Convicted (32 page)

With the open doors looking out to the crystal blue sea, their room was only slightly more private than the lanai; however, it was their room. Madeline and Francis respected their privacy. As Claire’s bathing suit fell to the floor, she realized they’d yet to speak, and still, they’d conversed more than some couples did in a lifetime. They’d greeted one another, discussed the pleasantries of the tropical morning, and assessed that each was doing well.

Laying on the soft comforter with her arms above her head, the man she loved gazing down at only her, and the large ceiling fan methodically moving the humid air, Claire’s world was right. Had she planned on her morning taking this turn? No. Was she willing? Without a doubt.

The large, talented hands claiming her body also had her soul. While his approach could at times be forceful—it was always gentle. Yes, her mind held memories of contrary times, but those memories were so long ago that they were difficult to resurrect. At this moment, she willingly surrendered, as she’d done a thousand times, to the whims and desires of the man above her. Without any words, he could manipulate and dominate—move her from a state of sleeping bliss to the throes of erotic desire. Similar to years ago, his dark eyes held the passion and emotion that allowed her world to spin. Because he willed it so—the world was right. Without him, the entire planet would spin out of control, lost forever in the darkest depths of the universe.

It didn’t seem to matter that her body was changing. The tips of his fingers lingered as he taunted her sensitive breasts. So little was needed to entice her yearnings—a simple puff of air on a taunt, wet nipple made Claire’s back arch and her insides liquefy. Teasing her to the point of begging, yet satisfying every desire was his specialty. Despite the way she’d changed—the way her body had changed—she felt wanted and sexy as he skillfully caressed and suckled, moving south over her enlarged...

Claire shook her head and tried to reason.

Enlarged—baby—no—gone—everything gone—

She fought the thought—the idea—no!

Dr. Fairfield watched in horror as the patient, who only moments earlier had been experiencing something which none of them could see or hear, was suddenly flailing against the restraints. The machine wasn’t meant for movement.

“I told you to sedate her!” Dr. Fairfield yelled into the microphone.

Trying to remain calm, the nurse beside him replied, “We did, Doctor. She shouldn’t be waking.”

It didn’t matter if she
shouldn’t be
—Claire was fighting the restraints with all she had. Her mouth opened, yet with the roar of the machine, the feverish attempt of the medical staff to halt the DTI, and the doctor’s angry shouts, Claire’s pleas for her unborn child went unheard and unnoticed. By the time the others entered the lead lined room, Claire’s flushed cheeks were covered with tears and only wordless whimpers escaped her lips.

Dr. Fairfield slammed his fist against the counter as the staff sedated and moved the patient from the gurney. Speaking to everyone—and no one—he said, “This is her fifteenth day on medication. Do you know how much time and money was spent on that scan?! Now it’s useless! She’s barely a one-hundred-and-ten-pound woman. How damn hard is it to get her sedation right?”

Though he asked questions—he didn’t want verbal answers. Flinging the door to the windowed room so hard that it rebounded off the wall, he called over his shoulder, “When the results we
did
get from this scan are available, bring them to me.”

Dr. Fairfield’s recently prescribed treatment was both proven and new. There were documented results with these medications; however, Dr. Fairfield was taking it a step further, combining medications and requiring more intensive therapy. It was more than had been tried in the published literature. This scan was supposed to show the first marker. Obviously, even without the DTI, the patient was experiencing a hallucination; however, observation wasn’t measurable. The DTI was meant to document increased brain activity. This sedation screw-up would postpone the next DTI for at least a couple of days. Frustrated, the doctor stormed back to his office.

Driving toward Everwood, Meredith reconsidered her objective. She’d been at this
research
for two and a half months. Soon, her children would be home for a small break before the next boarding school session. The hours she spent at Everwood would seriously detract from time she could spend with them.
Was this story really worth the effort?

The tightness in Meredith’s chest told her what she already knew—she wasn’t a detached investigative reporter, like she’d always wanted to be. She was a friend, one who, for lack of a better word, was
compensating
for the pain she’d brought her friend years ago. This wasn’t about a story—it was about saving Claire and preventatively restoring pride to a little girl who one day would learn terrible things about her father. Meredith wanted Nichol to know there was more to the story—a
page two
as Paul Harvey used to say. It wasn’t that Meredith didn’t trust Emily to one day enlighten Nichol to Anthony Rawlings’ attributes, although she wasn’t sure she did. It was that, even though Claire came to her with the story of her and Anthony’s introduction, Meredith was the one who wrote it and made it common knowledge.
If
Claire never recovered and
the rest of the story
never came out, how would the book that’s made Meredith millions affect the beautiful, innocent little girl whose last name was
Rawlings
.

Meredith parked her car in the employee parking lot, smoothed her ugly, white uniform, and stood tall; she knew this assignment was more about guilt and obligation than investigation. Until she was convinced Claire was beyond hope—Meredith couldn’t stop. Thank God her husband understood. He’d make their children’s two week break memorable. Maybe one day, not only would Nichol be proud to carry the name
Rawlings
, but Meredith’s children would be proud to share their parents’ name—not only because their father was a wonderful, loving person—but because even when it was difficult—their mother had learned to do the right thing. It wasn’t an easy lesson. Although Claire carried the scars, Meredith would never forget that she’d been the one to start the wheels of that
lesson
in motion.

