Contentment consists not in adding more fuel, but in taking away some fire.
—Baldwin Fuller
Claire marveled at the shades of blue as the small plane circled over the island, completing the final leg of their journey. Although her mind constantly went back to her honeymoon, Claire reminded herself this was another place and another time. On her honeymoon in Fiji, Tony was with her, and he was in control.
Here, instead of Tony, she had Phil by her side. With each passing day, Claire appreciated his devotion and presence more and more. His honesty exposed her true threat, and his skills freed her from Catherine and the FBI, keeping her and her baby safe. She knew, without a doubt, she wouldn’t be where she was without him, yet despite all they’d experienced, their roles were so different than anything she’d ever known with Tony. In every matter of importance, Claire had control. After all, her money purchased this paradise retreat. Phil presented her with choices, but every decision was hers. At times, that power was intoxicating; at other times, it was daunting. After years of submission, it was a whole new way to live. Surprisingly, there were times she found herself missing the sense of security that accompanies that loss of responsibility.
As the scenes below her—those of a tropical paradise—bright blues, greens, and whites faded from her consciousness, Claire recalled memories of her recent life in Iowa—the one she left, walked away from, or more accurately, the one from which she ran. In the depths of her heart, she knew, for a short time, she had everything she wanted and more. She and Tony had an understanding; he had the control he needed, but so did she. She came and went as she pleased. Yes, she informed him first, but that was it. Claire informed Tony—she didn’t ask permission—nor did she seek his approval. He allowed it because they trusted one another. In the pit of her stomach, Claire knew she’d been the one to break that trust—to break the promise they’d made in their meadow of confessions. Perhaps that was Catherine’s plan; by convincing Claire to flee, Catherine successfully broke the trust she and Tony had built. Even if Tony contacted her, Claire wondered, could it be rebuilt?
What they had, before Catherine took it all away, was the perfect blend. Claire knew her sister, Emily, would never understand, and with the recent news of Meredith’s book’s pending publication, the rest of the world would probably never understand. Claire wished she could explain. Thankfully, she didn’t need to. It was one of Phil’s most endearing qualities—he didn’t pry.
Understandably, she never gave Phil the word for word, action for consequence, reminiscence of her life with Tony—At least, not like she’d done with Harry; nevertheless, Phil’s job involved knowing. If he hadn’t been good at his job, then he’d never sent the note in San Diego. Phil knew her past and never once had he questioned Claire about it; instead, Phil encouraged. He encouraged her to stay strong, protect her child, and trust her instincts. Right now, although she longed to hear from Tony, her instincts told her that she was finally safe. They reassured her that the trust she’d bestowed on Phil wasn’t misplaced. For once, she’d made a right decision.
As the plane’s pontoons touched the surface of the shimmering water, Claire pushed her memories and desires away. This was her experience, her new life, and the future she was choosing to have with her child. The sound from the plane wouldn’t allow them to converse; therefore, Claire straightened her neck and squared her shoulders as she touched Phil’s leg. When he turned to acknowledge her, Claire smiled.
She wanted him to know that she enjoyed the view outside of the plane—she was content. Phil probably realized her expression was forced; nevertheless, as far as Claire was concerned, it was real. She was tired of compartmentalizing—her new theme was fake it until you make it. Maybe in reality it was a bluff, but she had a lot riding on this bet—she’d secure her poker face and see it through.
As Phil helped Claire out of the plane, she held onto his hand for stability, and looked all around. Below their shoes was a white, sand lined beach, and behind them was the shimmering lagoon which opened to an endless horizon of blue sea. Waiting patiently on the shore were two people.
Phil’s research of possible destinations included staff members’ biographies as well as complete histories of the locations themselves. On this island, the main house was built in the late 1970’s by a wealthy Englishman who arrived with his staff of two. Francis and Madeline were married in Haiti prior to traveling to this destination. When the Englishman died, they stayed, and over the past thirty plus years, they’ve maintained the estate and cared for multiple families. Claire’s new house had many bedrooms and would have more than enough room for her and her child. Apparently, some of the previous owners had multiple children and grandchildren.
The isolation of this retreat was one of its most appealing aspects. There was a time when Claire didn’t like being alone; however, she was tired of unknown threats. This retreat would provide her child with the security that only comes from seclusion. For her child, Claire was more than willing to accept the loneliness that came with an island that was only accessible by boat or plane. Civilization—or something close—could be reached by a thirty minute boat ride; weather provided. This region boasted 363 days of sunshine a year; however, the lush vegetation required rain. Though usually short in duration, Phil’s research reported storms which could be intense. Deluges of rain followed by powerful sun created the perfect combination for a sultry, humid climate. After nearly a month in cloudy, cool Italy, Claire was ready for the warmth.
As they stepped toward the warm smiles of the caretakers, Madeline, a large woman with dark skin and a deep, rich voice, was the first to speak, “Welcome Madame el and Monsieur Nichols! I am Madeline and this is my husband, Francis.”
Claire looked at Phil and grinned. She liked the sound of Madeline’s voice; it added to the warmth in the air. Offering her hand in greeting, Claire said, “Hello, thank you. I’m Ms. Nichols, but please call me Claire, and this”—she looked to Phil. How could she possibly explain who he was? His definition had changed so drastically over the last year—“This is my friend, Phillip Roach. He helped me find your wonderful island.”
Francis shook Phil’s hand. “Madame el, but this is your island, and we are so very happy to help you with anything you need.”
Placing her hand over her midsection, Claire sighed. “I’d love to see the house.”
Madeline nodded and led Claire toward a path. Her smile shone brightly as she said, “Why of course, let me show you your home, and I’ll get you something to drink. We cannot let you dehydrate. The sun here, it is very strong; even now, before noon.” After a few steps, Madeline asked, “Your baby, Madame el, when is she due to join us?”
She? Claire didn’t know the sex of her child, but she’d always referred to it as he—the dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy who would look like his father; however, the little boy in her dreams would never know the sadness his father did. Her little boy would grow up with love and support; then, one day, he’d become the man his father finally became. “Oh, I don’t know if I’m having a girl or boy.” Madeline didn’t speak, but her deep brown eyes sparkled knowingly. Claire continued, “And my little one is due the middle of January; a New Year’s baby.”
“We love babies. Francis and I—we were never blessed with children of our own; however, we’ve shared our hearts with babies who now live all over the world. Thank you for bringing us another baby to love.”
Although Claire hesitated to trust anyone ever again, she instinctively liked this woman. It wasn’t just what Madeline said, but it was her whole aura that pulled Claire near and filled her with promise. When they passed the threshold to her new home, Claire exhaled. For the first time in ages—she was home. Her home was beautiful, light, and open—everything she’d always desired. Claire walked to the open doors, inhaled the sea breeze, and listened to the sound of the surf. Madeline’s voice refocused Claire’s thoughts. “We like to have everything open; there’s usually a refreshing breeze, but if it’s too hot for you Madame el, we do have air conditioning.”