violently angry and mind-numbingly paralyzed all at the same time. His instincts insisted that he break somethin
g, trash the restaurant, roar out his pain, yet he sipped his third whiskey and listened to George describe in great and thoughtful detail what he wanted him to do.
***
George lived another sixteen months, three days and ten hours before cancer took him in a horribly painful and disfiguring way. In the end, his death was a blessing for them all.
Travis hung tough, experiencing all the stages of loss along with them, denial, anger, or, in Claire’s case, rage, and finally acceptance and grief. The only difference was that Travis kept his emotions private and in check, while Claire’s swung like a pendulum gone mad. In the beginning, it was not unusual for him to arrive at their house to find her in a drunken stupor, surrounded by shattered treasures, while George was attended to by a nurse. Travis would carry her upstairs, hold her hair while she vomited and put her to bed. Downstairs he would clean up the remnants of their life, broken keepsakes from their honeymoon in Europe, expensive crystal that had been a wedding gift from George’s parents but was now in thousands of pieces.
The house in The Hamptons was sold as per George’s wishes and Travis moved them into a luxurious apartment in the city. His friend did not want his wife to be in any way isolated and felt she might take advantage of more social opportunities in a new location. She didn’t.
When the months of rage passed and Claire began to accept the dire situation, she became a shadow of her former self. Quiet and withdrawn she rarely left her husband’s side and almost never the apartment. Her eyes were no longer red-rimmed and swollen, but hollow and empty as though she’d cried out her entire soul, every spark of wit, humor and sass of her personality gone.
As much as Travis disliked the self-centered and spoiled woman she’d become during her marriage to George, he hated this even more. The situation was heartbreakingly hopeless. His best friend was dying, his wife was unable or unwilling to comprehend that her life would go on and there were a good many nights Travis went back to his apartment and shed his own tears after reminding the nurses to keep George’s pain medication under lock and key lest Claire decide to join her husband in death. He felt helpless to do anything other than follow George’s instructions to the letter, which he did.
The directives regarding George’s funeral were very explicit. He did not want to put his wife through a long and exhausting ordeal. There was to be a short, private block of time for immediate family to say their goodbyes, followed by a brief memorial service. George wanted to be expeditiously buried the same day and there would be a small gathering of friends and family at the apartment afterward.
The morning of George’s funeral Travis arrived at 10:15 to pick Claire up. He found her sitting on their rooftop terrace in a bathrobe.
“Claire, why aren’t you dressed?” he asked gently. “We only have about half an hour before the service starts.”
Her lack of response was no surprise.
“Come on, honey,” he coaxed, taking her arm to help her from the lounge.
“No,” she snapped, yanking away from him. “I’m not going.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not going,” she repeated, refusing to look at him. “I hate him and I’m not going.”
“Claire, sweetheart, you’re just distraught. Of course you’re going. George is… was your husband,” Travis insisted softly as he reached for her arm and tried to keep the shock from his voice.
Leaping off the other side of the chaise, Claire gathered the robe around her and glared at him in defiance. “He’s a liar,” she hissed. “He’s a liar and he doesn’t deserve to have me at his funeral.”
Travis took a tentative step toward her, his hand outstretched.
“No, honey,” he corrected. “George was not a liar. He always told the truth no matter how difficult it was to hear,” he continued, his eyes clouding over with remembered pain.
“You’re wrong,” Claire screamed. “He said he loved me. He promised we’d be together forever and now he’s left me. He’s gone! I should never have trusted him. How could he do this to me?” she asked, confused as she touched the tears streaming down her face as though surprised to see them. “Why Travis, why would he do this?” Turning she peered over the edge of the iron railing staring at the street far below.
Travis had no idea what had come over her, but he wasn’t taking any chances. In three long strides he was at her side, scooping her up and into his arms. Quickly he carried her through the French doors and took a seat on a sofa. She didn’t fight him, instead lying placidly in his arms, looking up at him for answers.
“Darling, you have it all wrong. George loved you very much. You were everything to him, everything,” he whispered, carefully wiping the tears from her cheeks and then smoothing her hair back. “Trust me; he didn’t want to leave you.”
Claire remained silent.
“I miss him too,” Travis murmured into her hair. “We have to get through today, baby; one more day in this God awful nightmare before we can take a deep breath, at least that’s what it feels like to me. Now won’t you go and get dressed?” he pleaded.
