Chapter Thirty-Five
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Grandma Nichols once said—the only constant in life is change. Claire prayed those changes would be good. After their heart-to-heart, she began to see small signs that gave her hope.
The afternoon of their talk, she awoke on the leather sofa in Tony’s suite. Hugging the warm comforter, she gazed around. The diminishing daylight accentuated by the glow of the crackling fire illuminated the room. She was alone. At first, she assumed her husband was in the adjoining bath or dressing room, but open doors and silence soon told her otherwise. This had never happened. His suite had technology. She’d seen him use it. The large framed screen could access the world at a click of a remote.
Tentatively, Claire rose and walked to his bureau. The top left drawer contained that key to accessibility. She didn’t want to point and click—she needed to know if she could. The internal monologue began Can Tony see me? He’d never talked about cameras in his suite. Did they exist? Is this a test? A trap? She asked for the ability to upset him. Claire decided she needed to know if she’d been granted that chance.
Her hand trembled as she gripped the slender handle. What if the drawer was locked or the remote was gone? Calling upon her courage and strength, she pulled. Through the darkness and into the cavernous depth, she saw it—silver with black buttons. The remote was there, available to her. Emotions swept through her—relief—she was getting the chance she requested. Happiness—he was trusting her. Sadness—she couldn’t touch it. Fear—would he catch her? She listened for the sound of footsteps—or worse—doors opening. The only sound came from the fireplace. Claire carefully closed the drawer, walked back to the sofa, and collapsed onto the soft cushions. The flames flickered as the scene melted before her moistening eyes. She pulled her knees into her chest and watched the blaze before her. Fear and sadness pushed relief and happiness away. Summoning the happiness, she told herself—this was a good thing. She attempted to regain her composure before she left his suite.
About a week later, she sat perched on a high stool with her Gucci heeled boots teetering on a wooden rod, listening to her friend’s voice—more evidence of progress. Claire loved Courtney’s company. She could talk enough for the both of them—making Claire laugh in the process. Today, Courtney was talking about the Red Cross, the amazing job it did responding to natural disasters and helping the citizens of Iowa and the United States. She explained the financial problems facing the organization with donations decreasing and needs increasing. Courtney was the fund-raising chairman for the Quad City Chapter. She asked Claire to help with her committee, believing they had the connections to individuals and businesses who were surviving the economic slowdown. They could use those connections to help raise money. She asked Claire which fund-raisers she thought would be most profitable. They discussed the pros and cons of an auction—banquet—sports—tournament—or raffle—there were so many possibilities. Courtney wanted to exceed last year’s goal.
The pub where they sat was electric with energy. Located on the University of Iowa’s campus, its tables overflowed mostly with students coming and going. The hum of voices combined with the sound of moving chairs caused Claire’s toes to wiggle with excitement. She hadn’t been around this many people in so long. She longed to absorb all the vitality. Claire told Courtney with a degree in meteorology, the idea of assisting with a charity which aided with the disasters she used to forecast, appealed to her.
Courtney gave her a folder of information. It contained a calendar of scheduled committee meetings and a list of committee members’ names, e-mail addresses, and telephone numbers. As Claire ate her salad, she scanned the contents. This volunteering would be more time consuming than she’d realized. That was great. Of course, she knew she would need to run it all by Tony, but how would it appear if Mrs. Anthony Rawlings wasn’t willing to help charities? Besides, he’d allowed this outing, knowing Courtney intention—more evidence.
Courtney stood to get them both more coffee, and Claire looked around the restaurant. She couldn’t believe her exhilaration at being out with a friend. Between Courtney and the surroundings she feared her chest would pop. The people at the other tables looked so carefree. They probably took their freedoms for granted—Claire knew she used to. Exhaling, she thought about her husband. He was trying to consider her requests. She smiled as she remembered him telling her to call Courtney.
Everything seemed normal as he entered her suite and talked about his day. It was as he entered the bathroom for a shower that his words stunned her. “Claire, I almost forgot, Courtney would like you to call her. My iPhone is on the bookcase. Her number is in the address book under Courtney S., help yourself.” Then he turned and closed the door. Claire stared. Was it really him? The other times she called from any phone he’d dialed. She worried perhaps she imagined the whole scene. Her legs wobbled as she walked toward his phone. Slowly, she picked it up and went through the address book. She scrolled until she saw Courtney S. There were many names. She continued to scroll and saw Emily V., John V., and John V. home. She scrolled back to Courtney S. and hit the dial icon. The screen indicated the call was in progress. It didn’t last long and Claire believed her clammy hands and shaking knees weren’t detectable on the other end. Most excitedly, she’d made a call which led to this lunch.
When Courtney returned, she set the mugs on the table. Their salads were gone and the Red Cross had been thoroughly discussed. It had been fun. Now they were having some more coffee and chatting before returning home. Gently, Courtney reached out and held Claire’s hand. Suddenly, Claire felt uneasy. With as much practice as she had maintaining eye contact in difficult situations—she looked away from her friend—Courtney’s pale blue eyes showed too much concern.
