Inferno Anthology (246 page)

Warm, naked, and covered with a soft blanket, she rested her head against his chest. Claire contemplated the significance of
this
weekend as they rested in the afterglow of their love and the glow of fireplace. Three hundred and sixty-six days ago she’d been a different person, in a different life. It wasn’t that her life now was bad. It was just that the transition had been unplanned, unwanted, and well—brutal. She needed to hear her husband’s answer to the question lingering in her mind. “Tony, why are we here
this
weekend?”

THEY BOTH WATCHED
the crackling blaze as his strong arms encircled her petite body. He took a deep breath and replied, “I didn’t want you home in your suite this weekend. I wanted you outside in fresh air.” He felt her chest lift, then drop, and heard the soft sniffles. Damn—the crying was what he’d been trying to avoid. Nuzzling his face in her hair, he kissed her head. “If it hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here now. There’s a reason for everything.”

He tenderly turned her to face him, and then rolled her over onto her back. Her blonde hair fanned out onto the rug like a halo. He looked down at her angelic face. Even with the moisture, her eyes were stunning. The tears only made the green more intense in the firelight. Tony couldn’t help himself. She was beautiful, sensual, and he wanted her. His bare chest pushed against her supple breasts. He tenderly caressed her pink cheeks and soft shoulders as he looked into her eyes. “I’m not sorry we’re together, but I’m so sorry when I think about… remember the things I—”

Claire stopped him. Shaking her head, she put her fingers to his lips. He stopped talking and kissed her hand, gently sucking the tip of each finger. “Please, Tony. Don’t. I don’t want to remember or think about that.” Her voice sounded amazingly steady despite the tears which now streamed from the corners of her eyes. “I want to think about now.”

“But you should know—”

“All I know is that I love you today. I hated you then. It’s too much of a contrast for my mind to comprehend. I want to concentrate on today.”

“I love you today, too. Tell me what I can do to help. Claire, anything you want, it’s yours.”

“I want you. I want you to love me and fill me with so many good memories that I don’t have room for the others.” She kissed her husband. “Tony, fill me completely.”

CLAIRE WASN’T THINKING
. Her body was in control; more accurately, out of control, moving in sync with desire. She didn’t think, because she feared if she did, it would be about the past and not the present. Instead, she surrendered her body and her mind to her husband. There was a time she’d tried to keep her mind, but no longer. He possessed both.

HIS LIPS FOUND
her soft skin and watched as her eyes responded. He wanted to see the spark, to have it be there. Briefly, he thought about the saying: the end justifies the means. If that were true, then he wasn’t sorry. In his arms, beneath his body, responding to his touch was the woman he’d watched for so long. He suckled her hard nipples, and she moaned deeply, wanting, no, needing
him
. At that moment in time,
sorry
was not his most prominent thought.

Nothing improves memory more than trying to forget.

—Unknown author

IT WAS HAPPENING
again. The satin sheets dripped with sweat as Claire gasped for breath. Trembling, she concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, all the while convincing herself she could breathe. This was only a dream, or a nightmare. Once over, she couldn’t remember the scenes, just the terrible feeling of helplessness. She always woke when she heard the
beep
. It was the same damn
beep
she’d heard when she first arrived; the sound meaning her suite was locked. When the dreams first started, she could roll over, find her sleeping husband, curl up next to him, and fall back to sleep. Now regulating her breathing, Claire knew that wasn’t possible, Like so many times before, she needed to get out of bed and complete her new routine.

The steady breathing from a few feet away told Claire Tony was sleeping peacefully. Quietly, she lifted the covers and eased out of bed. Her hands shook as she tied her robe and tiptoed to the hallway door. “This is dumb,” she whispered, as her feet crossed the lush carpet; however, it was now her reality. She knew sleep wouldn’t be possible without completing this new drill. Gripping the metal lever, she pulled, and the door opened easily. She closed it and proceeded to the balcony. Moving the draperies aside, the French door opened without hesitation. The rush of fresh air filled the room and her lungs. She walked through the opening and gently closing the door behind her.

Her perspiration-drenched body relished the cool night breeze. Standing at the rail, she inhaled the spring air and lifted her hair to dry the moisture from her neck. It wasn’t that she wanted to remember the feelings of a year ago. Truly she didn’t. When she stepped onto a patio, terrace, or into the backyard and memories would start to resurface, she could stop them. It was at night, while she slept that the compartmentalization of her internment would come rushing back. Then in the minutes or hours which followed, she would attempt to calm her lingering fear. It was the one she tried to keep away, the terror that at any moment, without warning, history could repeat itself. The sickening realization that she would be completely helpless to stop it was what robbed her of sleep.

