Truth (69 page)

“
I think getting away from
home for a while has been good for your father, a change of scenery
and all.”

Sophia smiled. The thought came to her as
she was flying to Princeton. She wanted to spend time with her
parents and get the studio open. At first her parents balked at the
idea. It wasn’t until she told them how much work she needed to do
that they willingly consented. Sophia knew if they felt needed,
they’d be willing to go.

It was a good change of scenery for Sophia
too. With Derek overseas, she didn’t want to be stuck in
California. Besides, Mr. George was beginning to annoy her with his
persistence. Although smaller than the studio in Palo Alto, her
studio in Provincetown was home.

She and Derek had worked so quickly to
secure some of her art for shipping, they’d left this studio in
disarray. Sophia still had many paintings and chalk and charcoal
drawings stored here. Now, she and her parents needed to work to
choose the best ones to display. Once the choices were made, the
pieces needed to be framed, or stretched and framed, depending upon
the medium.

Sophia’s parents never claimed personal
artistic skills. Nevertheless, when it came to displaying art, they
were professionals. Silvia laughed saying they’d been doing it
since Sophia was barely two years old – displaying her creations on
the refrigerator door. Carlo’s memory may have difficulties, but
when it came to constructing an appropriate frame for his
daughter’s masterpieces, he was still on the top of his game.

Derek wouldn’t be back to Santa Clara for
another week. It was the perfect time for Sophia to enjoy her
family, her cottage by the shore, prepare her studio, and hire
someone to manage it while she’s away. The income from her recent
sales truly gave her more freedom than ever before.

*****

Tony and Claire returned to the house before
five thirty. Claire hoped for a nap, before readying for the
dessert celebration at Brent and Courtney’s house. Catherine
promised dinner on the patio at seven, saying they shouldn’t go to
a dessert and wine celebration on empty stomachs. Thinking of her
condition, Claire agreed.

Back in her suite, Claire checked her phone.
Of course, she had multiple text messages from her sister. The main
request was for a call. Claire didn’t want to call. She would
willingly text, but she didn’t want to hear Emily’s voice or
lectures. However, Claire worried, if she only sent a text, Emily
would suspect Tony’s manipulation.

Dreading the conversation,
Claire hit
call
.
Emily answered on the first ring. “Claire, are you all right?”
Claire assured her sister she was fine. She still had her ticket to
return to California on Sunday and those plans haven’t changed.
Claire promised to be careful and politely hung-up before Emily’s
words became too annoying.

After sending text messages to Amber and
Harry, Claire climbed into the beautiful four poster bed, settled
into the soft sheets, and slipped away. The memories of her lake
and their afternoon floated through her subconscious. Being alone,
she didn’t try to subdue the smile that continually crept onto her
face.

Her dream didn’t make sense... when she
drifted to sleep she was in the copper colored suite, yet as she
looked around the walls were once again a rich beige and heavy
golden draperies covered the windows. Claire reached for her
cellphone but it was missing. Easing herself from the warm covers
she searched for her iPad. It was no longer on the table. She saw
the television, but instinctively knew the channels were limited.
Her breathing quickened as she paced the confines of the luxurious
room. No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t fill her
lungs with adequate oxygen. The beautiful walls were closing in
around her. She needed air, fresh air. Quickly she moved to the
heavy golden drapes and exposed the tall French doors of her
balcony. When the lever refused to budge, her heart rate quickened.
Why wouldn’t the doors open? The condensation on the small panes
indicated cold on the other side. She peered through the small
windows and registered the scene outside. The green leaves and
vibrant colors were gone. In their place she saw skeletons of bare
trees and visions of black and white. Inches of snow sat
undisturbed on the rail of the balcony.

Claire’s knees became
weak. If it were winter, where was her baby? Claire’s hand moved to
her midsection finding her flat stomach. She wasn’t visibly
pregnant, so their child must be born. Claire scanned the suite for
a crib, nothing. She ran to the hallway door. The lever wouldn’t
move. No! She was locked in! Where was her baby? Tears of panic
rushed from her eyes as she beat upon the door. Panic filled her
voice as she screamed at the top of her lungs. This was no
longer
her
nightmare; it was her child’s too.

