“Thank you, Catherine, for giving me some answers.”
Catherine nodded.
Claire continued her voice distant as her mind wrestled with these new thoughts, “I will get ready and be down for dinner.”
This evening was more formal than the last, but not as formal as the wedding. As she readied for the festivities, Claire’s nausea returned. Sitting on the edge of the large whirlpool tub wrapped in the pink cashmere robe, she fought the onset, as perspiration drenched her recently painted face. She heard the knock on the door of the suite, but she couldn’t form the words to bid entrance. Claire knew she should be ready and downstairs, but her body wouldn’t let her move.
His voice came from the other side of the bathroom door. Slowly she heard the turning of the knob. Whatever his expression and tone had been before, distress now prevailed. Tony fell to his knees before a shivering ashened Claire, “What is the matter with you? Are you sick? I will get you the best doctors...”
She heard his voice but their long ago lunch was no longer content to remain within her stomach. The problem was they’d eaten hours before. Claire ran to the lavatory enclosed within a small attached room and submitted mostly to dry heaves as her petite body convulsed. This wasn’t how she had wanted to tell him, if she was to tell him at all.
When her body finally calmed, Claire stood, attempted poise, and reentered the main part of the bathroom. She walked to the sink, rinsed her mouth, and turned toward Tony. She hadn’t noticed before how handsomely he was dressed, quite the contrast to her current condition. Her hair was still done, but her cosmetics needed repair. And although quite expensive, her robe was hardly celebration attire. Looking to his worried face, she finally found her voice, “Tony, I’m not sick.”
He gently reached for her shoulders. “What do you mean? You’re obviously ill. I’ll call Brent. They’ll understand.”
“No, I want to go. I will be better soon. It doesn’t usually hit this hard in the afternoon. I think I’m just stressed.”
“What doesn’t hit..?” For an extremely intelligent man, he was slow at fitting the pieces of this puzzle together. His eyes widened and he released her shoulders. Suddenly his concerned tone morphed, now more slow and harsh, “What doesn’t hit?”
“The nausea.” Claire wasn’t feeling the positive aura one would hope in such a conversation.
“Brought on by what?”
Hell, her make-up needed touch up anyway. She felt the tears pool and blinked, allowing them to descend her cheeks. “I’m seven weeks pregnant, almost eight.” Claire could see the wheels turning in his head. “Yes, Tony, we are going to have a baby.”
His expression momentarily appeared blank. There was no manipulation, no hidden agenda, only shock. Did Claire ever remember seeing Tony speechless? If she did, she couldn’t recall. Finally she saw his emotions swirl through his ever darkening eyes. He asked, “How did this happen?”
She looked at him incredulously, “That is a great question, since I have no recall of letting you back into my condominium, but nonetheless, the timing works perfectly.”
He slowly turned circles, pacing as he could within the confines of the bathroom, “What are we going to do about ...” he motioned toward her midsection, “...this?”
Indignantly, she stood straighter. “I don’t know what we are going to do. I’m going to have a baby, with or without you.”
“But you’re twenty-nine years old; I’m forty-eight!”
“Yes, and when we married our age difference was the same.”
“We never discussed children.”
“It’s a little late for discussion.” Claire felt her strength returning with the fury now surging through her veins. Damn him for not responding the way she wanted him to! “Now if you’ll excuse me, I will be downstairs in ten minutes for dinner, and we can continue your charade.”
Tony shook his head and stepped toward his ex-wife. “I’m sorry. You surprised me. Let me think about this for a while.”
“Fine, Tony, think all you want. Your thoughts and decisions don’t matter. I’m having this baby.”
“Of course you are. I never suggested otherwise. I will be downstairs on the patio.” He kissed her cheek and left. She collapsed again on the edge of the tub. Well that went well! She thought sarcastically. Then she remembered the little life inside of her and audibly comforted, “It will be all right. No matter what – we will be fine. Don’t worry about your father – I’m not.” Was it good to lie to your child, even if you were doing it for their own good?
When Claire stepped onto the patio, Tony attentively stood and pulled out her chair. Her hair was perfect; make-up repaired, and dress lovely. Her growing breasts filled the bodice more than they would have before. Even her color was back to normal with a glow of sun on her cheeks from their day on the lake shore.
Sincerely he asked, “How are you feeling?”
Genteel and reticent, she responded, “I am feeling better, thank you for asking.” And then Claire did what Tony had done to her over and over. She conversed about anything and everything except the pregnancy. On his few attempts to discuss it, she changed the subject. Her change of subject wasn’t as direct as saying, “The subject is closed” but subtly she’d mention something else. For instance her dress – it was one from the closet. She told Tony how much she liked it and thanked him for having it bought.
The dessert celebration proceeded with equal poise. Claire stayed dutifully by his side and said and did everything to continue their charade. After all, this gathering contained people they didn’t know. It was Claire’s experience that information can be leaked at any moment by any source. To everyone, they appeared the happy couple trying for reconciliation.
When the waiter offered glasses of champagne, Claire smirked as Tony asked for non-alcoholic. Even he drank the disgustingly sweet bubbly grape juice. It didn’t make up for his initial reaction, but it did incite a genuine smile on Claire’s lips.
On their way back to the estate, Tony detoured to a secluded back road. The June night was warmer than the one before, and the stars were bright. Although she didn’t know where they were going, Claire didn’t ask. She remained reserved, answering questions, and continuing courteous conversation. Finally after a bumpy dirt road, Tony stopped the Mercedes. His headlights faded into the darkness illuminating a meadow. “Do you know where we are?”
Claire looked from side to side. Beyond the meadow were trees, but they were no more distinctive than any other trees. “I don’t.”
He got out of the car and walked to her door. After opening it, he extended his hand and asked, “Will you please walk with me a moment?”
Claire looked down at her shoes. They too were from his closet of clothes, Casadsi platform pumps with a very thin four inch heel. She wasn’t sure of their cost, but from experience she was certain they weren’t intended for hiking. “I don’t think my shoes are meant for...”
“I don’t give a damn about the shoes.” His polite invitation gave way to the emotions he’d been suppressing all evening.
Claire shrugged and accepted his outstretched hand. Her facade once again in place she replied, “Of course, Mr. Rawlings, I’d be delighted.”
They took a few steps when Claire stumbled, falling into Tony’s strong embrace. She straightened and secured herself. “Have you figured out where we are?” He asked.
“I really don’t know.”
“This is where I brought you the day I apologized for your accident.” Claire’s back straightened and her chin rose indignantly. He added, “I meant every word that day.”
“Tony, I don’t want to talk about...”