Throughout the night, Claire’s pulse remained steady, and their baby continued to move. It wasn’t until dawn when Claire began to wake. At first, it was the incoherent mutterings of earlier. She pleaded, “Tony...no...gone...Tony...no...” Eventually, the pleadings morphed into tears. With each outburst, another piece of Tony’s heart broke. Claire was fighting a battle only she could see. He would’ve said, paid, or done anything to bring her relief—he couldn’t.
All he could do, was offer himself. Never leaving his wife’s side, Tony repeatedly wiped her tear coated cheeks with a soft handkerchief, and each time she’d mutter, in his calmest tone, he’d reassure, “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. No one is gone...” He didn’t know if she could hear his words; nevertheless, saying them brought a sense of comfort to their suite.
By the time the sun rose behind the still billowing clouds, Tony’s head rested quietly on the side of the chair. There hadn’t been a change in hours. He didn’t intend to fall asleep, but the rumbling of thunder, rhythm of rain, and constant in Claire’s condition allowed him to slip into a false sense of security.
Claire couldn’t remember where she was. Her last memory was of the suite in Iowa. The copper colored walls she remembered were gone; instead, the white woodwork and golden drapes of 2010 were back. The fear that infiltrated her thoughts and drained her world of color was the overwhelming sensation of isolation. Claire was, once again, alone. No longer did she wake to the sounds of her paradise. Birds no longer sang and the surf no longer roared. The only reoccurring noise was that of the beep. She didn’t need to look, to know why it occurred. Claire knew too well—the beep happened whenever the door to the rest of the world opened.
Alone forever, the beep was a continual reminder of her fate. Claire didn’t want to hear the sound or see the person who’d enter. There was a time, somewhere long ago, when Claire yearned to see Catherine, she prayed for that. Now, each time the door opened, she prayed for someone—anyone else, yet each tray of food—each outfit set out—everything necessary for life—came at the hands of the woman who was no longer her comforter—but her tormentor. If Claire turned, she knew she’d see Catherine’s sadistic gray eyes.
Though her life was hell—it no longer mattered. Claire’s will to continue vanished with her husband and child. She saw the food which arrived three times a day. Never once did she desire to eat. She saw the French doors which opened only upon request. There was nothing beyond the panes she craved. Colors were gone. Showering, dressing, sleeping, and waking were inconsequential. Claire’s thoughts and actions were consumed with one desire: to be with her family. If her goal could only be obtained through death, she willed it to occur.
This sense of doom overwhelmed her as she woke. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She didn’t want to see the golden drapes. Tentatively, more from reflex than want, Claire pried her eyes open. As she tried to focus, the world she feared was gone; instead of white woodwork, a thatched ceiling filled her view. A slow, methodical fan twirled above her bed and cooler than normal air moved through their suite.
Though the angle didn’t seem right, she knew she was in paradise. When she attempted to move, stiffness affected each joint. Claire felt as though her body were bruised. With pressure on her stomach, she suddenly remembered their baby. Tears of loss filled her eyes as she reached for her midsection. Before her hand moved that far, her fingers brushed a full head of hair. Raising her face, Claire’s lips morphed into a grin as she saw the familiar head of dark hair highlighted with renegade white. It was the most perfect head of hair she’d ever seen.
Reaching below the perfect head of hair, Claire felt her enlarged midsection. The slight pressure she’d felt was Tony’s large hand splayed across their unborn child. For a moment, she lay perfectly still relishing her reality. The night of terror was only a dream—a nightmare. As if for confirmation, their child moved. The small, strong life pushed against her skin from within. Every muscle in Claire’s body relaxed. Their child was still inside of her, Tony was beside her, and no matter what the future held, she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Weaving her fingers through his hair, Claire whispered his name, “Tony?”
Though his head didn’t move, the hand over her midsection shielded protectively, as he murmured, “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. No one is gone...”
Again, she whispered, “Tony, what happened? Why are you on the floor?”
His tired eyes found hers. Though he looked exhausted, the sparkle behind the soft brown filled Claire with love and hope. He reached up and touched her cheek. “Oh, thank God, you’re not hot.”
Her lips twitched upward. “Thanks a lot. You don’t look all that hot yourself.”
His lips gently found hers. When he pulled away, Claire watched as his grin emerged, coming from some dark place, and a tear slid down his cheek. Had she ever seen him cry? Claire couldn’t remember. It was the relief in his voice that overwhelmed her and brought tears to her cheeks. “Mrs. Rawlings, have I ever mentioned how much I love that smart mouth?”
Claire nodded. “A time or two.”
He smoothed the hair from her face. “You’ve had us all very scared.”
It was a day of revelations; first a tear and then an admittance of fear. Claire almost asked who this man was, and what he’d done with her husband; however, the sincerity in his voice didn’t deserve a quick retort. Instead, she reached for his hand and kissed his palm. “I’m sorry, I scared you. I don’t remember. What happened?”
Their voices must have been overheard because before he could answer, the bedroom door opened and Madeline came rushing in. “Oh, Madame el”—her deep dark eyes smiled—“Madame Claire, our prayers, they have been answered.”
Something as simple as a name shouldn’t make her cry, yet hearing Madeline call her by her name, a request Claire had made months ago, ignited warmth. Again, Claire felt movement within her. Smiling, she asked, “At the risk of sounding redundant, would someone please tell me what happened?” At that moment, she noticed the back pain was gone.
“Yes, my dear, we will. We don’t want you to have to ask again.” She could hear the smirk in her husband’s voice.
“Thank you, I don’t believe I’m the only one who doesn’t like to ask the same question twice.” Claire saw the gleam in Tony’s eyes and squeezed his hand. It truly amazed her that a simple phrase could possess so much meaning.
“Madame Claire, how do you feel?”
“I think...I feel good...” Claire tried to sit. Tony moved to the back of the lounge chair and repositioned the back. When he did, Claire realized something leaked. With a surge of panic, she confessed, “I think I just...”
Madeline reached for her hand. “Your water broke. Your baby is coming soon.”
Claire knew she should be excited, yet looking at her husband and then past him, she saw the gray skies. It was then the drumming of steady rain registered. “Dr. Gilbert?” she asked.
Tony shook his head and grasped her hand. “It’s too dangerous. Phil and Francis have both offered to go after him; however, even if they get to town, Dr. Gilbert may not be willing to travel back here.”
Claire tried to think. “Madeline, did you say you’ve delivered babies before?”
“Oui, I’ve helped.”
It was more experience than either of them had. Claire nodded; then she asked, “My water broke? When?”
“Last night,” Tony replied.
“Then why am I not in labor?”
“Oh, but Madame you are.”
Claire closed her eyes and assessed. She felt more comfortable than she had in weeks. The lower back pain was gone. The tightening was gone. The pressure down low was gone. A tear escaped her eyes.