“
Ms. Claire, Ms. Claire,
you are having a dream.” Catherine’s words quieted the screams
which summoned Catherine to Claire’s suite. She’d heard Claire’s
panicked screams from down the hall.

Claire opened her eyes to Catherine’s
concerned gaze. “Oh, Catherine – I was dreaming. It wasn’t real,
was it?”

“
Yes, you were dreaming.
Thankfully, your door wasn’t locked. I am here for you. Everything
is all right. Whatever it was, it was just a dream.”

Claire allowed Catherine to embrace her
before lying back upon the soft pillow. Trembling slightly she
scanned the suite. The copper walls were back. Her stomach twisted
as tears escaped her eyes. “Catherine, did you ever want to be a
mother?”

The older woman straightened her back, “Why
are you asking?”

Claire struggled to sit up. Her heartbeat
beginning to calm, “I got the feeling yesterday when I told you
that I’ve thought of you in that way, that it made you
uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

Catherine’s expression mellowed, “Don’t be
sorry. I took it as a compliment.”

Claire smiled, “Good, that’s how it was
intended.”

“
Yes -- is the answer to
your question. However, I’ve come to realize some people are not
meant to be parents. There are better people to raise
children.”

“
Why do you say
that?”

“
Some people have made too
many poor choices to subject a child to their views.”

Claire asked earnestly, “So you think a
person’s past would influence their ability to parent?”

“
Of course, how could it
not? Some people do not deserve to influence a child. Take Mr.
Rawlings for example. He is the way he is in part due to the
environment in which he was raised.”

“
What were his parents
like?”

“
You need to ask him that
question. I believe he could have done much better.”

Claire pondered Catherine’s words and asked,
“What about his grandparents?”

Catherine’s expression softened. “In that
category, Mr. Rawlings did do much better.” Catherine pulled
herself from her memories. “Ms.” – she smiled, “Claire, dinner will
be ready soon. Are you better – from your dream? You need to get
ready for the Simmons’ celebration.”

Truthfully, Claire could
scarcely concentrate on Catherine’s words. She had too many
thoughts going through her mind.
Tony’s
parents were not good examples. Would that make him a bad father?
If Catherine believed a person’s past could make them undeserving
of children, what about Tony’s past sins?
Claire thought about the transgressions she knew to be
true:
his stalking obsession of her,
removing Simon from her life early on, (although that turned out
well for Simon’s career) and then Simon’s death. Somehow Claire
still believed Tony was involved. Also her kidnapping, his
treatment of her when she first arrived, his controlling
domineering side, how he set her up for attempted murder, and the
demise of John’s career; did it matter that he was now attempting
redemption? What about the reason she was with him now? What about
his recent blackmailing?

“
Thank you, Catherine, for
giving me some answers.”

Catherine nodded.

Claire continued her voice distant as her
mind wrestled with these new thoughts, “I will get ready and be
down for dinner.”

This evening was more formal than the last,
but not as formal as the wedding. As she readied for the
festivities, Claire’s nausea returned. Sitting on the edge of the
large whirlpool tub wrapped in the pink cashmere robe, she fought
the onset, as perspiration drenched her recently painted face. She
heard the knock on the door of the suite, but she couldn’t form the
words to bid entrance. Claire knew she should be ready and
downstairs, but her body wouldn’t let her move.

His voice came from the other side of the
bathroom door. Slowly she heard the turning of the knob. Whatever
his expression and tone had been before, distress now prevailed.
Tony fell to his knees before a shivering ashened Claire, “What is
the matter with you? Are you sick? I will get you the best
doctors...”

