Truth (8 page)

Naïvely she’d hoped -- no prayed -- since
she hadn’t heard anything for two weeks, maybe Tony would just let
her go. It may’ve been fantasy, but the two week reprieve was
heavenly.

Claire stood to go to her room. She would
finish the article on her laptop, later.

Harry tried again, “Claire, please tell me
what’s happening.”

“
Nothing, I’m fine.” She
made to the hallway before Harry touched her shoulder.

The contact initiated an immediate flinch.
Straightening her spine, she spun to face him. A look of terror and
panic filled her beautiful eyes. The expression shocked him. Harry
expected sad or maybe mad, but what he saw was unbridled fear. It
took his breath away. While an investigator for the Bureau he’d
seen that look. Without thinking, he asked, “What did he do to
you?”

Her eyes muted, a haze covered the brief
glimpse into her true feelings. Claire’s countenance turned stoic.
“Harry, I need to take a shower. Thank you for checking on me. I’m
fine, and I know you need to get to SiJo.” Mustering a forced grin
she continued, “I hear your boss is getting upset about all your
recent time off.”

He wanted to question her.
Inquisition procedures were his specialty. However, she wasn’t a
suspect. She was his sister’s friend – no, his friend. During the
past two weeks they’d spent countless hours working as a team to
put pieces of her life back together. He knew about the box of
memories Anthony Rawlings sent her. He knew she looked like a child
at Christmas when she purchased a telephone. He knew she did
not
attempt to murder
her ex-husband. Of course, that was just Claire’s word, but Harry
believed her.

He didn’t know about her life with Mr.
Rawlings. Somehow, whenever the subject came up, she eloquently
changed it. Now the churning in his gut told him why. This petite,
funny, friendly, pretty, delicate, kind woman in front of him was
hurt. Maybe, just maybe, it was only a broken heart.

It has been said, people drawn to law
enforcement have a sixth sense, an ability to see what others do
not. He prayed he was wrong. His sixth sense said there was much
more than a broken heart in Claire’s past.

Harry pushed his questions away, “Your
right, I do need to get into the office. Are you still going to Mr.
Pulvara’s?”

“
Yes, my appointment is at
eleven. I really need to get ready.”

“
I’m sorry if I
overstepped some bounds. I won’t push you; it’s none of my
business.” The haze covering her eyes evaporated; the emerald green
began to shine. Harry added, “If you need anything, you know my
cell.”

She smiled up at him and sighed, “Thanks,
Harry, see you later.” She turned toward the hall, speaking over
her shoulder. “Please lock the door on your way out.”

Claire closed the bedroom
door with the weight of her shoulders. The glossy wood felt smooth
behind her head. She strained to hear the sound of the front door
close and lock. The still coolness of her room filled her lungs.
After enough time passed, Claire allowed more warm tears to flow.
Her trembling hand pushed the small button on her door knob. She
produced a mental checklist: security guard, locked front door, and
locked bedroom door – was it enough? Suddenly chilled, Claire
wrapped her arms around her torso and felt the shuddering of her
chest as sobs resonated uncontrollably. After a few minutes she
blinked away the moisture, tried desperately to calm her unsteady
hands, and sent Emily and Courtney a text:
GOT YOUR MESSAGE. THANKS. IM GOOD. CALL WHEN YOU CAN. I LOVE
YOU TOO.

Hot water pelted her upturned face as she
stepped into the shower. The sensation of warmth flowed over her.
Slowly, the heaviness washed away from her soul. By the time her
feet hit the tile floor her thoughts centered on the future. The
past was gone. She had survived. She wasn’t the same woman Anthony
Rawlings took three years ago.

As Claire exited the
elevator with
her
telephones in tow she inhaled the unique scents of the
parking garage. Easing herself into the leather driver’s seat
of
her
car, she
relished her new found independence. Yes, life threw her some
obstacles; she was stronger for them.