Claire slipped off his lap and stood in front of him on trembling limbs. He knew the pain she was in, shared her sense of desertion even though he understood it was not George’s fault, but there was no way he’d allow her to avoid this final act of love for her husband. She’d regret it the rest of her life.
“Go and get dressed, Claire,” he ordered sternly, rising and using both his big body and the timber of his voice to move her. “I’ll dress you myself if I have too,” he warned.
Slowly she turned and wandered barefoot toward her room, the robe he now realized was George’s trailing behind her. As soon as she disappeared, Travis took out his phone and called the building super.
“This is Mr. Forrester. I want the terrace to Mrs. Wellington’s apartment sealed off. Yes, it’s the penthouse. I don’t care how you do it or what excuse you give, but I want that door sealed shut. Tell her it needs to be resurfaced or something. I don’t give a fuck what you tell her, but I want it done by the time we get back from Mr. Wellington’s funeral. Do you understand?” Disconnecting the call, he looked at his watch and frowned. They were going to be late, quite late. Well, at least they couldn’t start without the widow, he thought as he poured himself a drink.
Claire emerged eventually wearing a stylish black suit with long sleeves and a flared skirt. She wore sheer black stockings, black heels and carried a rather large hat complete with veil.
“I’m ready,” she croaked out.
Slipping his arm around her waist, Travis took her hand and led her to the elevator. No words were spoken as he guided her to the waiting limo and eased her inside. Claire never released his hand.
***
It was after 10 p.m. by the time the last guest straggled out and Claire was nearly swaying on her feet. Travis took a tray of dirty glasses from her hands and headed toward the kitchen.
“I’ve been thinking, honey,” he called over his shoulder. “Why don’t you come home with me for a few days?”
“Why?” she asked, following him with an armful of empty plates.
“I just don’t think you should be alone right now,” he offered. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine, Travis,” she answered, avoiding his eyes.
“Claire, be reasonable. How could you be after all this, after everything that’s happened?” His kind and quiet voice was her undoing and she covered her face with her hands and began to sob. Travis took her in his arms and held her pressed close to his chest. Rubbing her back, he soothed her as best he could. “To tell you the truth, honey, I don’t feel much like being alone tonight myself,” he admitted. “Come on, pack a bag and let’s get out of here for a while. We’ll grab a pizza and go to my place and watch a movie,” he suggested.
“Just like in the old days,” she whispered.
“Yes, just like then,” Travis agreed, swallowing a lump in his throat, except George wouldn’t be there.
&nbs
p; Claire left the kitchen and Travis finished cleaning up. Martha would be in tomorrow morning and she could take care of the rest, he remembered, washing and drying his hands. In the huge living room, he waited for Claire, tested the sealed terrace doors for the tenth time and looked at his watch.
“I’m ready,” her soft voice announced and for a moment he thought he heard a slight mid-western twang. She wore jeans and sneakers, had a back pack like bag slung over her shoulder and he was suddenly very conscious of why he’d fallen in love with her all those years ago. Shaking the feeling off, he took the bag from her and slung an arm over her shoulder.
“So what’s it going to be, sausage or pepperoni, comedy or SiFi?” he asked, moving her toward the foyer.
“Sausage, peppers and onions, and SiFi,” she replied, her sneakers squeaking on the marble floor.
“You got it.”
She stayed three weeks.
Chapter Three
Ignoring the doorman’s greeting, Claire hit the button that would close the elevator door and whisk her to the penthouse apartment she’d shared with her husband. It was hard to believe George had only been gone two short years. To her it felt like a lifetime. What was even more mind-boggling was how much of a greedy, controlling jerk Travis had turned out to be.
She would never have survived George’s death had it not been for Travis she admitted grudgingly. The first few weeks she was so disconnected, he took total charge of her, telling her when to eat, when to take a shower and when to go to bed. It seemed she was incapable of making even the smallest decisions regarding her well-being. She had vague memories of being held tenderly in his arms when she woke crying in the night, his big hands surprisingly gentle as they comforted her.
When she was finally able to go back to her own apartment, he continued to call frequently to check on her, often several times a day. Eventually he had the doors to her terrace unsealed and although she was annoyed to find out he’d done it under less than honest circumstances, she hadn’t been truly angry. At that time, Travis had her best interests at heart.
Widow on the Loose Page 2