“I’m so glad you’ve agreed to help me,” Courtney spoke softly and slowly.
Claire’s uneasiness made her want to pull her hand away. Instead, she smiled. “I’m happy I can help you and others.”
“Claire, you don’t need to be perfect all the time. You don’t need to say everything perfectly, look perfect, and be perfect. Life isn’t a test you must continually pass”—Claire stared silently at her friend, afraid her voice might crack as the energy of the room evaporated—“I just want you to know, Brent and I have known Tony for a long time…”—Claire swallowed. She’d heard this speech from everyone who knew her husband and entitled it the Great Man Speech—usually accompanied by he works so hard—“And he can be a pompous—condescending—controlling ass.”
Claire’s eyes grew wide and her head dropped. She didn’t cry—she laughed—suddenly and uncontrollably—bordering on hysteria. It wasn’t good for appearances. Apparently, her laughter was contagious because Courtney started laughing, too. People looked at them. Fleetingly, Claire didn’t care. After a few moments, she regained enough composure to ask, “Excuse me? What did you just say?”
“Honey, you heard me. I’m pretty sure you know exactly what I said”—Courtney squeezed Claire’s hand again—“Don’t get me wrong, I love your husband, but, let me be honest, sometimes I hate him too”—Claire nodded—she completely understood—“It’s all right; however, it’s not all right for you to feel alone”—Claire listened—“Your husband loves you. I see it in his eyes when he looks at you. I’ve never seen him look at another woman the way he looks at you. He also has demons—ones I can’t even begin to understand—he also has serious issues with control. He can drive Brent crazy sometimes.”
Claire’s uneasiness returned. “Courtney, I think maybe we shouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Tony would say we shouldn’t be having this conversation. What do you say?”
Claire didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted the conversation to end—it made her uncomfortable. The other part of her wanted to talk—to open up and feel connected to someone in this world—someone besides Tony. “I think maybe it would be better not to speak about Tony.”
“All right, I respect you. I respect you for marrying Tony and for your inability to talk”—Claire tried desperately to maintain her mask—“I’ve tried my very best to make you comfortable. I want you to feel relaxed with me.”
“I do Courtney. I consider you my friend.”
“Honey, I am your friend—you’re my friend—and Tony’s a dear friend, too, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you.”
“Thank you, but you don’t need to worry about me—I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I recognize fine, and sometimes when you’re with us, you are fine. Other times you only seem fine”—Claire didn’t know what to say—“It must be difficult to suddenly be thrust into Tony’s world. He puts a lot of significance on appearance. Well, maybe he hasn’t mentioned that to you.” Courtney started to stand to leave.
Tears began to escape down Claire’s cheeks. Her voice was barely an audible whisper, “Courtney, please sit back down”—Courtney did—“If Tony knew we were having this conversation, I wouldn’t be able to have lunch with you again, and perhaps it could affect Brent’s job. I know they’re best friends, but with Tony, I’m not sure there are boundaries.” Courtney was at least twenty years Claire’s senior, yet she listened earnestly, recognizing the sincerity of the younger woman’s tone.
“So my intuitions aren’t unwarranted”—Claire shook her head and Courtney spoke softly—“Claire, are you all right?”
“Courtney, I think we need to go back to your SUV. I’m uncomfortable having this conversation and I’m definitely uncomfortable having it in a public place.”
They stood, put on their warm coats, gathered their purses, and walked to Courtney’s SUV. The break in the conversation and fresh cool air gave Claire time to regroup. Alarms sounded in her head. If she chose to continue this discussion she’d be breaking rules: number one, do as you’re told. She’d been told on multiple occasions the importance of appearances and not divulging private information. This was her first time out alone as Mrs. Anthony Rawlings—if she wanted to be involved with the Red Cross and wanted more freedoms. Breaking rules would not facilitate those goals. They walked to the car in silence.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Claire buckled her seat belt and straightened her posture. She knew what she would say, “Courtney, thank you for your support. You’re right. I’ve been overwhelmed by the responsibility of becoming Tony’s wife. He’s been supportive and understanding and is helping me recognize the significance of and the obligations accompanying that title. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know you’re willing to help me, too.”
Courtney understood—Claire had just ended the conversation. “I’m glad you’re feeling better about it. Just know that sometimes women pick up on things men don’t—even very observant men. I hope it’ll help you to know I’m quite perceptive, and I’m here for you whenever you need me.”
Claire thanked her again and asked her a question about the Red Cross. While driving, Courtney asked if Claire and Tony had special plans for Tony’s birthday, this weekend. Claire was taken aback. She didn’t know it was her husband’s birthday; however, he hadn’t known it was her birthday either.
“I don’t believe we do. Tony seems to be very low-key about birthdays.”