The GPS instructed her to turn right from
the garage. The morning fog had begun to dissipate revealing
patches of pale blue sky. She turned her Honda into traffic and
thought about the jewelry inside her purse. Her lips turned upward
as she pondered the value and remembered Anthony’s perpetuity for
appearance. This time, she hoped it would work in her favor.

Light thinks it travels
faster than anything, but it is wrong.
No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always
got there first,
and is waiting for it.
- Terry
Pratchett.

Chapter
4

Sophia watched her husband pack his
suitcase. “Derek, I just got back from Florence. Can’t you stay
home?”

“
I told you, they want to
meet me face-to-face.”

Sophia sighed and smoothed
the t-shirts he’d so precisely placed into the bag. It was so
different from the way she packed. But then again, they were
different. Some of their friends called them
Darma and Greg
. Looking at Derek’s
suits, pressed shirts, and cuff links, they definitely had
different styles. However, those differences brought them together
and kept them united.

Her bare feet allowed her head to fit
perfectly under her husband’s chin. Standing to wrap her arms
around Derek’s neck she smiled lovingly, “I know, just please hurry
home.”

His light brown eyes mellowed as he stared
into her tender expression. “I’ll come back as soon as the
interview process is done.”

“
Tell me again, who are
these people, and why do they want you?”

Derek tipped his head to Sophia’s and
grinned, “I’ve told you. You just don’t listen.”

Her hands wandered down the buttons of his
white silk shirt. “Maybe it’s because I get distracted. I keep
thinking about wanting you for myself.”

“
I think you’re trying to
distract me so I’ll miss my flight.”

“
Oh, well, so you leave
tomorrow, instead of tonight.” She nibbled his neck, “Would that be
so bad?”

Punctuality was Derek’s thing, not Sophia’s.
She was a free soul -- an artist. Perfect for her personality, she
could work, sketching and painting, whenever the impulse hit.
Sometimes that was three in the morning. Often Derek would wake to
find her covered in chalk dust, still wearing the night gown she’d
worn to bed.

Despite their differences, their love was
intense, passionate, and real.

*****

Just south of thirty, Sophia had given up on
happily-ever-after. She’d had her share of romances, but something
always seemed to intervene. Most of the time, it was her art. There
were few men willing to take a backseat to a sketch pad.

If she chose to reminisce, there was one man
that met her requirements. He did a great job smoozing with
investors, but honestly preferred spending time alone with her. He
understood her art and said everything right. However, as time
passed, their goals grew incompatible. It was as if he could see
her dream, but it didn’t matter. He wanted things she didn’t
understand. One day he received an unbelievable job offer,
requiring travel. They promised to stay in touch. The final act
proved lonely.

Then unexpectedly in December of 2010, her
life changed -- she met Derek at a mutual friend’s Christmas party.
It happened so fast. In January of 2011 they married-- a whirlwind
elopement to Paris. Sophia shared her affection for Europe and
memories of Paris while working on her Master’s degree. Derek
surprised her with a prearranged wedding. They exchanged vows in
the park at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. Afterwards, they dined in
a small French cafe with their witnesses. Derek secretly flew both
of their sets of parents to Paris. It was the dream wedding she’d
given up ever having.

Occasionally, her love of art and a desire
for self-promotion required her to travel for art exhibitions.
Personally, her art was gaining notoriety. Recently, she’d accepted
an invitation to exhibit her work at the Florence Academy of Art
during a three week exhibition. Although she didn’t like leaving
Derek, they both knew this was a remarkable offer.

And now that she was home again, in
Provincetown, Massachusetts, it was Derek’s turn to follow a
remarkable offer. Shedis-tics, a software Fortune 500 company in
Santa Clara, California, recently contacted him. The parent
company, Rawlings Industries, wanted this branch of its empire to
be again in the top 100. They believed Derek could help them
achieve that goal.

It wasn’t that he didn’t
already have a great job and career. He did, in Boston for a major
electronics company. Everything was going so well. He was satisfied
with his career, and Sophia was happy in the community she loved.
That all changed when he received the phone call from a
Shedis-tics’ representative. The contact person told Derek he
came
highly recommended
. Now -- he wanted more.

