“Oh!” Claire’s stomach wrenched. She’d never met the woman, but she knew Tony thought highly of her.
Courtney continued, “Her husband was on that airplane. Brent said he had great potential.”
Claire contemplated the onslaught of information for a moment. She thought about her grandmother’s beliefs and those of Madeline and Francis on the island. Slowly, she wiped the tears and felt her cheeks rise into a seemingly inappropriate smile. “So, Catherine’s goal was to keep Sophia and her husband apart?”—she didn’t wait for an answer—“I guess God had other plans. Her husband’s name was Burke, wasn’t it?”—she went on—“I hope Sophia never knew her biological mother was Catherine.”
Meredith and Courtney shrugged. Finally, Courtney answered, “I’m not sure what she knew. From the audio of Tony’s office, I think we’re right to assume she didn’t. She died peacefully unaware.”
In the days that followed, Claire replayed the conversation over and over in her head. The loss of any life was terrible. Catherine had been directly responsible for so many; however, what kept coming back to Claire was the idea that Sophia and Derek were still together. She had to believe they were. If their love could overcome death, Claire believed her and Tony’s could overcome insanity and incarceration.
It was that belief that inspired her to confront her sister again, two weeks after her conversation with Courtney and Meredith. “Emily, seriously, I’m not a child. I’m much better. I want to see Nichol. I want out of here, and I’m ready to address the world.”
Emily leaned forward and covered Claire’s hand. “You know I love you?”
Claire nodded.
“We’re all happy your hallucinations are gone.”
“Memories,” Claire corrected.
Emily pursed her lips before she continued, “Honey, I worry about delusional thoughts. Your doctors and I believe some of this has been occurring for a long time”—she patted Claire’s hand—“You have a history of irrational decisions. I don’t want you making decisions now that will later come back to upset you or Nichol.”
Claire continued to plead her case as Emily recited her concerns. It was a different version of their same discussion. Unexpectedly and without warning, the door to Claire’s room opened behind her. She didn’t need to turn, she didn’t need to see. His presence overwhelmed her—filled her and the room with electricity that only seconds earlier didn’t exist. According to the law of conservation, energy can neither be created nor destroyed, which meant the electricity was already present; nevertheless, when the door opened, she felt unbridled power surging through her veins. There was only one person—one man who held that kind of power. Seeing the astonished look on Emily’s face, Claire knew she was right.
Without thought or concern, Claire stood. Closing her eyes, she turned toward the doorway confident of who she’d see when her eyes opened. This wasn’t a hallucination or a memory—it was real. Although Emily’s voice pleaded for Claire to listen, she didn’t hear her sister’s words. There was nothing and no one else at that moment other than her husband. The rest of the world ceased to exist, and she was powerless to do anything other than surrender to his gaze.
They were the eyes she’d dreamt about—the eyes she saw in pictures of their daughter. They were the black holes which years ago swallowed and consumed her heart and soul.
Did she move? Did he? There were noises, but the words being spoken weren’t coming from either one of them. They didn’t need words. Over the course of the years, there’d been too many words—words they remembered—and ones they sought to forget. At this moment, none of them mattered.
In merely a split second, Claire took him in—prison had changed him, to a degree. His black mane now held more hints of white—new lines appeared around his eyes—and the hardness in his expression was replaced by something stronger, yet more serene. No matter the differences, he was still her husband—he was still Anthony Rawlings.
Their bodies nearly touched when the scent of his cologne filled the air. She inhaled the intoxicating scent she’d imagined over the years and melted into his embrace. Her face rested against the lapel of his silk suit as her body molded to his. Closing her eyes again, she relished the sensation of his muscular chest and beating heart. They still hadn’t spoken, yet the volume of the room around them had increased exponentially. His hand reached for her chin and brought their eyes together. It was the blending of brown and green—light to dark and dark to light—it was their connection—and it surpassed all other obstacles.
Courtney continued, “Her husband was on that airplane. Brent said he had great potential.”
Claire contemplated the onslaught of information for a moment. She thought about her grandmother’s beliefs and those of Madeline and Francis on the island. Slowly, she wiped the tears and felt her cheeks rise into a seemingly inappropriate smile. “So, Catherine’s goal was to keep Sophia and her husband apart?”—she didn’t wait for an answer—“I guess God had other plans. Her husband’s name was Burke, wasn’t it?”—she went on—“I hope Sophia never knew her biological mother was Catherine.”
Meredith and Courtney shrugged. Finally, Courtney answered, “I’m not sure what she knew. From the audio of Tony’s office, I think we’re right to assume she didn’t. She died peacefully unaware.”
In the days that followed, Claire replayed the conversation over and over in her head. The loss of any life was terrible. Catherine had been directly responsible for so many; however, what kept coming back to Claire was the idea that Sophia and Derek were still together. She had to believe they were. If their love could overcome death, Claire believed her and Tony’s could overcome insanity and incarceration.
It was that belief that inspired her to confront her sister again, two weeks after her conversation with Courtney and Meredith. “Emily, seriously, I’m not a child. I’m much better. I want to see Nichol. I want out of here, and I’m ready to address the world.”
Emily leaned forward and covered Claire’s hand. “You know I love you?”
Claire nodded.
“We’re all happy your hallucinations are gone.”
“Memories,” Claire corrected.
Emily pursed her lips before she continued, “Honey, I worry about delusional thoughts. Your doctors and I believe some of this has been occurring for a long time”—she patted Claire’s hand—“You have a history of irrational decisions. I don’t want you making decisions now that will later come back to upset you or Nichol.”
Claire continued to plead her case as Emily recited her concerns. It was a different version of their same discussion. Unexpectedly and without warning, the door to Claire’s room opened behind her. She didn’t need to turn, she didn’t need to see. His presence overwhelmed her—filled her and the room with electricity that only seconds earlier didn’t exist. According to the law of conservation, energy can neither be created nor destroyed, which meant the electricity was already present; nevertheless, when the door opened, she felt unbridled power surging through her veins. There was only one person—one man who held that kind of power. Seeing the astonished look on Emily’s face, Claire knew she was right.
Without thought or concern, Claire stood. Closing her eyes, she turned toward the doorway confident of who she’d see when her eyes opened. This wasn’t a hallucination or a memory—it was real. Although Emily’s voice pleaded for Claire to listen, she didn’t hear her sister’s words. There was nothing and no one else at that moment other than her husband. The rest of the world ceased to exist, and she was powerless to do anything other than surrender to his gaze.
They were the eyes she’d dreamt about—the eyes she saw in pictures of their daughter. They were the black holes which years ago swallowed and consumed her heart and soul.
Did she move? Did he? There were noises, but the words being spoken weren’t coming from either one of them. They didn’t need words. Over the course of the years, there’d been too many words—words they remembered—and ones they sought to forget. At this moment, none of them mattered.
In merely a split second, Claire took him in—prison had changed him, to a degree. His black mane now held more hints of white—new lines appeared around his eyes—and the hardness in his expression was replaced by something stronger, yet more serene. No matter the differences, he was still her husband—he was still Anthony Rawlings.
Their bodies nearly touched when the scent of his cologne filled the air. She inhaled the intoxicating scent she’d imagined over the years and melted into his embrace. Her face rested against the lapel of his silk suit as her body molded to his. Closing her eyes again, she relished the sensation of his muscular chest and beating heart. They still hadn’t spoken, yet the volume of the room around them had increased exponentially. His hand reached for her chin and brought their eyes together. It was the blending of brown and green—light to dark and dark to light—it was their connection—and it surpassed all other obstacles.
