In those few seconds—that took a lifetime—I remembered scenes of surrender and desperation. All the memories I’d successfully compartmentalized away instantaneously proclaimed their presence, only to fade into the gray smoke. With Nichol still in my arms, I took a step back and rubbed my burning eyes. Still there were other scenes playing out before me. They weren’t of oppression or vengeance—no, in those last seconds, I remembered true love and affection. I prayed those scenes would prevail; however, when I closed my eyes they too disappeared into the growing haze and mayhem.
I knew that I couldn’t fall down and surrender to the fire or Catherine’s gun. I’d surrendered too many times, yet I knew no matter what choice I made, our lives would never be the same. I just didn’t realize the magnitude of that realization.
For once, with not only my life at stake, but those of my daughter and husband, I chose to face the reality. With soot covering my face and those around me, I stood tall and saw the horror in Tony’s eyes. I couldn’t surrender—I couldn’t give into emotion, not yet. In my heart, I knew there were cards yet to see—the game wasn’t over—I knew the rules—and I wouldn’t disappoint.
Claire wiped the tears from her eyes. She hadn’t been aware that she was crying until the large droplets of moisture hit the ink on her paper, causing her words to bleed.
She looked at the clock. Meredith would be there in less than ten minutes. She should stop writing, yet the memories were too clear. Claire needed to finish the story—
Nichol’s cries cut through the cold water that fell from the ceiling. Tony was yelling—telling me to get her out of the house. If only I’d listened. Of all the times I’d obeyed him, ironically, this was when I chose to exert my independence.
I’ve asked myself why, and I’ve seen the answer in my nightmares. It was the look in Catherine’s eyes as she was saying Nichol’s name. That look haunts me to this day.
Everything happened so fast. Tony knocked the gun away from Catherine. He told me to pick it up, so I did. Catherine rushed toward me and, oh God—I can’t keep writing. If I write it—it’s real.
Closing the notebook, Claire placed it in a drawer, went to the bathroom, and washed her face. She didn’t want Meredith to find her in this state. When she returned to her quiet room, Claire looked around at all the new items: the colorful throw pillows, the new bedspread, and the pictures on her dresser. It broke her heart to see Nichol’s big brown eyes. They looked so much like her father’s.
Slowly, she walked to the dresser and opened the drawer. The end of their story was quite simple. It could be summed up by writing only a few more sentences—
As I retrieved the gun from the floor, Catherine stole Nichol from my grasp. When she did, Tony was there! He fought for our daughter. I saw the panic in his eyes when he noticed that I had the gun. I don’t think I meant to pull the trigger. I remember shaking. I don’t know if it was the cold water or fear, but when I heard Phil’s voice and felt pressure on my shoulders, I flinched, and I pulled the trigger.
Claire heard the sound of her door opening. Squaring her shoulders, she finished their story—
The sound was deafening. In that moment, I watched them all fall and knew, without a doubt, I’d shot the love of my life—I’d killed Anthony Rawlings.
Stoically, she placed the notebook back in the drawer. If Meredith noticed Claire’s red eyes, she didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, she did what she’d been doing since before Claire could remember, she chatted as Claire ate her dinner.
Later, when they stepped outside into the early evening, the air was still comfortably warm. Unfortunately, the nights were descending faster by a few minutes each passing day. The setting sun returned the cool crisp chill to the October breeze. Although this was only Courtney’s third visit since Meredith had brought them together, Claire constantly feared raising questions if they stayed out too late. She hated that the twilight dictated the length of their visits. It wasn’t like she wanted to lie to Emily or to anyone. She’d repeatedly asked Emily to allow more visitors. Emily always had a reason to deny her request—according to her sister the time was never right.
During Courtney’s first visit, she and Claire mostly hugged and cried. The emotion was too raw and intense to discuss Claire’s condition or the reason for her break with reality. On the second visit, they concentrated on Nichol. Courtney told stories, saying that she’d visited and been in contact with Claire’s daughter ever since Emily started caring for her. She reminded Claire, “How could Aunt Courtney stay away from Nichol Courtney?”
It wasn’t like Claire had forgot Nichol’s middle name or the person she and Tony wanted to honor—well, maybe she had momentarily forgotten—but hearing Courtney’s pride and seeing the adoration in her bright blue eyes, Claire knew that she and Tony were right to name Nichol after their good friend.
Claire believed this visit would be different. She knew what she wanted to discuss—what she needed to say—aloud. It had taken some time and reflection, but the therapists were right. The journaling helped take her along her own safe, personal journey.
The walk to and from the clearing, as well as the impending nightfall, only allowed Claire and Courtney thirty to forty minutes of together time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—to Claire, that was a lot!
Claire couldn’t thank Meredith enough.
As they approached the small clearing, Claire fell into silent reflection. Her mind swirled; she worked desperately to control her thoughts, wanting to phrase them correctly, in a way her friends would understand. Perhaps Emily wasn’t ready to believe Claire was better—maybe the doctors and therapists weren’t convinced she was beyond relapse—but Claire wanted her friends to know—she’d come to terms with her past and was ready to move on to her future.
Once their greetings were said and the three ladies sat on the blanket that Courtney brought, Claire began her story, “I want to thank you both for believing in me.” Claire reached for Meredith’s hand. “So many years ago, when we pledged sisterhood, I don’t think either of us had any idea where it would take us. I know that I wouldn’t be here without your help.”
Meredith smiled.
Claire reached for Courtney. “I can’t imagine anyone else standing by me like you’ve done. Who would’ve thought, when Tony took me to your house so many years ago, we’d end up here? You’ve had many opportunities to walk away from me and all the drama, but you never have, thank you!”
Claire sat straighter. “Courtney, I told Meredith I wanted to see you to learn what happened at the estate. Recently, I’ve been writing things down and working them out. I don’t need you to tell me...I remember”—bravely, she fought the emotion and pushed it back down—“I know why there’re rules about Tony, mentioning his name, or acknowledging that he existed. The thing is”—she inhaled and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand—“I’m tired of people acting like I can’t handle the truth...I remember shooting him—I know—I know that I killed him.”
Courtney and Meredith looked at one another, their expressions ones of confusion and disbelief. When they started to speak, Claire spoke over them, “You don’t have to pretend. I remember the gun, the deafening sound as I pulled the trigger.” Claire stammered, “I—I remember him falling, Catherine falling, and Nichol—thank God she wasn’t hurt. I don’t think I could live with myself if I...” Her voice momentarily trailed away.
Regaining her composure, she said, “I was so happy to hear she was all right. I don’t understand where I was for so long, or how I got there. Maybe I was crazy? Sometimes I wonder if it’s craziness to deal with real life—day after day—or if it’s crazy to want to live in the good times”—she smiled through her tears—“I want the two of you to know that there were good times! The man I married—the second time”—she added. “We had something I’ll never forget. Emily and the doctors may think I should forget and move on, but I’ll never forget. The thing is—I’m ready to move on.”