—Rose Kennedy
When Tony returned with Claire’s dinner, she was ready. She hadn’t had more than basic cosmetics at Everwood; however, when presented with an excess of the best, she remembered how to use it. She also found a pair of well-fitting jeans and sweater in the well-stocked closet. Her hair was styled and her face painted. If Tony truly meant what he said about still wanting her, then Claire wanted to make his separation declaration as difficult as possible.
She was in the kitchen setting two places at the breakfast bar when he arrived. She didn’t hear him enter, but she knew he was there. It was a feeling—a connection—alerting her to his presence. Looking up from the silverware, she saw him in the doorway. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but his eyes were as black as the country, moonless night, beyond the glass wall. Helplessly, she stood before him. Time momentarily stood still as his gaze devoured her. It wasn’t just her appearance as he scanned her up and down—it was her soul. With each tick of the clock it slipped further and further away. He already owned it—he’d taken it years ago. She waited to see if he planned to keep and treasure it, or discard it—like yesterday’s news.
When he didn’t speak, she walked toward him, drawn by an invisible pull. Her body ached for his touch. From the look on his face, she believed the feeling was mutual. When she was mere inches away, he said, “I got you a salad. I forgot to ask what you wanted.”
Her heart sank. His voice didn’t match his gaze. Dejectedly, she replied, “A salad is fine,” and turned away.
Claire had thought the years of separation while in Everwood were unbearable. That was nothing compared to the pain of having him in front of her, yet—inaccessible.
During the drive to Emily’s, they calmly—too calmly—discussed their separation. After some debate, they both agreed to keep it temporarily concealed. The Vandersols wouldn’t understand, and the charade would be easier on Nichol. They planned to ease her into it, after she moved to the estate. Claire’s hands began to tremble as they pulled up to the Vandersol’s home. Surprisingly, Tony reached over and covered hers with his. It was the first contact since the balcony. His tone was kind and reassuring, “It’ll be all right.”
She didn’t move or attempt reciprocation; instead, she enjoyed the sensation of his warm touch and replied honestly, “I’m scared, what if she doesn’t want us?”
“She will.”
Turning toward him, she asked, “I haven’t even asked, have you seen her?”
He shook his head. “No, pictures are all. I was just released yesterday, and she was never brought to me. It was probably better—a little girl shouldn’t be visiting her father in a federal penitentiary.”
Claire looked at him in surprise. “Yesterday? And you’ve accomplished all of this?”
“Like I said—I had help. I’ve been planning my release for some time.”
She looked back down at his hand on her lap as her neck straightened. “And our divorce—how long have you been planning that?”
Pulling his hand away, he rebuked, “Claire, not now. Let’s not go back there.”
A new thought came to her mind. With it came fire that instantly dried her once moist eyes. She suddenly needed to know the answer to a burning question. “Is there someone else?”
“What?”
“Is—there—someone—else?!”
“No!”—his volume rose—“I told you, I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
“Well, you obviously don’t want me! And you’re Anthony Rawlings. You were in prison and your wife was crazy; nevertheless, you’re still Anthony Rawlings. You would eventually get out of prison, but your wife would always be crazy. I bet there were letters of devotion, propositions, and proposals.”
“Claire, our daughter is waiting.”
Sudden rage boiled within her. While she’d been living in a fantasy world, was he communicating with another woman or women? The intensity of her stare grew as she asked again, “I’ve already asked this once, don’t make me ask again. Is there someone else?”
“Claire, calm down.”
Her hand contacted his arrogant expression. Tony stared in disbelief as he seized her fingers. “What the hell was that?”
“You never answer my questions. Tell me, were there letters? Did women write to you promising anything you wanted, all for the chance to take my place?”
“You’re getting yourself all worked up. Calm down; Nichol is waiting.”
She glared as her voice lowered. “I deserve to know.”
“Yes.” His eyes glowed in the illumination of the dashboard. “Are you happy?” His growl deepened as he continued to painfully hold her seized hand. “There were letters—I didn’t respond. I don’t give a damn about anyone—anyone but you. Hell—I even—”
Claire’s heart raced. She waited for him to finish his sentence; instead, he released her hand and turned away. She prodded, “You even what?”
“We’ll finish this discussion another time.” It wasn’t debatable. He’d said more than he’d wanted, and he wasn’t saying any more. That conversation was done. “Now, do you plan to join me, or do you plan to sit in the car all evening?”
Rubbing the fingers of her right hand, she replied, “I plan to join you.”
When Emily met them at the door, they wore the masks of the perfect smiling couple. It was all right—Emily wore a mask too. “We told Nichol she had some special guests coming to see her.” Despite Emily’s show of strength, Claire heard the sorrow in her sister’s voice.
Walking into the living room, they both stopped when Nichol came into view. Without thinking, Claire grasped Tony’s hand. Once she realized her action, she quickly let go, thankful that he hadn’t pulled away.
The last time they saw their daughter, she had been less than three months old. The little girl before them was nearly three years old, and the most beautiful child Claire could ever recall seeing—even prettier than her pictures. Her wavy, brown hair, held back with barrettes, framed her beautiful face. Her thick dark lashes fluttered as big brown eyes peered upward. She’d been sitting on the floor playing with a dollhouse when she turned to see Aunt Em’s friends.
Claire knelt to the ground, afraid to get too close, afraid of scaring her daughter away. Mustering her confidence, she said, “Hello, Nichol.”
Their daughter stood and stared. Claire marveled at her perfect, petite body. Finally, John stepped forward, and Nichol reached for his hand. “Nichol,” John said. “Can you say hi to the friends we told you about?”
“Hi.”
Tony knelt beside Claire. Is it possible for a heart to melt and break at the same time? Claire reached out and Nichol’s small fingers shook Claire’s hand. Their daughter asked, “Who are you?”
Tony laughed. “Direct, isn’t she?”
With a snicker, Emily replied, “Very, I can’t imagine where she gets it.”
“Nichol, my name is Claire”—she hesitated—“but you can call me Mom.”
Nichol’s eyes grew wide as she peered from Claire to Tony. Finally, she asked, “Are you my daddy?”
“I am.”
They all waited. Dropping John’s grasp, she stepped forward and touched a small hand to each of their cheeks. Claire closed her eyes and savored her daughter’s touch. Instantly, Claire understood their daughter’s actions. It was the same thing she did when Tony arrived at Everwood—touching him—verifying that he was real. Claire reached up and covered Nichol’s hand with hers. “We’re really here, honey, and we’re so sorry we’ve been gone.”
Nichol smiled, her big brown eyes lightening. “I knew one day you’d come. Aunt Em said you were sick, and when you got better, you’d be here. Are you better?”
Fighting back the tears, Claire answered, “Yes, I’m much better. Nichol, can we hug you?”
Lowering her little hands to their shoulders, she nodded. For a few seconds, their family was whole; then without warning, Nichol released her parents and rushed to her cousin. It was the first time Claire had noticed the little blond boy hugging Emily’s legs. She was about to say something about Michael when Nichol announced, “Mikey, know what? I have a mommy and daddy too!” Looking up to Emily, Nichol asked, “Does that mean they’re Mikey’s aunt and uncle, like you and Uncle John?”