Courtney declared it was settled, they would do something together. She told Claire about a bar in Rock Island with live music, good food, and a fun atmosphere. Courtney thought it would be good for all of them. Claire promised to discuss it with Tony and let her know. They debated the best day; Tony’s birthday was on Saturday. Either Friday or Saturday would work for the Simmons. When Claire got out of the car she invited Courtney inside—Courtney declined.
Claire leaned over and hugged her. “Thank you for everything”—she looked directly into Courtney’s caring blue eyes—“I’m looking forward to helping you and you helping me.” She grabbed her Prada handbag and the charity information.
Catherine let her know Mr. Rawlings would be home for dinner in her suite at seven. Suite meant casual, but Claire decided she wanted to make the night special. She wanted him to know how grateful she was for the small freedom. She also knew she’d experienced an excellent opportunity to upset him and avoided it. She wouldn’t share that information—but in her mind it gave them more reason for celebration.
Tony was pleasantly surprised by Claire’s appreciation and enthusiasm. When she showed him the schedule of committee meetings he said it would be a week-by-week decision. Circumstances can change; however, he didn’t anticipate any glitches—she didn’t either.
During dinner she mentioned, “I learned a secret about you today.”
“I wasn’t aware I had any secrets from you.”
Claire smiled. “I learned Saturday is your birthday.”
His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched. “I thought since I missed your special day—we could miss mine.”
“Well, Courtney thinks we should all go to the Rock Island Brew Company.”
“I know the place—I’ve been there.”
Claire waited for him to agree to the celebration. Finally, she asked, “I promised Courtney I’d get back to her about it, would you like to go Friday night or Saturday night?” His agitated expression made her uncomfortable. She realized this was a subject he didn’t want to continue. “Or, would you rather I told her we’ll celebrate on our own?”
“I will think about it and get back to Courtney”—the discussion was done and Claire didn’t know their plans.
The next evening Claire sat surrounded by papers when Tony entered her suite. Dressed and ready for dinner, she was completely absorbed in the financial information of the Iowa Red Cross. He looked at her mess and placed two large leather-bound photo albums on top of her papers. Claire looked at the albums and then at her husband. “Good evening, what are these?”
He bent to kiss her and the tips of his lips moved upward. “They’re proofs of the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.” Quickly, forgetting the mounds of paper, she began looking through the albums. The only pictures she’d seen were the ones on New Year’s Eve. The first album began with prewedding poses. The estate, the men, the women, everything and everyone looked beautiful. Then ones of Claire and John prior to walking down the aisle. Tony watched as she turned each page, she was afraid to linger on the photos of John and Emily, she would look at them later. The next, were a series of Claire approaching Tony and him waiting. She had to admit—she looked beautiful. Tony added adjectives—stunning, amazing, gorgeous, and striking. They both appeared to be brimming with love and adoration. There were photos from multiple directions—some very artsy.
Their food arrived and they still had a full album to view. After dinner they spent the entire evening on the sofa in front of the fire, going over and over each photo. They talked about the people, decorations, and ceremony. There were numerous posed photos of the two of them in the grand hall and at the base of the stairs. She laughed at ones where the photographer put her up a few steps, trying to make her taller. “You know, if you’d married one of those models you dated they wouldn’t have had to do that.”
He kissed her tenderly and gazed at her with soft brown eyes. “I didn’t want to marry any of those women. I’ve never wanted to marry anyone but you.” He could melt her heart so easily.
The next photos were of the reception. They both agreed the guests seemed to enjoy themselves. Then pictures of them dancing—Claire remembered her overwhelming desire as Tony directed her around the floor. “I love watching your eyes sparkle as you look at these photos.” She told him how much she enjoyed their reception, especially the dancing. “Well, it won’t be the same, but we can try to relive that dancing on Saturday for my birthday.”
Claire smiled—they were going to celebrate. “I don’t know how I can possibly choose which pictures I like best.”
“Then don’t choose. You can have them all.” Placing one arm around her and flipping the pages back, and added, “This one of you on the stairs, with your gown all around you, I want that one—I want it enlarged over the grand fireplace in the sitting room.”
Claire wrinkled her nose. “That’s silly—I don’t want to see me great-big every day.”
“I don’t care. I do—and I will. Actually, I think I’ll contract an artist to paint it.” He leaned back and smiled. Claire just shook her head—stopping him from doing something he wanted to do was beyond her ability.
Next, she saw the family photo of her, Tony, and the Vandersols. “Tony, can we have copies of some of these made for Emily and sent to them?” She only said Emily on purpose—but the them should have been her.
He sighed. “Yes, that can be done.”
Claire knew she should drop the subject, but sometimes she couldn’t stop herself. “Has Emily tried to contact me anymore?”
“Yes.”
Claire didn’t reply. He knew what she wanted—if she persisted it would be arguing or pleading—if he changed his mind—he would let her know. Besides, they were having a nice evening with the wedding pictures; she directed the conversation back to the album. “Look at this picture of MaryAnn and Eli. They were hilarious!” The Vandersol conversation ended.
Trust not too much to appearance.
—Virgil