The cool cement under her feet brought her back to present. She shivered, pulled her cashmere robe tight, and wished she’d grabbed slippers. But, her trembling wasn’t caused by the cold. She knew it was her dream. Looking up she noticed the clear black velvet sky peppered with stars. Absentmindedly, she thought: that’s why the temperature dropped.

Sighing, she fell into a chair. This knowledge would never matter again. Her job was her name:
Mrs. Anthony Rawlings.
Meteorology was gone, forever. She’d left the suite in such a panic she hadn’t looked at the clock. It really didn’t matter; sleep was out of reach. Pulling her legs into her chest and covering them with her soft robe, she began her mental therapy session. Her still rapid heart rate told her tonight it would last hours instead of minutes.

Self-therapy consisted of a mental list of reasons her nightmares were ridiculous and she had no basis for her fears. Claire believed if she could convince her conscious self, her subconscious self would be forced to agree. When she allowed her mind to go back to the spring of a year ago she could rationalize that now her life was significantly dissimilar. She now had more liberties than she’d experienced since her arrival.

Tony stayed true to his word about her e-mails. He even decided she needed her own address: [email protected]. This made printing easier. He was also correct about the numerous requests for interviews, money, and endorsements she received daily from people she’d never met. Having Patricia respond to those requests was easy. She also received personal e-mails, and now she had a voice in the responses. Overall, when asked, Tony agreed to requests regarding Courtney, Sue, Bev, or MaryAnn. If he had other plans for the day in question, as occurred from time to time, his plans trumped, but the act of requesting was the crucial portion of her negotiations. If she wanted to reply to someone or to go somewhere, as he had said many months ago, she simply needed to ask. She’d become accustomed to this component. It was a daily reminder of Tony’s authority.

Regarding that authority, it hadn’t asserted itself as it had a year ago. She reasoned, perhaps it was because her behavior didn’t warrant that type of implementation. No matter the cause, life was undeniably better.

Watching the moonlight on the budding trees, Claire recalled the outings she’d recently enjoyed. They included lunches in Iowa City and Cedar Rapids,
Red Cross
meetings in Davenport, and shopping in Chicago. A few weeks ago MaryAnn suggested a catch-up day in New York, as she and Eli were there for business. Tony reviewed all of the e-mails before Claire, and she didn’t expect permission to spend the day in New York, but she asked. Surprisingly, he acquiesced. Smiling and feeling her pulse slow, she remembered flying off to a beautiful April day in New York City in a Rawlings company jet with Courtney and Sue. All of the women had a marvelous time, and Claire made it home before 7:00 PM. He was home first, but she was home for dinner. He wasn’t unhappy.

Calming, as the gentle breeze blew her hair, she listened to the voice in her head and remembered a recent unexpected freedom. Secretly coveting the chestnut hair which kept trying to return, she informed Tony she needed an appointment to maintain her blonde. He said they had no overnight plans in the near future, so she should just go. If he had the private plane she could take one of the company jets. Just plan to be home before dinner. Shocked, she remembered questioning. “Are you saying I can go by myself?”

“My dear Claire, is there any reason you should not?”

She assured him there wasn’t. He, or Patricia, arranged the appointment. Claire went to the airport and boarded a company jet by herself. She landed in Chicago, took a waiting cab to the
Trump Tower
where she spent the rest of the morning being pampered. Then she ate lunch and shopped for a few hours and came home. Blushing in the cool night air, she thought about being back in her suite before 6:00 PM and how she did her best to show her husband the meaning of a statement she’d made months earlier: coming home to a wife who wants to be home is better than coming home to a wife that has to be home. He caught on pretty quick. The first indication was the spark in her emerald eyes, and the next clue involved a black satin robe and a warm waiting tub of water. Truth be told, she couldn’t remember eating dinner at all that night.

Claire’s heavy eyelids reminded her she should be sleeping. Slipping back into her suite and under the warm blankets, she thought about the man lying next to her. He continued to be a paradox. The man Claire met when she first arrived hadn’t shown his personality since her
accident
. She knew he was still here. That knowledge alone was motivation to obey his rules. She’d been told too many times his promise to keep that personality away was contingent on her ability to behave appropriately. The stress of that reality and unpredictability loomed omnipresent.