She heard his voice but
their long ago lunch was no longer content to remain within her
stomach. The problem was they’d eaten hours before. Claire ran to
the lavatory enclosed within a small attached room and submitted
mostly to dry heaves as her petite body convulsed. This wasn’t how
she had wanted to tell him,
if
she were to tell him at all.

When her body finally calmed, Claire stood,
attempted poise, and reentered the main part of the bathroom. She
walked to the sink, rinsed her mouth, and turned toward Tony. She
hadn’t noticed before how handsomely he was dressed, quite the
contrast to her current condition. Her hair was still done, but her
cosmetics needed repair. And although quite expensive, her robe was
hardly celebration attire. Looking to his worried face, she finally
found her voice, “Tony, I’m not sick.”

He gently reached for her shoulders. “What
do you mean? You’re obviously ill. I’ll call Brent. They’ll
understand.”

“
No, I want to go. I will
be better soon. It doesn’t usually hit this hard in the afternoon.
I think I’m just stressed.”

“
What doesn’t hit..?” For
an extremely intelligent man, he was slow at fitting the pieces of
this puzzle together. His eyes widened and he released her
shoulders. Suddenly his concerned tone morphed, now more slow and
harsh, “
What
doesn’t hit?”

“
The nausea.” Claire
wasn’t feeling the positive aura one would hope in such a
conversation.

“
Brought on by
what?”

Hell, her make-up needed
touch up anyway. She felt the tears pool and blinked, allowing them
to descend her cheeks. “I’m seven weeks pregnant, almost eight.”
Claire could see the wheels turning in his head. “Yes, Tony,
we
are going to have a
baby.”

His expression momentarily appeared blank.
There was no manipulation, no hidden agenda, only shock. Did Claire
ever remember seeing Tony speechless? If she did, she couldn’t
recall. Finally she saw his emotions swirl through his ever
darkening eyes. He asked, “How did this happen?”

She looked at him incredulously, “That is a
great question, since I have no recall of letting you back into my
condominium, but nonetheless, the timing works perfectly.”

He slowly turned circles, pacing as he could
within the confines of the bathroom, “What are we going to do about
...” he motioned toward her midsection, “...this?”

Indignantly, she stood
straighter. “I don’t know what
we
are going to do.
I’m
going to have a baby, with or
without you.”

“
But you’re twenty-nine
years old; I’m forty-eight!”

“
Yes, and when we married
our age difference was the same.”

“
We never discussed
children.”

“
It’s a little late for
discussion.” Claire felt her strength returning with the fury now
surging through her veins. Damn him for not responding the way she
wanted him to! “Now if you’ll excuse me, I will be downstairs in
ten minutes for dinner, and we can continue your
charade.”

Tony shook his head and stepped toward his
ex-wife. “I’m sorry. You surprised me. Let me think about this for
a while.”

“
Fine, Tony,
think
all you want. Your
thoughts and decisions don’t matter. I’m having this
baby.”

“
Of course you are. I
never suggested otherwise. I will be downstairs on the patio.” He
kissed her cheek and left. She collapsed again on the edge of the
tub.
Well that went well!
She thought sarcastically. Then she remembered
the little life inside of her and audibly comforted, “It will be
all right. No matter what --
we
will be fine. Don’t worry about your father --
I’m not.”
Was it good to lie to your
child, even if you were doing it for their own good?

When Claire stepped onto the patio, Tony
attentively stood and pulled out her chair. Her hair was perfect;
make-up repaired, and dress lovely. Her growing breasts filled the
bodice more than they would have before. Even her color was back to
normal with a glow of sun on her cheeks from their day on the lake
shore.

Sincerely he asked, “How are you
feeling?”

Genteel and reticent, she responded, “I am
feeling better, thank you for asking.” And then Claire did what
Tony had done to her over and over. She conversed about anything
and everything except the pregnancy. On his few attempts to discuss
it, she changed the subject. Her change of subject wasn’t as direct
as saying, “The subject is closed” but subtly she’d mention
something else. For instance her dress -- it was one from the
closet. She told Tony how much she liked it and thanked him for
having it bought.