Claire nodded. She couldn’t respond verbally if she wanted—the lump in her throat was too big to swallow. Burying her head against his chest, she enjoyed the sensation of his arms around her, a shield to keep all the bad away. For the moment, she could pretend everything was all right and forget about the danger. After all, compartmentalization was her specialty.
As they settled into bed, Claire asked, “The thing you remembered in the van, about the last time you talked to Brent, is everything settled?”
Tony wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. Claire’s head rested on his shoulder, she inhaled his musky scent, and listened to his confident tone, “Yes, I believe we’ve reached an understanding.”
“They didn’t have to help us like this.”
“You’re right. Someday, we’ll repay them.”
Nuzzling against his skin, Claire considered pressing Tony to confess the subject of his and Brent’s argument. She wondered if he’d tell her, but then she wondered why she wanted him to confess. After all, that testimony was about another time—another life—a life she had no desire to discuss or remember. Soon, her thoughts faded into nothingness. Traveling had worn her out—sleep would no longer wait.
A friend is one who walks in when others walk out .
—Walter Winchell
Meredith desperately tried to scroll the contacts in her phone. Her trembling hands, combined with the emotion coursing through her veins, made the simple task more complex. Did she want to go to jail? Was that her goal? If it wasn’t, why then did she continually find herself in these precarious situations?
It had been almost two weeks since Claire came out to her family. With each passing day, she seemed stronger and more resilient. She now engaged in flowing conversation—her one word or phrased responses were a thing of the past. Meredith surmised it was a testimony to Claire’s thoughts. Instead of having fleeting, individual ideas which Claire felt the need to protect, her thoughts now came together in embellished trains—much more conducive for speech.
There were also marked improvements in Claire’s appearance. Truthfully, it wouldn’t have taken much to enhance the lost vacant expression she’d possessed for so long. Just the addition of recognition to her green eyes made her appear a different person; then add hair color and some light make-up, and Claire Rawlings was back. Of course, no one referred to her that way—she was still Nichols as far as the staff at Everwood was concerned. As long as Emily was in control of her care—that wouldn’t change. Emily’s control was undeniably the cause of Meredith’s trembling hands. Claire was more than capable of making her own decisions, yet Emily’s power of attorney hadn’t been lifted.
It wasn’t that Claire’s demands were unreasonable—she wanted access to her daughter—to see her—to touch her—and to love her. The pictures of Nichol, that now decorated Claire’s more colorful room, were a blessing upon arrival; however, with each passing day, they served as a reminder of the beautiful young girl who remained two dimensional. Maybe it was too early—that was Emily’s continual answer to Claire. What if Claire relapsed? It wouldn’t be fair to Nichol.
While Claire’s desire to see Nichol sparked Meredith’s fury, it was Claire’s desire to see anyone that fueled the vehemence to the point of this impending phone call. Courtney Simmons’ number had been programmed into Meredith’s phone for a while; however, since the Vandersol’s were still unaware of her true identity—calling that number was a risk, perhaps even an invitation to a potential jail sentence.
Closing her eyes, Meredith remembered the tears of her friend only minutes earlier when Meredith exited Claire’s room. For two years, Claire had been unaware of her surroundings, yet content. In two weeks, she’d made phenomenal progress and experienced reoccurring disappointment. Although Meredith hadn’t left Everwood’s parking lot, she decided to throw caution to the wind, yet again. The corner of her phone read—8:57 PM. Swiping the screen, she found Courtney’s number and prayed. She couldn’t guarantee that her current willpower would be present tomorrow or even in ten minutes; Meredith needed to make the call now.
On the second ring, she heard Courtney’s voice, “Hello, this is Courtney.”
“Hello, Courtney, please don’t hang up. This is about Claire Rawlings.”
The momentary silence accelerated Meredith’s heartbeat. Finally, she heard, “Who is this?”
“My name is Meredith Rus—Banks.”
“Goodbye.”
Meredith spoke quickly, “Please, Courtney, I know you know who I am, but this isn’t about a story—it’s about Claire. She’s my friend too—and she needs you.” The words came so fast, Meredith hoped they were separated by enough space to make sense. When the line didn’t go dead, Meredith continued, “She’s doing much better. She’s asked for you.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’m in Cedar Rapids right now. Will you please meet me? I think it’s better if I explain in person.”
After what Meredith assumed was cautious deliberation, Courtney replied, “Fine, perhaps I should call John or Emil—”
“I know Emily hasn’t allowed you to visit. You don’t have any reason to believe me, but I can help you and Claire if you’ll please meet with me—alone. If you call them, I don’t know when you’ll be able to—”
This time, Courtney interrupted, “All right. Where can I meet you?”
Meredith remembered to breathe. “Thank you, I can be in Iowa City in...”
Short’s Burger and Shine was a popular bar, and although Meredith thought a drink to calm her nerves sounded like a good idea, that wasn’t the reason the two women had come to this particular establishment. Basically, it was a matter of convenience; the hour was late, and the small quaint pub on Clinton Street was open. When Meredith arrived, she saw Courtney seated at the last booth. The long, narrow room with the brick walls echoed with the sound of happy patrons; nevertheless, Courtney’s expression, as she watched Meredith approach, told Meredith that Courtney didn’t share the joyous elation of the others.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” Meredith offered as she eased herself up the platform and into the hard booth.
“I’m not usually a rude person, but I hated your book, and I guess I’ve transferred those feelings to you. Tell me why I’m here and make it quick.”
Meredith momentarily looked down and took a deep breath. “I understand. This isn’t about my book, or even a new story, although I admit it started that way.”
Courtney raised her brow.
“About three months ago, I asked Emily’s permission to visit Claire. She denied me.”
Courtney nodded in agreement.
Meredith continued, “My goal was to learn the rest of the story. I guess I wanted to write something that would make Nichol proud of her parents.”
Courtney continued to listen silently.
“Since I couldn’t go to Everwood openly, I decided to apply for a job there. I did. I got it. Over time, I worked my way into Claire’s room as part of her dietary team.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s a restraining order—”
The waitress interrupted, “Ladies, what can I get you?”
The thought of that drink was getting better and better. Finally, Meredith asked, “Can I get you something for joining me? Or are you leaving to pursue the violation of that order?”
Still somewhat stunned by Meredith’s open confession, Courtney answered, speaking to the young girl near the end of their table, “I’d like a glass of white Zen, please.”
Meredith added, “Make that two.” When the girl walked away, Meredith leaned forward. “Thank you, I knew it was a risk to come to you. You could turn me in to the police, to Everwood, or to the Vandersols, but if you don’t, maybe I can help you see Claire.”