Ms. Bali informed Meredith of Claire’s change in protocol a few weeks ago. As a member of Claire’s
food care staff
, Meredith had been included in meetings centered on Ms. Nichols. It was during one of those meetings that she’d met Claire’s new lead doctor, Dr. Fairfield. They weren’t introduced. Meredith sat attentively and listened to his directives. Being on Claire’s
direct food care team
, she also had access to Claire’s records—including the recently prescribed medications. Meredith researched each drug thoroughly—most fell under the class
controlled
and categorized as
antipsychotic
.

Since the induction of the new drug regime, Meredith assessed—Claire had become
more
depressed and agitated. Getting her to eat—anything—of late—was difficult. She now became irritated at any change in routine. Even the suggestion of going outdoors, the activity she enjoyed most, provoked angst. It wasn’t that Claire spoke, but non-verbally, she fought; her body tensed and her glare intensified. The compliant patient of two months ago no longer existed. Meredith reasoned
any
change was positive, yet her heart told her otherwise. She truly wondered how much Emily knew, and how much longer she’d allow it to continue.
Was it better to have Claire content in her own world or upset in the real one?

Today, Meredith’s shift began at 4:00 PM, which meant she’d deliver dinner. After a few days into the new protocol, Ms. Bali rearranged assignments, making Claire Meredith’s only responsibility. Although Dr. Fairfield wanted Claire responsible for her own feeding, nutrition was important, and any hope of her feeding herself was currently gone. Her sister wouldn’t allow her to go without meals. Without a doubt, Claire required more consistent care. It wasn’t Meredith’s qualifications that landed her this opportunity; it was Claire’s positive response to her. The people in charge were willing to do anything to avoid conflicts. Ms. Nichols didn’t like change; therefore, anything the doctor didn’t demand changed wasn’t—that included Meredith.

The more time Meredith spent with Claire, the more she feared Emily would discover her interaction. That’s why Meredith requested the later shift: 4:00 PM to 11:00 PM. On the days Emily visited, it was usually earlier in the day.

As Meredith approached the bank of employee lockers behind the kitchen, she saw Ms. Bali. It was obvious that she was waiting for her. Cautiously, Meredith asked, “Hi, Ms. Bali, is there a problem?” Looking at her watch, she saw that there were still ten minutes before the beginning of her shift. “I wasn’t scheduled until 4:00 PM, was I?”

Ms. Bali didn’t answer; instead, she tilted her head toward the offices and said, “I need to speak with you—privately.”

Meredith’s heart raced; perhaps her concerns about her children’s impending break were unwarranted. If Emily discovered her presence—or Everwood discovered her fake credentials—her investigative—or guilt-filled endeavor was over. Trying to contain her concerns, Meredith asked, “Do you want me to come right now, or can I put my things in my locker?”

Ms. Bali’s strained expression mellowed. Forcing a smile, she replied, “Oh, you can put your things in your locker. We’ve had a rough day, and I need to fill you in.”

Remembering to breathe, Meredith nodded, placed her purse and
lunch
in her locker, and fell quietly in step with her supervisor, walking toward her private office. Once inside, Ms. Bali shut the door and asked Meredith to sit.

The truth that makes men free is for the most part the truth which men prefer not to hear.

—Herbert Agar

They watched as Phil’s plane rose above the crystal blue sea and became smaller and smaller as it neared the horizon—eventually fading away. Watching him leave the island—this time—wasn’t as difficult for Claire as it had been the first time. Claire knew it was because now she wasn’t alone. She had the strength of Tony’s arm tenderly wrapped around her waist. Sighing, she tipped her head back to his shoulder and closed her eyes. The diesel fumes from the small propeller plane had faded as the combination of sea breeze and cologne dominated her senses.

Since Madeline wanted to be sure Phil ate before his trip, they all had eaten an early dinner. Now, with Madeline and Francis at their own house, for the first time in months, Tony and Claire were truly alone.

“Do you want to take a walk along the beach?” His baritone voice created the lyrics sung perfectly in tune with the melody of the waves.

“Hmm, that would be nice.”

With their fingers entwined, Tony stepped forward, leading Claire along the shoreline. Since their sandals were waiting near the path to the house, their bare feet sunk with each step. Claire glanced back and noticed how the reoccurring waves erased their footprints. For quite a while, they walked in silence. The birds sang and the sea whispered, yet neither spoke. When they finally did, it was at the same time, “Do you think it’s time...” Claire said, and simultaneously, Tony asked, “Are you ready to...”

Their walking stopped. Looking up to his handsome face, Claire reached toward his cheek. The slightest stubble abraded the tips of her fingers, and she momentarily imagined the sensation on other parts of her body. “I’m scared,” she admitted.

He didn’t answer; instead, he dropped her hand and encircled her body with his powerful arms.

“Tony, I’m so afraid that if I ask what I want to ask, that what we have right here—right now—will end. You know the saying—ignorance is bliss?”

He nodded.

“I’m enjoying my bliss.”

“We don’t have to discuss anything you don’t want to discuss.”

She nestled her cheek against the soft cotton shirt. “Do you know what questions I need to ask?”