Truly, the offer seemed too good to be true.
Unsolicited propositions rarely happen in today’s economy. He was
rightly cautious; however, after days of research Derek found
everything with Shedis-tics legitimate. He also reasoned the new
job would allow him the ability to greater support his wife’s
passions. Even with notoriety, art didn’t pay well. Derek loved her
passion and wanted to make her every dream come true.

*****

His warm breath bathed her cheeks, “You
know, I don’t like leaving.” He kissed her nose, “I’m doing this
for you, for us.”

Sophia’s gauze skirt brushed the tops of her
bare feet as she purposely pressed her scooped necked t-shirt
against his chest. “I love you for it. But I don’t want you working
yourself to death to support my art. I want it to support
itself.”

He encircled her trim waist. “It will, Baby.
You’re so talented, one day it will.” His lips lingered on her
pouting lips. “Someday you can support me. Let me do it now, and
get you that bigger studio.”

She exhaled, melting against his chest.
“Please call me before you accept anything.”

Derek nodded, as his lips found her slender
neck, brushing her dark blond waves away, and sending chills down
her extremities.

“
You know I won’t make a
decision without talking it over. We’re a team, Baby.”

Sophia looked into his eyes, marveling at
his long lashes. “I just wish our team could play on the same court
more often.”

Derek pulled away and glanced at his watch.
“Are you driving me to the airport? Or do you want me to leave the
car there?”

Sophia slipped her feet into her flat canvas
shoes, “Oh, no, if you’re leaving for an undetermined amount of
time, you’re not getting rid of me until the gate.”

“
Sorry, Sweetie. I’ve got
a commuter from Provincetown to Boston, so no two hour drive in
your future.”

Sophia pouted again, “So, I have to give you
up sooner rather than later. Well, you aren’t parking there either.
I’ll see you all the way to the tarmac.”

Provincetown had its distinct advantages:
first and foremost -- its reputation in the world of art, also, its
small population, close to 3,000 -- until tourist season. During
prime summer months it’s estimated there were as many as 60,000
people in their small town -- each one a potential art buyer. The
free spirited world of the Cape fit Sophia perfectly.

The greatest disadvantage was its proximity
to the rest of the world. Out on the tip of Massachusetts,
transportation took time. Being late March, the cold wind and ocean
spray off the Atlantic, could make Highway 6 potentially
dangerous.

Derek flew the private commuters daily to
his office in Boston. To him the thirty minute flight was as common
as riding the T in Boston. He counted it a small price to be with
Sophia in the community she loved.

Settling back into the living room of their
cottage, Sophia debated a fire in their fireplace. Spring weather
on the Cape changed without warning. Yesterday was in the sixties;
today with overcast skies and strong ocean winds, it would be
fortunate to reach fifty. Sophia settled onto the soft sofa, curled
her long legs under her body, as her skirt swept the wood
floor.

Sighing, she thought lovingly about their
home, a quaint cottage built in 1870. Many amenities had been added
since the original structure: a modern eat-in kitchen and two full
baths. Sophia loved the clawed tub in the first floor bath. The
wood floors, trim, and built-in bookshelves were original. The
second floor held two bedrooms perfect for Derek’s home office and
Sophia’s home art studio.

Sipping warm Jasmine tea,
she contemplated Derek’s job offer.
How
often does a company like Shedis-tics seek out a potential
employee?
It was truly a great
opportunity, and he always supported her opportunities.

Along with notoriety, her art provided some
financial profits. Occasionally pieces sold, and she enjoyed a cult
following of buyers, people who required sporadic pacification with
fancy dresses, champagne, and exhibits. She’d even been
commissioned for a few specific pieces. A large portrait of a woman
in her wedding gown had the greatest payoff. The anonymous buyer
required her to sign a letter of confidentiality. She couldn’t even
sign the painting. Sophia recognized the woman from magazines --
the wife of a businessman.